Chapter 13

13

YORK

T his had been the single worst day of the year since 2003. Yet, every year, I forced myself to show up and endure it.

I asked myself why plenty of times until I figured out the reason, which was depressing as fuck. No matter how much I despised it, I faithfully attended the commemoration of my brother's death because somewhere deep inside, I still clung to the impossible hope that one day, my parents would let go of him and focus on me instead.

What was that saying? Hope springs eternal? This one had proven impossible to squash, no matter how many times I told myself it was ridiculous. The very definition of insanity. We'd been doing this for twenty years now, and every year, the same thing happened. They were heartbroken, lamenting how the sun would never shine in their lives again because their precious son was gone. So why would this year be different?

Well, in all fairness, one thing would be a change. Quillon would be with me. As my boyfriend, he'd have to come. Not that he'd ever allow me to go without him anyway. And while I hated having a bodyguard at first, now I didn't mind so much anymore. I liked hanging out with him, and the fact that I wouldn't be alone today meant the world to me.

But would having him there change anything? I doubted it.

"York."

I spun around. Quillon stood before me in his dress blues, not a wrinkle in sight, the buttons polished to a shine, and an impressive row of medals on his chest. His white cap was pulled low over his eyes and he stood tall and proud. I swallowed. "I didn't know you'd be wearing your uniform."

"I won't if you don't want me to, but?—"

"It's okay."

"Are you sure? I know you have mixed feelings about this."

"Mixed? I hate it. I hate this day with every fiber of my being, but that doesn't matter. You're a Marine, and so was he. It's your way of honoring that part of him."

"Thank you."

"You look…" I gestured at him, my mouth dry. "It's a beautiful uniform. Impressive."

Funny how a uniform could change a man. I'd been around Quillon for two weeks, but now I saw him with different eyes. He was hot. Really, really hot. I'd known that, of course, but the uniform did something to me. But maybe that was a common reaction. Weren't there psychological implications about men in uniform?

"I'm proud to wear it."

"You should be." I swallowed, trying to get rid of the strange dryness in my mouth. "We should go."

The sky was packed with dreary clouds threatening to spill their load, but we didn't need our umbrellas as we walked to the cemetery. Quillon hadn't taken my hand, and I hadn't offered. My insides churned and roiled from the emotional torment that lay ahead, and seeing Quillon in his uniform had added an extra layer. I was aware of him, of his presence right next to me, in a way I had never been. It was the strangest experience.

My parents waited for us at the entrance, but they weren't alone. Auden, Tomás, Tiago, Fir, and even Marnin had also shown up. Tears formed in my eyes, and I had to take a deep breath to get myself under control. They hadn't come for my parents or Essex. They were here for me, to support me.

"You didn't tell me they'd be here," Quillon said softly.

"I didn't know. In the beginning, Auden came a few times, but then he stopped, and the others have never attended."

Their presence meant a lot to my parents, that much was clear. My mom's eyes were red-rimmed but shone with gratitude as she chatted with them. She had an easier time talking to them than she did to me.

"Oh, Quillon," my mom said. "Thank you for wearing your uniform. You look…you look as proud as Essex did."

Lord help me the next hour because I wanted to turn right around and walk away.

"Thank you for coming," I whispered in Fir's ear as I hugged him tightly.

"You'll never have to do this alone again," he said softly.

I didn't have words to thank the others, so I hoped my curt nod would communicate my gratitude. And then we shuffled to Essex's grave, which looked immaculate, of course. Not a single weed dared to poke through the gravel, and my parents brought fresh flowers every week. My mom had brought a beautiful bouquet of white roses, which she laid down, weeping soundlessly.

My dad was next, and he put down a picture of Essex in his uniform with shaking hands. He leaned heavily on his walking stick these days. How long did he have before he'd need a wheelchair?

"York…" my mom said, almost like a plea.

I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and faced my tormentor, the man who had made my life utter hell. Crap, I'd forgotten to buy flowers, which I usually did to make my mother happy. Too late now.

With my head bowed and jaw locked, I counted the appropriate seconds to appear like I was mourning, then raised my head again and stepped back. Quillon took my place, standing ramrod straight as he brought a slow salute, his face a mask. My parents wept harder.

The others followed, standing still for a minute or so, Tomás and Tiago together and the rest one by one. None of them had brought flowers, and now my mom noticed it too.

"You should've brought flowers," she gently scolded Fir.

Fir made a noncommittal sound.

She turned to me. "Why didn't you bring something for him?"

"I forgot."

"It's not right."

Oh, Jesus, why was she making this harder? "I'll remember next time."

Quillon tensed. He'd been discreetly keeping an eye on our surroundings the whole time, not letting me out of his sight other than for his brief moment of saluting Essex. The two FBI agents—Quillon had pointed them out to me a few days earlier—stayed at a distance, pretending to walk around the cemetery but watching over us as well.

"I'm disappointed in you, York. One day a year for your brother isn't too much to ask, is it?"

I clenched my teeth so hard I was surprised the enamel didn't break off.

"If it had been you, he would've honored you."

