He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to breathe. Didn’t want to try to make sense of why Richard had torn apart their family, been willing to abandon his wife and kids. Why he’d hated him so unbelievably much.
And now, Royce had tossed him aside.…
Blinking, he was surprised when he felt Rowe wipe away the tears that streaked his cheeks. “I’m sorry about your brother,” Rowe murmured.
Marc almost laughed. It was hard to feel bad about the death of a brother when the fucker had been trying to kill him. He knew it would come. Right then, he was just swamped with feelings of confusion and betrayal for both Richard and Royce.
“How’s Dom?” Marc asked, his eyes on the light blue blanket spread across his lap.
“Physically recovered, but still embarrassed.”
“Please tell him that I’m so sorry—”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. This wasn’t your fault.”
“My brother—”
“Your brother was a fucking tool, and it was his fault. Not yours.” Rowe paused and shook his head. “We should have kept digging on him. We didn’t expect him to be so fucked up in the head that he’d poison himself to get close to you. I’m sorry we didn’t figure it out soon enough.”
Marc laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Should he have seen it? “Richard was always a master at hiding how he felt, what he was thinking.”
The silence stretched between them for nearly a minute. Marc was sure that Rowe would leave soon, and then he could break down again. All he could think about was Royce. The time they’d spent together, their laughter, the long, slow touches that held a wealth of promises for years of more touches and kisses. They hadn’t said the words, but he thought they’d both understood, they both knew, that they would continue after the case was closed.
“Snow wasn’t your fault either.”
Rowe’s soft words caused Marc to suddenly look up at the other man, who’d now moved back to the foot of his bed. Rowe looked uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. He chewed on his lower lip before looking up at Marc.
“I know I took it out on you. That night. Snow wasn’t your responsibility, and you did call Lucas for help, but I blamed you for not doing more. That was wrong. I was angry at him. Angry at myself because I couldn’t save him. Angry at you because I saw you doing the same self-destructive bullshit.” Rowe sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Marc could only nod. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear those words from Rowe until that moment. Everything felt too raw. His entire world had been turned on its ear and the one person he’d come to rely on to make everything feel normal had walked away.
“Yeah, well…tell me how I can get Royce back, and I’ll consider us even,” he said with a forced laugh. Marc rubbed his eyes, wiping away the gathering of tears, then looked at Rowe again. The poor man’s shoulders were slumped, and he pointedly stared at the edge of the bed as if it held all the secrets of the world.
“I’m sorry.”
Marc sucked in another ragged breath. Those were the words of the day. Sorry about Dom. Sorry about bad decisions. Sorry about Snow and Richard and Royce. He couldn’t take anymore sorry. He wanted it fixed. He wanted his life back, even if it meant that his relationship with his brother was a lie.
He wanted Royce back.
Nothing made sense without Royce’s smile, his low, throaty laugh. The sheer weight of his presence made Marc feel like he could conquer anything, that he could face anything, and that he wasn’t a complete fraud.
But Royce was gone. And so much of his life felt like an utter lie.
“You don’t have to stay, Rowe. I’ll be fine.” Marc forced the words out when he was pretty sure that he’d never be fine again.
“I think I will.” Rowe looked up at him, scratching the light stubble on his jaw. “Figure you could use a friend who knows what it’s like to have your whole world fall apart.”
Swallowing back the need to say again that he’d be fine, Marc clenched his teeth against another moan. He wouldn’t put the mask back in place, wouldn’t worry about what others thought about him. He didn’t have to be alone. “Yeah, that’d be great.”Chapter Twenty-Three“Royce!”
Sweat dripped into his right eye. It stung like a motherfucker, but Royce didn’t stop slamming his fists into the punching bag. He didn’t quit for the smear of blood on the gray vinyl either. One of his biceps was screaming, both calves ached, and his gut felt like someone had poured battery acid in it. But he kept up the workout.
It was the only thing that stopped his mind from tearing him to shreds.