The Gender Game 5 (The Gender Fall)(80)

Blinking away the tears already starting to drop from my eyes, I quietly moved around to Owen’s side of the bed and lowered myself to the floor, sitting next to him. Owen’s eyes gazed at me, but they were vacant, as if he didn’t even recognize me. Tears had cut tracks over his cheeks, and his nose was swollen and red. He sniffed a few times, his nose clearly stuffed.

I reached into my pocket, searching for something that just might be in there… yes. Paper napkins. I passed them to Owen, and he reached out, taking them with the hand he wasn’t using to hold his brother’s hand. He stared blankly at them for a moment, and then dropped them to the bed, pushing the wadded edges apart with one hand until he had singled one out. He picked it up and dabbed it across his eyes, trying to sop up the tears.

I waited. There weren’t words in the history of all languages to make him feel better. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Anything I attempted would only come off wrong. Owen didn’t need words, didn’t even want them. He wanted his brother back, and that was a void in his heart words would never touch.

I remembered all the things everyone had said to me after my mother had died. All their words and attempts at kindness had only made me angrier. I didn’t want Owen to suffer through that. So I let him keep his own pace.

The minutes dragged by, periodically punctuated by his sniffles and the few times he blew his nose. I sat through it all, certain this was where I needed to be. After a while, he met my gaze, his expression lost.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted hoarsely.

I nodded, tears pricking my eyes. “I know.”

Owen leaned forward, brushing his fingers over Ian’s blond hair, adjusting a few of the locks against his forehead. In death, Ian’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed. He would have almost looked like he was sleeping, were it not for the fact that his chest remained perfectly still… and the tiniest amount of blood, or spittle, or a mixture, still trailing at the side of his mouth, even though it looked like Owen had tried to wipe it away.

“Our parents just accepted it. When they took him. They just… let it happen. Said it was for the best. But I knew. I knew it wasn’t. I mean… how could they take him and leave me? I was the bad one. Somehow I passed their test, but I knew what I was. But Ian… he was so sweet, y’know? As beta as they came.”

He met my gaze, more tears falling from his lashes onto his cheek. “He saved animals,” he whispered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “He would bring them home in a box if they were small enough to fix. A turtle, a bird, a kitten. There was this dog he found once—he must have escaped when he was younger, or maybe his owners abandoned him. I don’t know. But he had grown up wearing this collar, and it was killing him. It was too tight, and it was…” He stopped, the words lodging in his throat as a racking sob shuddered through his body. I felt my own heart twist at his words’ visceral reactions, wishing there were some way to comfort him.

He cleared his throat and scrubbed his eyes with his arm. “Anyway, he needed me to cut the collar off. He knew I had knives. Ian wouldn’t touch them, you know...” He met my gaze, a forlorn look in his eyes. “That’s when I knew the test was crap. When they took him… I knew. I kept knives, I used to secretly watch martial arts practice and try to replicate the moves, I used to break into houses to steal things… I was the bad son. The bad Matrian son. But they took him. And now he’s…”

Shoulders shaking, he looked away, unable to say the words.

I swallowed hard. “I know there’s nothing I can say to ever make this better,” I whispered. “Even right now, every word coming out of my mouth feels inadequate. But you’re my friend, Owen. You’re my friend and I love you. Please, whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’m here for you.”

Owen looked up at me, raw and vulnerable. His chin trembled and he wiped away another tear, almost angrily. “I want to bury him.”

I nodded. “Of course. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Can I… Can I stay here with him? I don’t want him to be alone tonight.”

Fighting back tears, I nodded again. “Of course. You didn’t even need to ask.”

He shot me a grateful look, and then turned his gaze back to his brother. I sensed it was time to leave, but there was still one thing I wanted to know. It felt wrong to ask, somehow, but there was something more going on—I had seen it in Viggo’s face.

“Owen, what happened tonight? I mean, how did this happen?”