Chapter 24: Briar

brIAR

"Breakfast was perfect," I tell Archie as I try to smile through the pain in my chest. My heart aches for Xander. While he was stitching me up, I watched his face as he talked. The amount of raw pain that lined his features when he spoke about his twin was staggering. His pain took my breath away.

I wanted to comfort him, but I don't think he wants anyone to know how much he's hurting. So, I did the only thing I could. I silently bore witness to his anguish.

"Excellent. I hope all future meals are to your liking." Archie gives me a wide smile, drawing me out of my assessment of Xander.

Future meals? Pretty sure I was only staying last night, but I bite my tongue because Archie looks so happy about me being here longer.

"Everyone ready to go?" Malachi asks while looking directly at me.

"Yep," I chirp. I shove the last spoonful of yogurt-covered peach in my mouth before hopping up. Breakfast was amazing. We could choose from eggs, bacon, yogurt, fruit, granola, and toast. The guys eat even more than me, so I felt safe filling my plate with a bit of everything.

Now, I'm rocking a food baby from how much I ate. I can't remember the last time I left for class with a full stomach, but I can't get used to it. I'll have to go back to living with Patrick soon enough.

Determined to enjoy the easy access to food while it lasts, I snag another piece of bacon as I round the table.

"We don't have to leave right now. You can finish eating." Malachi raises his brows as I munch on the perfectly cooked bacon.

"I just wanted a snack for the road." I shrug. Malachi shakes his head at me in exasperation. He has a small smile, so I doubt he's as frustrated with me as he's trying to seem.

Malachi holds out his hand for me, but Bastian beats him to it. Bastian places my hand on the crook of his arm. I laugh at the smug look he shoots Malachi. I let Bastian lead me down to the basement and out to the garage. He pulls open the rear passenger door for me. "Here we go, m'lady."

Snorting at his antics, I reply, "Thank you, kind sir." My cheeks heat with the memory of why Xander doesn't want me to call him "sir." I quickly climb into the car to hide my burning cheeks.

Smoothing down my new skirt, I wonder again why Malachi just happened to have an extra uniform skirt in my size lying around. The skirt I wore earlier is probably ruined with how much I bled on it while running. I'm thankful he had another one for me to change into, but it's odd that he did.

Malachi, Xander, and Bastian all get into the Rover after me, with Malachi driving.

"Phone," Bastian demands with his palm held out expectantly.

"Why?" I question, making no move to pull my phone out of my bag.

His lips tip up at my question. "Suspicious much? I just want to jam out to music. You're our guest, so you get to supply the tunes."

"Oh" is all I say in response, while handing over my phone. I can feel the heat creeping back up to my cheeks at being called out for my less-than-trusting nature. Luckily, no one's paying enough attention to me to notice.

Bastian hooks up my phone, and the familiar notes of "Burn" start filtering through the speaker system. I immediately realize my mistake in letting Bastian choose any playlist when I hear a staple of my "After" playlist come on. "No!" I practically shout as I snatch the phone away from Bastian. This playlist is way too personal to share with anyone else. I feel vulnerable having the Wyldharts listen to it.

Going back to my general playlist, I put on "Move Along." Hopefully Bastian gets the hint I don't want to talk about it.

He doesn't. "So, early 2000s pop-punk, huh?" Bastian asks in an attempt to draw me into conversation after my earlier weirdness.

It has the opposite effect. "My mom liked it," is all I can manage past the lump in my throat.

I have so many memories of my mom dancing around our old kitchen, singing into a wooden spoon. With flour-covered cheeks and wild strawberry-blonde hair flying around, my mom would sing with abandon as she cooked or baked. She'd often grab my chubby little hands and swing me around to the beat, relishing my youthful peals of laughter.

Fuck! I can't be thinking about my mom right now. I'm seconds away from a breakdown that the Wyldharts definitely don't need to see.

But Malachi doesn't get the memo. "Where is your mom in all of this? What, does she just sit back and watch Patrick beat you?"

"She's dead," I say so quietly I'm not sure they can hear me. It echoes around the suddenly silent car like a gunshot. Bastian must have paused the music at Malachi's question.

I see regret swimming in Malachi's gaze before I'm pulled into the memory of the worst day of my life.

