“Isn’t that the name of a movie?”
“You should ask Rhage that question, not me.”
There was a long period of silence. “Can I be honest?” Qhuinn asked.
“With me? Always.”
“I’m afraid to know why he did it. I’m afraid it was my fault in some way. And you know, I can live with his death if I have to, but I couldn’t live with…”
As his voice failed him, he tried to gather the reins, but the next thing he knew he was weeping so hard his back was in on the sobbing, his whole torso wracked with pain. And while he cracked wide open, Z stayed where he was in that armchair, a silent witness to the active mourning.
It turned out the brother was right.
Given everything Z had been through, Qhuinn didn’t feel embarrassed or self-conscious—and strangely, if the brother hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have released the pain.
Also, if Z had come over and touched him in any way, or said a word, or tried to get help, Qhuinn would have zipped himself up tight—and probably never reopened again.
But the brother not only had a point about the credibility he possessed, he had the sense to know that this solo journey didn’t need any intrusions.
It did, however, require a trailhead.
And maybe a guide.
Or two.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Qhuinn’s emotional storm passed, as all storms, no matter how strong and overwhelming they might be, did.
And in the aftermath of his breakdown, as he stood in his brother’s bathroom and rinsed his hot face with cold water, he felt like he’d been on a long, exhausting trip. One that had lasted months.
He was that tired, and that discombobulated.
When he stepped back out and looked across at Z, the brother was exactly where he had been, still with the toy airplane, big body lounging in the armchair.
“Sorry about that,” Qhuinn said as he made another pass of his face with his palm.
Z lifted a brow. “Really. You’re going to apologize.”
Qhuinn shrugged and tried to ignore the fact that his eyeballs felt like they had sand in them. “I don’t know… how to handle this. Any of it.”
“That’s okay.” Z clapped his thigh with his free hand and got to his feet. “But there’s no apologizing. You do that when you’ve offended someone or pissed them off, neither of which you’ve done to me. You also do it when you have some kind of control over your actions—and trust me, like I don’t know you’d have avoided that if you could have?”
“Guess I’m an open book to you.” Qhuinn looked around the room like there were windows he might be able to see out of. “I’m really not sure what to do now, by the way.”
“That’s part of how it works.” Z came over and held out the toy airplane. “Anytime you’re lost, I want you to look at this. You piloted us both back home that night. And you’re going to do it again. I believe in you.”
“You really haven’t given me anything to go on, by the way.”
“Everyone is different. The path back is not going to be the same for you as it was for me.”
“How did you start?”
“I opened my heart to someone who loved me. And then I opened m
y mouth to somebody who cared—and who was more than just a concerned friend.”
“I don’t want to talk to Mary. I mean, I love Rhage’s shellan and all, and I know she’s a trained social worker, but I don’t want to have to sit across from my therapist at meals, thank you very much.”