“At the risk of aggravating you further by sounding unappreciative, can I ask why you’re bandaging me up right now instead of berating me for committing literal crimes against you?”
As much as Riley preferred this response, it didn’t make sense. Especially when you considered that just yesterday, he’d been ready to strike against her without more than superficial remorse.
“You didn’t take a Hippocratic oath or anything, right? So why nurse me back to health when you could let me suffer? I mean, yeah, you were a pretty massive dick to me yesterday, but I managed to forfeit the moral high ground almost immediately.”
As he unspooled a length of clean, white bandaging, Riley could tell he was using the action to ground himself. The more she got to know him, the more she recognized how much he resented situations that prodded him into emotional outburst.
When he spoke next, his voice was lower. Not quite calm, but more controlled.
“I’m not doing it on purpose. I’ve been this way ever since I was a child. Overattentive. A worrier.”
Resuming his ministrations, he tucked one end of the bandage under her arm and began wrapping. “My mom’s diabetic. And it’s fine. She manages it really carefully. But between balancing medications, injecting insulin, monitoring her blood sugar, being thoughtful about her diet and exercise, and juggling doctors’ appointments as a full-time barrister—it’s a lot.”
He reached for a small pair of scissors in the kit and carefully snipped the gauze.
“With his busy schedule, my father has never been a particularly attentive partner,” he huffed disdainfully. “So from a young age, I felt a certain responsibility. To check in with her, take care of her, to be ready in case something went wrong.”
“Oh, Clark.” His obsession with safety no longer seemed like a mere eccentricity or a heavy-handed attempt at control.
“Don’t worry. My mum hates it as much as you do.” Smiling ruefully as he secured the bandage with a piece of medical tape, he said softly, “There,” before clearing away the supplies.
With his back turned, it was too easy for Riley’s heart to clench, filling with something almost like tenderness for the apprehensive little boy who had turned into such a careful man.
Once finished, Clark leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.
“Now, are you going to tell me why you broke in here? Were you just looking to trash the place?”
Riley cringed, taking in the trail of destruction she’d left across the camper.
“That was not my intent, no.” She really didn’t want to share any more details about curse breaking with him, especially when her current strategies revolved around kicking his ass out of here, but she did sort of owe him an explanation.
Damn. She hated feeling guilty so soon after he’d wronged her. No doubt the curse had a hand in whatever urgent impulse had driven him back to his trailer to catch her at the least opportune moment. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost swear the malevolent forces infecting Arden Castle enjoyed watching them squirm.
“I needed a lock of your hair,” she finally admitted.
“Dare I ask why?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said it was to wear in a heart-shaped necklace, huh?” Riley couldn’t exactly confess she was making a charm to banish him. Despite the spectacular failure of her attempts, she still needed to figure out a way to get him to cooperate so she could do her job.
He didn’t smile. “They do say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”
“I’ll clean up all the mess I made.” She tried backing into his bedroom, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed the newspaper she’d dropped on the ground in her surprise when he came back.
“No.” Picking up on her ratcheting unease, Clark stepped around her to his bedroom. “Leave it.”
Riley’s stomach sank as he bent to pick up the clipping. A terrible silence filled the camper as he lingered, crouched over the faded photo.
“Patrick—your partner who betrayed you in Cádiz—” She had to say something, had to admit what she’d seen. “He’s your brother?”
“Didn’t you know?” Turning, he looked genuinely surprised at the question. “I assumed you’d looked me up on the Internet by now.”
“I’ve been sort of busy.” And trying not to think about you.
“Cádiz was his idea.” Clark stood, the faded print clutched in his hand. “Our father’s dream, conquered at last. Patrick had gotten his PhD four years earlier than I did. He had time to apply for all the right grants and permits, so that by the time I finished school I could join him with everything set.”
He looked down at the image, running his thumb carefully over the crease between his father and Patrick.
“You might not guess it, but he was trying to do something kind, including me. You see, he’d always been my father’s favorite. The perfect firstborn. Talented, decisive, independent. Everyone adored him.”
Riley could hear the way he automatically compared himself, unspoken, in the description.
“I don’t think it ever occurred to him that we might be caught,” Clark said, a hint of fondness soaking through. “He designed the lidar map to buy us time and investment for the resources we’d need to truly find the temple. It almost worked. We got more funding, a bigger crew. The temple might very well sit at the bottom of that bay. But my father’s movie put the family in a spotlight even Patrick couldn’t anticipate. Of course, industry analysts wanted to look into the research and expedition of Alfie Edgeware’s sons when rumors began to circulate that they’d followed in the family footsteps.”
Riley’s next breath came harsh, the fall of her rib cage painful. It hurt to hear the strange vacancy in Clark’s words, the detachment she knew he paid for dearly.
Before, she’d felt bad for him, betrayed by a friend. But this was different.
Riley knew from experience what it felt like when your family failed you.
Suddenly she could smell spaghetti burning on the stove as her dad walked out the door. Her mom chucking his favorite flannel at his retreating back.
“Patrick couldn’t stay, after the scandal. He tried. He wanted to fix things, but our dad was relentless.” Clark shook his head sharply, cutting himself off. “He’s in Japan now. We don’t speak much. I’m not sure either of us knows what to say. He sends the occasional letter. Says the mountains are peaceful.”
Her arms ached with the desire to reach for Clark, even though she knew it would be unwelcome. Riley had never been anyone’s comfort—even her mom didn’t take well to coddling—but she felt in her chest the exact kind of wound that she heard in his voice.
The one that came from a blow you never saw coming. Because your older brother, like your father, was someone you believed would protect you.
“I’m sorry.” Riley didn’t know which part she was apologizing over.
For what had happened to him and his family? For breaking in here? Or for stumbling across a raw truth that he hadn’t offered her?
Setting the newspaper down on the bed, he crossed back to the kitchen, pulling something out of a drawer with jerky, urgent movements.