"Mama!" I shout as I push open the heavy front door of Patrick's mansion. I wish we could move back home. Our house was so much homier than Patrick's. Mama seemed happier, too, before we moved.

"I'm home!" I try again when I don't get any response. Usually, Mama's here to greet me after school's out. She always asks me about my day before we walk to pick up Ava.

My friends say it's lame that I hang out with my mom and baby sister after school, but I wouldn't change our routine for anything. Patrick doesn't get home until late, so he's never involved in pickup. I try to spend as little time around my stepdad as possible. Something about him creeps me out.

I haphazardly toss my bright teal backpack near the front door before going in search of Mama.

Checking the kitchen first, I smile when I see a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. Mama is an awesome baker, and her chocolate chip cookies are epic. Swiping one, I shove it in my mouth whole. I chew quickly, expecting Mama to pop out and scold me for having dessert before dinner. She's a stickler for a balanced diet.

When she doesn't, I frown. This isn't like her.

Hmm. Maybe she's in the library. Yeah, that's probably it. She most likely got so caught up in a book she didn't hear me come in. Mama loves her books. Whenever I ask if I can read them, she says not until I'm older. Once I'm old enough, I'll appreciate them. I'm practically an adult, so I think she just doesn't want to share.

I shake off the kernel of doubt trying to worm its way in. Everything's fine. There's nothing to worry about.

Grabbing another cookie, I head to the library. I roll my eyes at the multiple framed portraits of Patrick that I pass. Patrick loves talking about himself, looking at himself, and making everything about himself. I don't know what Mama saw in him, but I'll be forever grateful she married him because that's how I got Ava.

I need to find Mama quick, or we're gonna be late to pick up my favorite chicken nugget. Ava's squishy little baby face turns red in annoyance whenever I call her that. It's adorable.

The library doors are already open. I walk into the large space with soaring ceilings. The library is a couple rooms packed full of dark wood bookshelves. Patrick mostly keeps nonfiction in here because he's a stick-in-the-mud. Mama's been stocking it with fiction books for me and Aves.

When I reach the sitting room in the middle of the library, I see Mama lying on her back on one of the sofas. "Mama!" I call to get her attention. She doesn't stir. Usually she's a light sleeper, so her not waking up is weird.

As I approach the couch, I see that her lips are blue and one arm's hanging limply off the edge. She's pale and looks kinda sick. Rushing over, I fall to my knees and grab her icy-cold hand. "Mama," I try again. "Please wake up! We need to go get Ava."

I try to move her hand, but her arm is locked tight. I look up, expecting to see Mama's blue eyes dancing with laughter as she stops me from moving her. But her eyes are shut tight, a slight grimace on her face. I look at her chest and see it isn't rising. Reaching my hand up to her neck, I try to find a pulse. I can't.

No breathing and no pulse mean she's… dead.

"No!" I wail, tears cascading down my face and splashing on her yellow sundress. No! No, this can't be happening. Mama can't be dead. She was just alive and happy this morning. "Mama! You can't leave me! We need you. Ava and I do. Please don't leave," I end on a pitiful plea, voice breaking in despair.

I sob so hard it's difficult to breathe. As I'm gasping for a breath that's just out of reach, I wonder why I'm trying to keep breathing so hard. Mama's gone. What's the point of living without her?

"Breathe, you stupid little brat. It's not your time yet," a harsh voice says from behind me. Someone smacks me hard enough on the back that I reflexively suck in a breath. Turning around, I note Patrick standing over me. I see his impassive face through my tear-slicked lashes. He doesn't even seem to care that Mama's dead. I, on the other hand, feel like my whole world has ended. "Move," he demands.

"No!" I cry, clinging onto Mama's necklace with one hand and her dress with the other.

Not liking my response, Patrick grabs me by the back of my shirt. He flings me into a bookshelf. I crash into it headfirst. Pain blooms at the base of my skull where my head cracked into the lowest shelf. Bringing my hand up to my head to touch the tender spot, I realize I have Mama's necklace in my grip. It must have broken when Patrick threw me.

"Get up! Go pick up Ava. I'll deal with your mother," Patrick says with a sneer. He looks at Mama like she's an inconvenience.

