Page 94 of This Blood that Bonds Us

“No, you. Just you, please.”

I tried not to overthink it on the way. Kimberly had already texted me twice. As I drove down an abandoned road, I analyzed the dark, frozen lake to my left. Only a few lights peppered the way. Sitting in the glow of light was Presley alone on a bench with his head in his hands.

His now-faded brown hair was disheveled. I hurled my coat over my shoulders to shield myself from the annoyance of the wind. His cheeks grew red until his eyes spilled tears, and he pulled me into a hug.

“I don’t want you to die.”

We hadn’t talked about it. I tried, and Presley had literally run away at the mention of what happened during the ritual.

“I’m not going to.”

I wrapped my arms around him. Frozen still. I’d seen my brother cry many times, but not like that. Not with his tears staining my shirt and desperate heaving breaths. He never opened up to me.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I did something bad. Really bad, and you’re going to be so mad at me,” he said through strangled sobs.

I reeled back to inspect him. “You can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“No, you will. You’re gonna hate me.”

I rubbed the top of his head to ground him. It worked with Kimberly. I couldn’t help but remember Luke comforting me as I cried on the forest floor when my own world crumbled after Kimberly went missing. I was so afraid of his opinions of me.

“Do you really think so little of me? Whatever it is. I can help.”

He wiped his face with his palms as he composed himself, then led me to a black duffle bag.

My eyes went wide as he unzipped it. It was full of stacks of cash and photos. All from Blackheart.

He explained it all in one hurried breath. The note from Akira and the number he’d called. The man he met in Fairbanks, and the clue he hadn’t been able to figure out. When he was done, he was crying again.

I couldn’t look away from the photos. There were so many of us in Blackheart. We looked happy with all of us together, but the ones of Zach and Luke were different. The ones where their faces showed they were tired. Angry. Maybe I should have been angry at my brother. Or shocked that The Family had gone such great lengths to lure us to them, but all I felt was Presley’s grief in my chest. It was so visceral and real that it was like someone was carving into my heart with a knife. He’d shouldered it all that time, and I’d been too busy with the idea of saving my brothers, I hadn’t seen him. I was sad too, but I didn’t let it swallow me because I had hope that I’d get to my older brothers soon. Presley had none all that time. He’d been drowning.

“Will you hit me or something? Just say anything.”

“I’m sorry, Pres.”

“No, this is my fault.I’msorry. I’ve been so unhelpful and mean. I hate it. Why don’t you hate me? I put everyone in danger.”

I stood to smother him in a hug. “I couldn’t hate you. I understand why you did it.”

“I’ve been so useless. You’re doing all this, and I’m . . . I’m . . .” He crumbled into me again, and I squeezed him tighter.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me . . . I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were alone.”

His sobbing doubled, and I waited patiently through every wave. There was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than with my little brother. There was nothing he could do thatI wouldn’t sit with him through and weather the storm. I wondered if that’s how Luke had felt.

“I miss them so much. And I’m scared.”

I placed my hands on his shoulders to give him a comforting squeeze. “Why are you scared?”

His voice trembled and tears fell from his eyes as he said, “I don’t want you to die and leave me here alone. I’m going to be alone and have no one. I’ll be a hermit who lives in an ice castle for eternity. And there will be no one left to talk to. Everyone will be gone.”

My brother and his movie references.

I pulled him to me again. “I’m not going anywhere. And there’s no way in hell I’d ever leave you alone. That’s just not going to happen, okay?”

“Promise me you can fix this. I’ll help. I’ll do whatever I need to do. I don’t want to be useless anymore—”