31. Byrd

31

Byrd

T he muffled thud of my cufflink hitting the carpet is bizarrely loud in the hollow silence following his words.

Wash begged me not to tell Echo the truth. Was it all a ruse to drive a wedge between us? And Echo…

He should be angry, not looking at me like he wants to devour me. Why isn't he angry?

My mouth opens, but my voice is mired in the acrid taste of panic-laced regret, and before I can force an explanation, he continues.

"Yep. Apparently, my brother's a psycho scumbag, and my dad's a fucking coward who didn't think I could handle the truth. I can't fucking believe he waited this long to tell me." His hands come to rest on my forearms. Can he feel the muscles vibrating under the bite of his grip ? Each bitter accusation rings uncomfortably close to home, even as pathetic relief douses my dismay.

The fall. He's talking about the injury .

Remnants of my own anger with Wash prick my conscience. Wasn't I just arguing that Echo was strong enough to handle the truth—all the truths—about his brother? Wasn't I seconds away from a confession? Why, then, this numbing sense of relief?

Tell him .

"Echo, I—"

"Gabe was at our house for New Year's, for fuck's sake. Probably gloating over his handiwork when I couldn't even… Fuck . I'm such an idiot." He drops his forehead to my chest.

"You're not an idiot." The words come on autopilot as relief and guilt continue to war in my thundering heart. "Your brother is—"

"A narcissistic piece of shit?"

"Something like that."

"See? You've never even met him, and you figured it out."

This is your chance. Do it now.

"Actually, that's—"

"I want to kill him. You'd help me hide the body, right?"

My lips twitch despite the nausea crawling up my throat.

"I do know a secluded piece of land up North." Fuck, fuck, fuck .

" God , I love you. I'm so fucking glad I don't have to go home with my dad tomorrow." He offers a crooked smile. "I told him you'd tell me the truth. I knew you wouldn't try to keep it a secret." My heart stutters at the raw faith in his words, even as it shrivels in shame. His lips brush mine with all the weight of the final nail in my coffin.

I can't do it. I've learned to be selfish after all, and I can't lose him. Not yet.

Not when he deserves one perfect night of triumph without his brother casting further shadows on his dreams and desires.

He pushes away and swipes angrily at the unshed tears turning his eyes to pebbled pools of lapis, oblivious to my inner disintegration. "I need a shower. Wanna join me? "

Always . But he catches my hesitation and reads it as reluctance.

"You're already dressed. Never mind. I'll be faster alone anyway." He slips away before I can decide to snare him and leaves me torn and shaken in the wake of his sudden storm.

I'm sitting on the foot of the king-sized bed, toying with my rescued cufflink, when he emerges fifteen minutes later with one towel wrapped around his slim hips and another turbaned on his head. My shameful heart lurches at the sight of him, all sin and seduction like a harem boy out of some Arabian Nights fantasy.

"Are you okay?" I ask, defeated once again by his ruthless beauty.

"Stop," he says, shaking his head. The towel turban tumbles loose, and he tosses it on the bed beside me, raking his other hand through his dripping hair. "Stop looking at me like I'm something fragile. I'm not fucking broken anymore."

"You were never broken." You were always perfect . "But I'd understand if you want to stay in tonight. We don't have to go to the show if you're not up for it." I'm not sure I'm up for it .

"I said stop ." He stalks toward me. "I'm not missing out on a chance to see you in your Cirque-boss element. Competence porn is a thing, you know, and I'm pretty sure it looks like you in a tux."

"Don't do that."

"Do what? Tell you how I'm fantasizing about peeling you out of those clothes one slow piece at a time after I've edged myself all night ogling you?" He cocks his head, but I'm not buying the act.

"Bury your shit under the flirting. We're past that phase of this relationship." I'm such a fucking hypocrite.

He flinches but doesn't retreat, running a hand down his inked abdomen to fiddle with the knot in the towel at his waist.

"I thought you loved my cocky mouth."

"I do." It's the ruin of me . I grab his wrist before he can loose the towel. "But you don't need to pretend you're not hurt. Not ever with me."

He wrenches his hand from my grip, eyes flashing fury even as his mouth trembles with heartbreaking vulnerability.

"I'm not hurt . I'm pissed. I fucking hate him ."

"I know." My own rage swims to the surface. The Gabriel in my head is forever nineteen, but I can see him all too clearly—wicked and vengeful above the broken body of the brother who taught me what it is to love without condition or restraint. If I could go back in time, I'd destroy him before he ever had the chance to fuck with Echo.

"I get it. He's supposed to be your brother. You have every right to feel betrayed." I reach for him, wanting to soothe away the pain—wanting to nurture his righteous anger until it's an impenetrable shield around the scarred and sacred spirit I can never be the one to fully shelter.

For one breathtaking moment, he leans into my touch, damp and ephemeral beneath my fingertips, and I think he's going to fall into my arms and let me try.

Then he lets out a ragged laugh and runs a thumb over my mouth.

"I don't want to talk about Gabe anymore. I'm pretty sure I could die happy if I never heard his name again." Defiance screams from every syllable. "And you owe me a blowjob."

I can't deny him anything, and hell can have my soul.

I curl my fingers in the thick terry cloth and unwrap him, tugging him into the space between my thighs .

"He can't hurt you anymore," I murmur into the hollow of his hip, and then take him in my mouth to smother the lie.