Chapter 12

TWELVE

Braxton

Well, this is one awkward trip. I’m not sure exactly how Max handled Asha’s mistake, but it doesn’t exactly feel peaceful, nor does it feel like an all-out war. Trouble sleeps next to me in the back of the SUV, head in my lap, and I stroke his head, letting my eyes close as I relax. It’s been a long few days. Not as long as ones in my past, but long enough. It feels like I’m still figuring out who Max is in this role, which is weird. I know who he is as a brother… someone who sees himself more as a father figure than my twin, a man who would give the shirt off his back for me, but I don’t know who he is as a commander. He’s hard to figure out. His emotions are locked up, even his humor, to the point where he feels empty inside.

Which is so different than how I feel.

I don’t feel empty. I feel like the devil has placed a million awful demons inside of me and that if I ever let down my guard, they’ll come bursting out, ruining my “second chance.” Sometimes I forget, just for a few minutes, that I have to actively keep them at bay. Like when I’m around Asha. When her big eyes filled with ghosts look up at me, something inside of me just screams to protect her, to save her from the demons I know she’s fighting too, and my own demons silence, if only for a short time.

It’s an odd realization. Almost like when I realized Trouble had a way of bringing me back from the edge.

“Okay.” Max’s voice is soft in the silence. “We’ll be staying here for the night.” He turns into another random motel parking lot and finds a spot.

We all get out, more or less looking exhausted. But the second I’m outside and all the smells of the town hit me, I instinctually move closer to Asha. I know Enforcers don’t get five-star resorts or anything, but this part of town is definitely not where I’d choose to go with people I care about. And as my gaze sweeps around us, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There are homeless people in every alley around us. Women of the night hang out on the street corner. And everything distinctly smells like urine.

“Max…” I say as Trouble gives a soft growl beside me, and I pet his head to reassure him.

“I know,” he tells me simply.

We flank Asha, even Trouble, as we head around to where the lobby is. Right out front, two guys are sleeping on the ground and another is standing in a dark hoodie, leaning against the wall. My skin crawls. I don’t mind homeless people. I feel sorry for them. But something about them, or this situation, has me on edge.

I sense the man who’s standing shift a little, but I don’t look in his direction, just keep close to Asha. Wanting like hell to get our keys and get out of here as soon as possible.

“You guys got any change?” the man slurs from beside the door.

“No, sorry,” Max answers automatically.

“Please, listen, man, I just need… Braxton?”

My spine stiffens, and I turn to the man. He pulls back his hoodie, and I honestly don’t recognize the man in front of me. He’s so skeletal that the sight of him turns my stomach. This isn’t a man who’s missed too many meals, this is a man who’s gotten mixed up with drugs. As if to confirm my suspicions, he opens his mouth a little, and I see blackened, broken teeth in front. His skin is yellow, and his beard spreads wildly across his chest like it hasn’t been cut in months.

“Braxton,” he says again, moving closer to us.

I move forward, keeping him away from the people behind me. “I don’t know you.” I inhale, trying to pick up his scent just in case I’m wrong. But all I can smell is filth… like smelling a truck stop bathroom. It’s enough that I have to hold back a gag.

“It’s me,” he says, so sincerely and desperately that I go back to his face. To his brown eyes. To his slightly tilted nose.

Do I know him? He seems to know me…

“It’s Waylen.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens. Waylen? No way in hell. Waylen was a fellow shifter who had the bad luck to be in the same unit I was in. We, unlike my brother, weren’t considered intelligent enough to be protected. Instead, we were seen as powerful weapons capable of great harm… weapons the military didn’t give two shits about. Every terrible thing I saw, Waylen was right there with me. But those eyes… those were his eyes.

“Waylen?” A strange pressure comes to my chest, a pressure I can’t seem to push away.

He nods. “You’ve… cleaned yourself up. You look like a respectable man now.”

“That’s because I am,” I tell him, feeling uneasy.

“So, maybe you have some cash to spare?” His eyes brighten at the idea of money.

“Cash for what?” I ask him. Because if any of my fellow officers needed money for a room or food, they wouldn’t even have to ask. I’d be there for them in a second, no matter how hard it might be for me to be around them. But money for drugs? Fuck, I don’t want to do anything to send this man further down that rabbit hole.

“Come on,” he says, lowering his voice. “You know what it’s for.”

I start to shake my head.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He doesn’t sound angry, just desperate. “You were there. You saw what I saw. You did what I did. Fuck, you did worse things than me. And sleep? I can’t sleep. Not anymore. Not without seeing them. The people. The kids. The fucking blood on our hands. This is the only way I can close my eyes. The only way I can keep breathing. Please, I need this.”

This time I don’t hesitate. “No. Look, you have my number if you ever get cleaned up, but I can’t be part of this.”

I try to walk away from him, but then he grabs my sleeve, surprising me. “Don’t.” And now he does sound angry. “You’re worse than I am. The fact that you can sleep at night without drugs says what a shitty, heartless thing you are, and we both know it.”

My teeth clench together, and I jerk my sleeve free of his touch. “Get some help.”

I head for the door, and he calls after me. “Remember that little girl? Remember her walking toward us, tears in her eyes? The commander said she had a bomb strapped to her, didn’t he? But you didn’t see anything. And still, when he gave that order…”

Without thinking, I spin around and my fist connects with his chin. He goes flying back and hits the ground hard, without moving. For one brief moment I think I’ve killed him, and then he coughs, spitting out blood.

He smiles at me. “Don’t like to think about her, huh? I bet you don’t think about any of them. I bet you sleep at night on your soft bed.” And then his voice cracks, and he begins to sob, his smile gone. “I came back to my family, my wife and my kids, but how I could look at them without seeing everything I’d done?” He’s crying harder. “I can never escape it. Never. Never.” He sits up slowly and starts rocking on the sidewalk.

It’s hard to breathe as I reach into my wallet and pull out whatever cash I have. Moving to him, I kneel down and drop the money on his stomach. “Get help. A therapist. Someone. But don’t ever ask me for money again or approach me. Do you understand me?”

He’s not looking at me. His hand closes around the money, and then he’s nodding as he pulls it to his chest, whispering words I don’t understand. Or maybe don’t want to understand.

Turning, I do everything in my power not to look at my brother or Asha. To ignore whatever they must be thinking about me right now because I can’t handle it. This broken fucking man is wrong about us. He might have an addiction. He might be sleeping on the street. But inside? Inside we’re the same. Broken. A joke. Two people who will never be the same again.

I’m just better at hiding it. And I need to keep hiding it, because if that side of me is ever really exposed, he might as well clear a spot on that street for me too.

Trouble whimpers beside me, and I reach down and stroke his head. I know, buddy. I know that wasn’t good for me.