"No, he wouldn't," Fir mumbled, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. What was he doing? The others were looking at each other in alarm.

But my mother hadn't heard him, or if she had, she ignored him, continuing to berate me in front of everyone. "He was your big brother, York. He loved you so much."

Anger tasted bitter on my tongue, and a strange buzzing filled my ears.

"He never complained when you were little and followed him around. For all his life, he was your protector."

No, he wasn't . The buzz grew louder.

"He never let you down, and I'm so disappointed you can't even honor him one day a year."

Something snapped inside me. "No, he wasn't," I whispered.

She frowned. "What?"

Louder now. "He was never my protector."

"I don't underst?—"

"You made up this whole story about how much he loved me and protected me when the truth is that he didn't give two shits about me, or if he ever did, he sure as fuck knew how to hide it."

Oh my god, what was I saying? The words were rolling off my lips, emerging from this place deep inside me that had been locked away all these years. And now I could no longer contain them.

"York!" my father said. "How dare you talk about your brother like?—"

"It's the truth." Fir stepped forward and stood next to me. I couldn't describe what it did to me to have him on my left while Quillon flanked my right. For the first time, I didn't feel alone anymore.

"Fir, what…?" My mother looked from Fir to me and back. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"He was a bully." I spat the words out and almost threw up with the force of them. "A mean, violent bully who picked on me when I was little and tormented me when I got bigger."

My mother paled. "I can't believe you'd say that. Why would you make up lies about your brother?"

"They're not lies," Fir said. "He bullied me too, as the others can confirm."

His words held a clear challenge. "Essex had a dark side, Mrs. Coombe," Tiago said, his tone pleading with her to believe him. "We didn't know the extent of it, but we all witnessed things that made us uncomfortable. In hindsight, we should've spoken up, but sadly, we never did."

"B-but I thought you were Essex's friends…"

"We were because he rarely showed us that dark side. With us, he was funny, even if he could take things too far," Tomás said.

"Auden?" My mother's voice held desperation now as if he was her last hope.

Auden shook his head. "I can't deny it, Mrs. Coombe. While I never witnessed Essex bully York, I saw him take it way too far with Fir, and it fits with his personality."

"H-he was a hero! He died for his country…"

"He was both, Mrs. Coombe," Auden said. "He was a hero who fought to defend our freedom, but he was also a bully of those weaker than him."

Fir nodded. "York is telling the truth. None of us are here for Essex. We're here to support York. That's why I didn't bring flowers, because hell if I give the man who bullied me a gift, even in death."

"Do you remember when I was in fifth grade and I came home with a broken arm?" I asked my dad. "I told you I'd fallen off my bike."

"You did fall off your bike," my father said.

"Because Essex disabled my brakes, which I didn't discover until I went down the mountain and couldn't brake."

My mom fervently shook her head. "He wouldn't?—"

"How many examples do you need before you believe me, Mother? Because I have them. Essex putting itching powder in my dress shirt right before elementary school graduation. Him holding magnets near my hard disks and floppy disks so they'd be erased. Him ‘accidentally' stumbling into the airplane model I'd spent a whole week on, destroying it." I was swaying on my feet, burning so hot with anger that I could barely control myself. "I celebrated the day he went to boot camp because I was finally free. And even when he got older and stopped bullying me, he never apologized, never said sorry, never acknowledged it had happened."

The tears had spilled over, and I wiped them from my cheeks with shaking fingers. I'd wasted enough tears on my brother. He didn't deserve any more. "Do you know how I felt when he died? Relieved. Sad because he was still my brother, but deeply relieved that my nightmare was finally over. But it never stopped. Even after his death, he continued to torment me. I'll never be free of him. His shadow will forever hang over my life. Because even twenty years after his death, he's still the center of your universe…and I'm still invisible."

A blinding headache was announcing its arrival with shoots of sharp pain through my skull, but I ignored them. "All my life, I tried to be good enough so you would love me the way you loved him. I had better grades than him, did well academically, managed to get into MIT and earn all these degrees. But it wasn't enough. I work for one of the most renowned defense companies in the world and have designed cutting-edge technology that's the first of its kind. But you don't care. You have a gazillion pictures of him but only two of me. You kept his room unchanged for more than twenty years but didn't bother to show up for me when I was defending my dissertation. No matter what I do, I can never measure up to him…and what's worst is that's not even the real him you compare me to. It's your fictional, idealized version of him. That golden boy you pictured? He never existed. He might've been a good Marine, and I'll never belittle what he did for his country, but he was a shitty human being, and I'm done playing along with your game of worshipping him. He was an asshole, and that's the truth. And if you can't see or accept that…that's your problem. I refuse to make it mine anymore. I'm done."

My chest expanded as if a heavy weight had been lifted from it, and the tears came fast now, but I didn't care. I'd said my piece, had told the truth, and I was done. Quillon had been so right. It was long past time to let go. I blindly grabbed Quillon's hand, and his steady hold strengthened me. "Please, I wanna go home."

"Let's go home," he said.

As I walked away with Quillon by my side, I never looked back.

I was free.