CAM

CAM

One day, it would stop surprising me that my life had become full of men who appeared like apparitions when I least expected them.

Today was not that day.

Water dripping down my chest, I blinked at Saint.

He didn't blink back, and I had a split second to take in the wild mess of his hair and the dirt smeared on his face before my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Whatever was going down in our world, and however he was feeling about it, Saint had always looked at me a certain way, even when he'd been hammered on pain meds in the hospital.

He'd never looked at me with an empty gaze, but in the warm light of the late summer dawn, that's what I saw. His body, his face, his forest-green eyes. But not him. He'd come home to us, but he'd left some of himself on the road.

Up north .

My heart dropped again. That night, Alexei had spat murder at me, and Viktor would have too if he hadn't been caught up with Ranger, but Saint…he'd walked away without looking back, and this was the first time I'd truly seen him since. That we'd been alone, save Alexei who was either waiting us out or still sleeping off days and days of brutal insomnia.

Say something . At this fucking point, I didn't know if the plea was for Saint or my damned self, but still, I could only gaze at him as he stared back with those dull fucking eyes, and die a slow death as nothing changed.

Then it did change.

Saint moved. He came closer, bringing the scent of the fucking earth with him, and drew back the towel hanging around my neck with a single finger, revealing the yellowing stains of healed bruises hiding behind the ink on my torso.

He tilted his head. Better?

I nodded.

He let the towel drop and turned away.

I gripped his arm. "Don't go."

Saint flinched, wrenching his arm free, and he didn't have to speak for me to hear him loud and clear.

Don't fucking touch me.

He spared a glance for the open bedroom door, then he was in motion and down the stairs before I could blink.

Jesus.

Not trusting him to stay indoors, I made a wild grab for some clothes and dashed after him, half-tripping on the sweats I'd abandoned to hide in the shower. They had beer on them. Probably rum too. I'd drunk a lot while Saint had been gone. It was the only way I could fucking breathe.

I survived the stairs and checked the kitchen.

No Saint, and I hadn't heard him leave. But that meant nothing, and the battered organ in my chest lurched, panic sweeping over me, before I spotted him standing in the living room, frowning at the ceiling like he'd never seen it before.

"Something wrong with the plastering?"

"You should've got Ranger to do it."

Fuck, I'd missed his voice. "He wasn't around."

"Because you sent him away."

I took a hesitant step towards him. Touching him still felt like a risk. "I didn't send him anywhere. You know that. We talked about it."

Saint moved suddenly, spinning to face me, his gaze bright with a fury I'd never seen in him before. "Is that what we do? Talk?"

I held my hands up, already surrendering. "We try. But it's not always that easy. You know that too."

"I know you lied," Saint retorted. "To my face. And then you fucked me in your bed knowing you were going to lie to me again . Is that talking? Or bullshit?"

It was a lot of words for him to say at once, and each one lanced through me, rusty blades to my heart. "I did lie. I lied a fucking lot. And I'd do it again if I had to."

"I know." Saint's gaze flickered to the stairs. "And he's okay with that, isn't he?"

Alexei . "I don't know. We haven't talked much while you've been gone."

"He's still here," Saint said flatly, as if it explained everything, and turned away.

I grabbed for him.

He evaded, dodging my grasp like a fucking dancer.

" Saint ."

"What?"

"Please?"

"Please what?"

Let me touch you.

I need you.

I've missed you.

But as true as all that was, none of those words felt right. None of them felt enough . I needed to tell him I was sorry. For lying. For blindsiding him. For doing the one thing I knew would fucking kill him if me and Jakov had taken every bullet we'd been prepared to.

"Don't die for me, Cam. I could never live with that."

He'd said that to me a long time ago, before I'd ever really held him, and I'd never forgotten it. But I hadn't made him a promise I couldn't keep either. And until me and Jakov had gone off piste, I'd never lied to him. Unless we were counting lies by omission. In which case, he'd fucked up plenty too.

He didn't fuck up this time .

No. I had. But that damn-fucking apology…I couldn't do it. Cos it would be another lie.

I held out my hand. "Come here."

Unmoving, Saint stared. I took comfort in the fact that he hadn't fled the house already. That he'd come back at all, when a deep-rooted part of me had feared he wouldn't. Never mind that I knew he'd never leave Alexei like that. Our brothers. Our family. That no matter what I'd done, he'd never leave me .

"I love you."

Saint made a sound that could've been derision. But I knew him better than that. However angry he was, he could never doubt how I felt about him. How I lived and breathed for him and Alexei both. Once again, it was the dying for them part he objected to, and could I blame him?

Not even a little bit.

I closed the distance between us and gripped his hands, sinking to my fucking knees at his feet. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I fucking love you, and knowing you've been out there alone, dealing with the shit I've put you through, has damn near killed me."

Saint gazed down, at our hands, at my face, at the fucking floor somewhere beyond me. "You'd do it again."

"I would. But that's always been true. I lied to you to get shit done without you trying to stop me—or worse, putting yourself in front of that fucking train before I could get there. But I've never lied to you about what I'd do for my family, and I won't lie to you now."

"You could've told me."

"No, I couldn't. You'd have done something, just like Alexei would have."

"We could've helped."

"You did help."

Saint dragged his forest-green stare from whatever he'd fixated on to avoid looking at me. "You manoeuvred us."

"Not on purpose."

Scepticism cinched his brow.

I squeezed his hands. "I can't predict you two—no one fucking can. We had to change our plans three times because one of you did something we didn't expect. I kept this from you, I'm not denying that, but I can't overstate how close you came to catching me out."

"I always thought you were a shit liar."

"I am."

"What was different this time?"

"Everything."

Saint was sharp enough to hear all the shit I wasn't saying. About my dad. My ma. About slamming the door on our fucked up history once and for all.

For Orla and her baby.

For Nash. For Rubi.

For River.

And for every other brother who'd fought and bled for us, and the ones who'd helped us heal.

Saint took an even breath and his hands twitched in mine, almost squeezing my fingers, but not quite. And with anyone else, I might've pushed. I might've spilled more words that didn't mean anything more than I'd already said.

But for him, for Saint, I waited on my fucking knees. And I'd wait for the rest of my life if that's how long it took him to forgive me.

It didn't take that long.

Saint pulled me to my feet and slowly—so fucking slowly—wrapped his hand around my throat, leaning in so close I saw his pulse thumping beneath the unicorn tattoo. "Next time, I'll kill you myself."

Fuck, I almost believed him.