Page 142 of The Dearly Departed

I could still see him in my mind's eye. Could still see the terror in his eyes, the way he'd convulsed on the floor of Gerald's office. David was his name, Dean had told me. I hadn't forgotten. I could never forget him or any of the ones that had come after. But while I didn't feel pride for what I'd done to him or the others, I wasn't sure I felt guilt either. Shame, yes. But guilt …

Guilt would imply that I felt those bad people deserved to still be in this world, continuing to do bad things.

Yet I was glad they were gone, and I was glad David was dead … though I would’ve preferred if someone else had been the one to execute them.

I expected disgust from Shawn after hearing my confession. I expected him to look at me in a new light, to fear me and the blood staining my hands.

But instead, he put his bottle of beer in front of me and clapped a hand against my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

Then he grunted, "Good," before turning away and leaving me in the kitchen, alone.

Except …

For the first time in too many years …

I felt anything but.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Somehow, despite the turmoil we’d endured, I slept, and I was surprised to find that I’d slept well.

I supposed it helped that, for the first time in many, many years, I pulled that old, familiar stuffed bunny out from the box beneath my bed and slept with it in my arms, knowing I had finally, finally found its rightful owner.

I just didn’t know how I’d give it back without revealing my identity. But that was a problem for another day.

The next morning, after showering the previous day away and putting on a fresh, clean suit, I walked down the hall to join my brothers in the kitchen for breakfast. The routine of it all felt normal, almost involuntary in its practice, but I was scared to walk through that door, sit at that table, and find that everything between the three of us had changed now that they knew the truth.

But when I walked in to find them already seated, I learned quickly that I’d been worried for nothing.

Shawn was still sad. Ike was still angry. But they treated me no differently than they always had. And I realized then that they were, forever and ever, for better or worse, my brothers, and with that relation came an unconditional love I knew I'd never find anywhere but here, beneath this roof.

But how wonderful it would be to be loved by her—Analise—in the open, I thought, but that was something I would likely never know. And somehow, in some way, I had to learn to be okay with that.

Ike dumped Lucky Charms into a bowl and promptly began to pick through to find the marshmallows. Shawn watched and shook his head with disgust.

"What the hell are you lookin' at me like that for?"

Shawn returned his attention to his bowl of Mini-Wheats. "You're gonna have diabetes before you're forty."

"We're fuckin' dead anyway, so who gives a fuck? Not gonna worry about my shitty diet now."

Shawn considered his point, then shrugged. "Touché."

"Nothing's happening to either of you," I grunted before taking a sip of my coffee.

Ike looked up from his search for freeze-dried marshmallows and smirked sardonically as he said, "Hey, no offense, Bram, but have you looked in the mirror today? ‘Cause, uh … your face says you don't exactly have shit under control."

"This"—I pointed at the jagged cut along the side of my face—"is my punishment for getting mixed up with Gerald's stepdaughter. The two of you though—"

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." Ike sat back and laid his hands flat on the table. "His stepdaughter? Gerry’s married to a woman with a kid?"

"First of all, she's not a kid. She's a woman. And second of all—"

"Doesn't that make her our stepsister?"

I groaned with disgust and put my mug of coffee down with a thunk. “Gerald says the same shit. Analise isn't our fucking step-anything, as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh, so it's Analise, huh?" Ike chided with a shit-eating grin.