I want to protest, but the promise of pain in Patrick's eyes has me sluggishly standing up. Besides, with Mama gone, there's no one else to look out for Ava. I know Mama would want me to do everything possible to protect her, so that's what I'll do.

Gathering up every ounce of strength I possess, I stiffly walk away from Mama. Everything in me screams at me to try to wake her up one last time, but I have to be the adult now. There's no time for childish hopes and dreams and wishes. Clenching Mama's favorite wolfsbane locket in my hand, I stuff all my feelings down and focus on what needs to be done.

The car slowing down yanks me out of the memory of finding my mom that day.

I haven't stopped suppressing my feelings since that day. Never fully dealing with the pain and grief of losing my mom probably isn't healthy, but it's what I have to do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

After finding my mom dead, I had the equally heartbreaking job of telling Ava she was gone. Ava's heartrending sobs that day will haunt me for the rest of my life.

They said my mom died of sudden heart failure, but she was completely healthy before with no symptoms of heart disease. The apathetic look on Patrick's face when he found me with my mom has troubled me for the past seven years. He didn't look surprised that my mom was dead. I can't help but wonder if he had something to do with it.

When the car comes to a stop in the faculty parking lot, I fumble around for the door handle. I manage to locate it through eyes blurry with tears and yank it open. If I weren't drowning in my grief, I'd be embarrassed about the Wyldhart brothers seeing me cry.

Hopping out of the car, I don't think. I just run. With no destination in mind, I let my legs carry me wherever. As long as it's away from the Wyldharts and their prying.

Each step I take has numbness settling over me like a comforting embrace. My mind starts to shut down under the weight of my sorrow. The tears gradually stop falling, my heart rate evens out, and my thoughts move in slow motion.

By the time I reach my alcove on the third floor of Wyldhart Hall, I don't feel much of anything. My heart doesn't feel like it's being carved out of my chest with a rusty spoon anymore, so I'm all for this numbness.

I plop down on the blue carpet under the window and pull my legs up to my chest. Wrapping my arms around my shins, I lean my cheek on my bent knees. My eyes are open, but I don't see anything around me. Footsteps sound to my right. I briefly consider straightening out my legs, so I don't flash anyone my shorts. I honestly don't care right now, so I stay where I am.

"There you are," a familiar deep voice rumbles beside me. On autopilot, I slowly turn my head to look at Malachi. He's kneeling next to me. Cupping my face in his hands, he gently swipes away the tears lingering on my cheeks.

Malachi's eyes bounce between mine. I don't know what he sees on my face, but it has the corners of his eyes tightening in concern.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," he tells me earnestly. "I shouldn't have said what I did, and I shouldn't have pushed you for information on your mom. I just get so angry about anyone hurting you. But that's no excuse. You'll never know how sorry I am for adding to your pain instead of making it better."

When I don't do anything but blink at him sluggishly in response, Malachi's lips turn downward in a frown. After a few moments of studying me, he murmurs, "Fuck it." He puts one arm behind my back and the other under my bent knees. Malachi gently lifts me up and deposits me on his crossed legs. He positions me so I'm facing him with my legs on either side of his hips.

Banding his strong arms around me, he squeezes me tight and rests his chin on top of my head. We stay like this until his phone dings. Leaving one arm around me, he types on his phone.

Malachi digs around in his bag before offering me an earbud. "Listening to music might help." When I don't respond, Malachi sighs sadly. He gently puts an earbud in my left ear. "Take it out if you want. Just do something," Malachi begs me. His quiet pleading almost breaks through my numbness, but it's not enough to get me to leave my cocoon of apathy.

I don't know how long we sit there listening to his music with his hand gently rubbing my back. Eventually the fog in my mind starts to dissipate, leaving in its place only pain. It feels like my heart is being pulverized, so I try to focus on the music Malachi's playing to distract me.

After a few moments, I tell him, "I like your music." My voice is hoarse from crying. Talking scratches my tender throat, making me wince slightly.

I'm sure I look like a disaster right now, with puffy eyes, a red nose, and my face streaked with tears. Good thing I didn't put on mascara this morning, or I'd look even worse. Score one for being inept at makeup. It should be illegal to be as bad at makeup as I am.

Malachi snaps his head up from his phone and looks at me with relief shining in his eyes. He clears his throat before replying in a voice husky with emotion, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I haven't heard any of the songs before, but I dig the storytelling.

