One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(76)

“I did . . . I do.”

“Only when I forced your hand,” he stands and looks over at me, eyes glazing. “I might have lost your trust, but I would hand you my firstborn, Dom, no questions asked. From here on out, I’m done asking about shit you don’t want to answer, but I hope you don’t have to make me because I want that trust back if you’ll give it to me . . . and heads up, from now until France comes home, I’m not going to let you out of my goddamn sight.”

It’s no big surprise my sentence has been lengthened, no doubt one Sean and Tyler came to while en route to plant red herrings.

“Truth is, I want this time with you ‘cause I miss you, man.” I don’t have to see his tears to know they’re there. “And you know I’m not above playing fucking dirty to get it, so don’t make me.”

“I won’t.” My reply has him pausing for any sort of dishonesty.

“But just so you know,” he says, contempt for Tobias clear in his voice, “or need a reminder. You’re a living, breathing fucking human being and allowed to behave as one.”

I don’t bother to tell him I was granted that clarity by the one person in the world I shouldn’t have gotten it from.

“And you might think I’m ignorant to it,” he rasps out, “but the night of the Meetup,” his Adam’s apple bobs, “if he had reached me. If you hadn’t stopped him, I wouldn’t be standing here,” his voice cracks. “I will never sell you out to France,” he slaps at his tears, “he doesn’t have to know. You don’t have to cop to it. I’ll—”

“I didn’t mean it,” my whisper is just as guttural, and he exhales harshly in relief, fingers twitching at his side. He wants a cigarette, but I already know what’s coming before he puts a voice to it. “I’m in love with her.”

“I know.”

“So, if you’re going to break her heart, you’re going to have to do it alone.” His voice is raw when he speaks again. “I’m just so fucking sorry I messed us up in the process.” He stares down at his boots, running his forearm along his jaw. “I love you, brother.”

He leaves the door open as my vision blurs, and I move to sit at the edge of my bed, staring after him before catching my half-lit reflection in my bathroom mirror.

Part human, part monster, and stuck in limbo for the foreseeable future.

I’ve always labeled the other side “monsters” because at least then I could justify slaying them. The truth is, those monsters are human beings capable of doing unspeakable acts outside of moral lines—where I dwell to stop them—but pulling the trigger was different for me this time, and we all know it.

Tyler knows it, Sean knows it, and even though I knew that kid’s future was only cut short by an hour at most—that he would die by his own hand or someone else’s—I was the one who saw him draw his last breath because I made it so.

For now, I have to let it go. The list, the need to fix what’s broken because it’s breaking me. I have to accept what I’m capable of.

Of what I’m not.

My limits have been repeatedly shown to me as of late, and I feel that defeat start to settle low in my gut.

Opening my laptop, I press my palm to the keyboard, and it lights up in a fiery red welcome before I start to file it all away, temporarily laying it to rest—for a time when I can do something about it. It feels like nothing short of bloodletting as I allow it all in. All of my failures in the last few months and the guilt that multiplies daily because I can’t get them all. No matter how much I want to.

Maybe this is how my brother felt, waiting all those years for us to catch up to where he was. If he did it, so can I. Because whether I’ve outgrown them or not, this is my family, and the men surrounding me are the only men I trust to help me see this through. Until the time comes when we’re aligned on the same path, ready to pull the trigger, it can’t happen.

Purging as failure runs down my face, I drown in it, allowing the emotions to take over while I mourn for the path I can’t travel until I’m freed. I make peace with it because I don’t want my eyes to ever match the void I saw in the eyes that are starting to haunt me.

“Dom, when you . . . feel this way, you can come to me . . .”

But I can’t anymore. That’s the hardest part to swallow.

Exhaling due to the sting that truth brings, I plug in my earbuds and scroll through my playlist for a beat before tuning into the mics planted in Cecelia’s bedroom. Lengthy seconds of silence ensue as I lay back in bed, her room just as quiet as mine.

Just as I go to switch it off, I catch a faint drum in the distance. Thunder. The light pattering of rain follows, the clarity of the sound telling me she left her French doors open tonight. Turning my volume all the way up, I settle in for the restless hours ahead but manage to drift away just as her storm catches up to my roof.




Shrouded in the dark, I search the wall for a way in as cries sound from the other side. Pushing against it, the screams grow louder, as if I’m hurting them by trying to break through. But that’s not the truth of it—that rings clear as echoes of pain and torment fill my ears, elevating my panic. Exhausted, I continue to try to force my way through, to make it stop. Terror filters in when one by one, the screams start to cut off abruptly. A spark of fire flashes in the distance, and I turn to look for the source, seeing Sean’s profile before he clicks his Zippo closed. My shout for help is absorbed by the pitch dark, my fists useless as I pound on the wall, exertion futile as they bounce off the impenetrable stone. The more their cries die, the harder I hit and fail. Gritting my teeth when the last wail is stifled, I sag against it, knowing I’m too late. Lingering silence sucks every ounce of hope from me while midnight shadows start to weigh me down, paralyzing me slowly in their grip. Sinking against the wall, I land in a puddle, palms splashing before sinking to the ground beneath. Lifting my hands, I run what’s covering them between my thumb, my roar swallowed by the blackness as my mother’s voice reaches me. “It’s only a storm—”