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Dylan, his arms slung around the shoulders of his brothers, frowns at Zane. “You don’t mean that. We know you don’t, and I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but here we are now. We need to talk to you.”
“Oh God.” Dakota sinks down in a chair, cradling the baby, hanging her head, and I’m thankful when I see Megan move toward her and drag a chair to sit down beside her, their dark heads bent together as she murmurs something.
Rafe’s golden eyes are fixed on Zane, who has turned away from us, his broad shoulders stretching his ratty T-shirt, molding it to his ribs.
I shouldn’t be able to see his ribs so clearly through the cloth. Oh God, when did Zane lose so much weight?
“Just go,” he says, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. They’re shaking.
Crap, this is so much worse than I ever imagined. He’s breaking my heart.
“Zane,” Asher says, and his voice cracks. “Talk to me.”
Zane’s back hunches over. He turns just enough to search for something, someone over his shoulder—Ash?—then straightens again. “I can’t do this right now, fucker.”
“Do what exactly? What the fuck is going on?” Asher passes his son to Audrey and strides up to Zane, grabs his arm and swings him around. “Spill, or I swear to God, I’ll shake it out of you.”
“Get off me.” Zane’s eyes are wild as he pushes Ash back, but that Asher’s in top form and he doesn’t budge an inch. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth. Why you look like hell warmed over. Why your wife looks like she’s about to cry. Why—?”
“Let go, goddammit.” Zane pushes him harder, and Asher jerks back.
“We’re your family.” Ash shakes his head and I can’t see his face. “We wanna help.”
Zane’s eyes flash, and he takes a step back, his chest heaving. “You can’t fucking help, so fuck off.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re the one who always chewed us out for not opening up.”
“You can’t fight a nightmare, Ash.” Zane takes another step back. “So shut your fucking trap.”
A nightmare. What does he mean? I glance at Tyler, but he’s staring at his brother and Zane, his gaze hard, vibrating with tension.
Asher clenches his fists, and stalks toward Zane. “I won’t shut up.”
“They’ll fight,” I whisper. “They’ll hurt each other.”
“They won’t,” Tyler says.
That’s what he thought when he came back, too, that Ash wouldn’t hit him, and then he found himself on his back with a shiner the size of Texas and a panic attack.
“Ty…”
Ash puts a hand on Zane’s arm, and I prepare to push Jax in Tyler’s direction and hurry to stop the two from hurting each other—but no fists fly.
Instead, Ash hauls Zane into a one-arm hug—and Zane sort of falls against him, thumping his fist on Ash’s back, his whole body trembling.
“Just tell me,” Ash says.
Zane shakes harder. “Can’t. I fucking can’t.”
“You can. We’re here with you, man. Always.”
“Damn you, Ash. Pushy motherfucker.” He thumps his fist again. “I just can’t…”
Ash draws back, pulls Zane to the sofa, pushes him down. “You can.”
“Fuck.” Zane bends over and rubs both hands over his face. He’s here.”