"How are you feeling, baby girl?" Malachi asks softly, like he's worried he'll spook me. His hand is still rubbing small circles on my back. I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and fall asleep to the soothing motion.

Don't judge me. Crying's a lot of work. I'm entitled to being tired.

"Like I got run over. Repeatedly," I reply honestly.

He huffs out a laugh. I smile slightly at his amusement. Malachi looks at me for a long moment before resting his forehead on mine. "I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who's sorry." Malachi sounds so broken up about bringing up my mom. I instantly feel awful about how I ran off.

"You didn't know. It's just… hard to talk about my mom," I tell him, my voice breaking. "I miss her so fucking much it hurts, and the pain never gets better. Whoever said time heals all wounds is full of shit." A tear slips out while I'm talking, and I angrily swipe it away. I'm sick of crying. I just want it not to hurt so much anymore.

"I wish I had the words to take your pain away. I don't, but I'm here for whatever you need. Arms to hold you, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or someone to murder anyone who's ever wronged you. I'm here for all of it."

I choke on a laugh at the last portion of his sweet statement. Staring up at him with a smile, I say, "Thanks."

He rewards me with a blinding grin. I can't help but get lost for a moment in his ruggedly handsome face beaming down at me. I know I should wonder why a professor cares as much as he does. I can worry about that another day when I don't feel like my insides were filleted with a dull spork.

Leaning back against his hold, I stretch my arms above my head. He easily supports my weight with a single hand. Malachi holds me steady so that I don't fall. All my muscles are stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. Wondering how long I've been sitting on his lap, I ask, "What time is it?"

Glancing at his phone, Malachi says, "It's almost noon."

"What?" I screech, nearly falling off his lap in alarm. He grips my waist with both of his hands to keep me from tumbling off. Malachi's touch sends currents of electricity arcing through me. "I've missed both of my morning classes!"

"And you're going to miss your afternoon class. You need to rest. Luckily for you, your professors are giving you an excused absence," he tells me sternly. His tone dares me to argue with him about missing a full day of classes. Again.

"I'm going to fail out at the rate I'm missing class," I groan, hanging my head in despair. I can't afford to get kicked out. Ava's freedom depends on me graduating.

"You're not going to fail out," Malachi reassures me. "Besides, you know Xander, Bastian, and I won't let you fail our classes. I can speak with your other professor if it comes to that."

"Why?" I question. There's no good reason for the Wyldharts to care whether I fail their classes or not.

"I don't think you're ready to hear why, yet." Malachi gazes down at me with an unguarded expression. I get the feeling that he'd tell me if I insisted.

I internally debate whether I want to push him to tell me why right now. Can I really handle any more problems on top of the dumpster fire that's my life right now?

Not really, no.

I guess I'll stick my head in the sand for another day. Avoidance for the win. Sighing, I lean my head on his shoulder and mumble, "Okay."

Malachi's chest rumbles with a low vibration that's strangely soothing. He holds me for a couple minutes before informing me, "You can call me Kai if you want. Everyone else in my family does. I kinda like that you're the only one to call me Malachi, though."

Peering up at him, I see his eyes shining with vulnerability. I don't know what brought this on, but I quite like this softer side of Malachi. "Then I'll keep calling you Malachi," I tell him with a gentle smile.

He rewards me with a small grin. "You hungry?"

My stomach chooses that moment to growl. "It appears so," I inform him, stating the obvious. It's my signature move around the Wyldharts.

"You feel up to lunch with Bastian and Xander? Rory and Ronan also want to stop by and check on you if you're okay with that."

I feel warmth invading my chest at Rory and Ronan caring. It's not enough to erase the jagged pain at thoughts of my mom, but it helps. "Yeah. I'm good with eating lunch with everyone."

Malachi gives me a small smile before standing up while holding me. I squeak in surprise at the move. He laughs at my reaction, and I give him my best death glare. That only makes him chuckle harder.

Rolling my eyes, I pretend to be annoyed, but I crack a small smile at his delight. I can't stand Malachi or his brothers being sad, especially not because of me.

He reluctantly sets me down. Malachi snags my hand as soon as I'm steady and guides me toward his office.