Page 102 of Hurt

His younger brother arched an eyebrow in question.

Grant laughed dryly. “Just look at your phone. She’s not exactly shy about telling you what she wants. All you have to do is listen.”

“Mmn,” Roland agreed. “She will want to see him.”

Of course, Willow wanted to see her brother. Wouldn’t anyone? Grant didn’t want to make decisions for Kurt, but he felt he wasn’t ready to see her. Not yet. Not when he was so fragile. But how much of that was Grant projecting his own feelings? Willow was one of the reasons Kurt silently endured the abuse for so many years—his desire to protect his family was his only priority. What would happen now that Willow knew about it? Would the small bubble of safety Grant was trying to create be popped?

Or was Willow the only person who could help put Kurt back together?

“I’ll ask him when he wakes up,” Grant finally said. “What about Noah?”

Roland made a face and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt a little higher. “He bit me.”

“What?” Grant blinked in astonishment at the perfect ‘O’ of a bite on Roland’s forearm.

“It seems he overheard our conversation and was upset with my lack of answers. Elijah pulled him off and took him back. Jamie asked if I wanted him ‘put down.’”

Grant tried to picture the look on Luther’s face when he found out his precious heir had a penchant for throwing tantrums and biting people.

“If he’s with Elijah, then he’s safe. That’s all that matters for now.” He cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “You didn’t hit him?”

“He aided in the medical treatment for many Weavers. I will overlook his…indiscretion.”

They lapsed into silence and let the night fill the space around them. There was no chirping of bugs or rustling of animals in the underbrush. Only the Weaver brothers were foolish enough to be awake at this time.

“You saved him.” Grant sighed. “You knew something was wrong and saved him while I was ignorant.”

Roland didn’t look at his brother. His sight was fixated on something in the distance. Grant suspected he was uncomfortable with what he had said.

“I didn’t save him,” Roland said. “I’m not sure he can be saved.”

Feeling his hackles raise, Grant pushed off the support and turned to face Roland squarely. “Don’t say that.”

“You didn’t see him.” His tone was even as always. “He doesn’t want to live, and you can’t make him.”

Grant tried to rationalize what his brother was thinking. He knew his words weren’t intended to wound. Roland had never known how to pull punches or words.

But he didn’t see Kurt crying in his arms. That brief window where he had exposed himself and given Grant a glimpse. The tiniest of looks, but it was enough. Grant had seen what he needed to.

“Kurt isn’t mine to fix. I can’t make him do anything,” he stated confidently. “He thinks dying is his only way out. But I’m going to show him another way. He’s the one who has to choose to take it.”

Roland eyed his brother. Those otherworldly eyes saw more than he would ever reveal.

“What if he doesn’t?”

Then he’ll take me with him,Grant thought. But he didn’t say that.

He didn’t say anything.

Roland’s home was tucked away at the end of a dirt drive. A modern structure, its architecture was much like the man himself. Sharp lines and hard edges made from various forms of granite and stone. The small porch had no chairs or plants, not even a welcome mat. Imposing, in a way, the house gave off an ascetic vibe that would have kept most people away had they stumbled across it.

Normally, Roland would pull into the drive and gratefully retire into his spartan home. The lack of clutter soothed his soul. It had everything he needed, with nothing he didn’t. Wallace had offered a decorator, but Roland hadn’t seen the purpose of something like that.

Closing the hefty front door behind him signaled that he could retreat into silence and solitude.

That would not be the case tonight.

The moment he shut off his engine Willow had stormed out the front door, bare feet slapping against the asphalt. The effect was mildly amusing. Willow in her oversized pajama pants with the bunnies on them and a crop top billowing in the desert wind. Her long hair was a riot of tangles. Those gray eyes that were normally bright with mirth were narrowed into irate slits.