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Ronan thumbs his chin, gliding over his scar. “Carter didn’t want that.”
I lean forward, placing my mug on the mini table beside me. “I need you to explain further. Did he die for papers? He could’ve lived, and you let him die?” I ask hysterically; my heart pulses uncontrollably, heat swarming to my head.
His head snaps to me fast, dropping his hand. “I didn’t let him die,” he seethes, glaring at me. “They were going to kill both of us regardless of the circumstances; we knew this after we were both tortured near to death. So, before I made the move to catch the men off guard so he can escape. He did it first, and he sacrificed himself to set me free.” His voice cracks subtly as he peers back forward, avoiding my eye contact.
My chest caves like someone took a boot and slammed right on it. I glance away, turning my head to control the burn behind my eyes.Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
“You all were like a second family to me,” he whispers. “I would never have done anything to destroy that. Never.”
My throat tightens. All the memories replay of our past life. Ronan was always at our house, sometimes he would accompany us for family dinner on the weekends. Most times he’ll just be there, and it makes me wonder why? Was he running from something? I never thought of his home life or how his relationship was with his family. Only that his mother had passed, leaving his father with two sons.
Now that I think about it, it's almost like we turned on Ronan that second we found out about Carters death. My gaze averts to the remnants in my cup as the guilt festers in my chest.
“You remind me of him in that way,” he murmurs. My head twists back to him. He’s looking at me. “Stubborn as hell, fighting for what you believe is right.”
My eyes shift to my thumbnail that’s scratching over my other thumb. The swelling in my heart pumps all the way to my throat. I want to hate my brother for being so stupid. And I also want to hug him for being so brave. “I’m nothing like him. I’m selfish. I would’ve given them the sheets.”
His head shakes. “You’re wrong. There’s not a selfish bone in your body. Not from what I’ve seen so far. Unless you’re showing me someone else?”
Our eyes meet. His eyes roam my face for a second as tingles prick down my back and up my neck. He breaks the contact and relief flushes down my spine.
“Your brother didn’t want them getting into the wrong hands. If they were after the blueprints, then we knew something had to be wrong.”
I swallow. My voice croaks. “How did they find out?”
“That I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to find out tomorrow with Fred.” He cracks his knuckles, clenching down on his jaws.
“Where are the prints now?”
“I hid them. In a disclosed location. No one will be able to find it—not even Satan himself.”
I nod, relief rushes down my chest. At least his work is still alive.
“But back to your initial comment; I may not have been the exact reason, but it should’ve been me that died that night. Fuck, I wish it was. That’s why I’m going to avenge him. Make his death mean something.”
“I don’t,” I slip out before I can stop my stupid mouth.
His head turns back to me slowly. “You don’t, what?”
My brother died with reason, died for a purpose he believed in. It’s heartbreaking, he knew his decision and understood the consequences. Although it’s so hard to admit that to myself, but I love him even more for it. He’s still my big brother, and I willalwayslook up to him.
I only wish my father could have learned all of this. Maybe he wouldn’t have died with hate in his heart, or these unresolved issues and misbelief.
I run my clammy hand down my thigh. I compose the breath escaping every second I release air.
“I don’t wish it was you.”
His eyes soften, no longer rubbing over his knuckles. “Why would you say that?”
I don’t know. It’s…?how I feel.
It makes me wonder now what if I did kill him that night? The moment I had that gun to his head, I could’ve shot him. It was my duty to do so. The vow my father took to his grave for me to fulfill, and yet, I didn’t.
That part in my mind, after the incident outside the apartment, knew I was right. ItwasRonan. And even with my finger on the trigger when I approached him hiding in those bushes, I couldn’t do it.
A stabbing pain hurls in my chest. If I had killed him, these students, thesesurvivors, wouldn’t have him in their lives any longer.
I would’ve killed an innocent man who had nothing to do with Carter’s death. He was a victim, just like my brother.