I sighed thinking maybe we’d be okay. Maybe we’d all get through this.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“Shoot.”
“Have you ever hated someone so much that you wanted to kill him? Actually close your hands around his throat and choke the life out of him?”
“Have another sip of whiskey,” he suggested. “And ask me what you really want to ask.”
I drank and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I want to kill Dev.”
“I know.”
“I mean, I want to,”—I swallowed—“hurt him. And then I want to be the one to end his life. I’m not joking. I am dead fucking serious.”
Boxer rubbed a thumb across his lips. “Have you talked to Colt about this?”
“Sort of. When he was in the hospital. I want your thoughts, though.”
“Why mine?”
“Because underneath that carefree exterior beats the heart of a savage.” I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny my assessment of him.
“A woman who sees me for what I am, and who’s bloodthirsty for revenge. Damn fucking shame Colt got to you first.”
“Boxer,” I said quietly. “Please.”
He paused for a moment and sobered. “Revenge is a beast that stands alone, Mia. You get it, thinking its gonna make you feel better, thinking it will replace that thing you lost. Sometimes it is that way. You get revenge and it’s all you need to sleep well at night. Feel like you did right. But other times…other times, living with what you’ve had to do to even the score?” He shrugged. “That might haunt you worse than the losses.” He looked at me. “You wanna be the one to put the gun to Dev’s head and pull the trigger? Do you have what it takes to end a man’s life?”
“I took a shot at him in the park,” I said.
“So I heard. Were you actually trying to kill him? Or wound him?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
He scraped a hand across his whiskered jaw in need of a shave. “From what I heard, if Ramsey hadn’t tackled you, you’d have been successful.”
“Huh. That’s an interesting piece I didn’t know.” I paused. “ I’m consumed with rage and I’ve never felt like this in my life.”
“People are complex, Mia, and the world is gray. Our actions are sometimes dark and sometimes light. What you did for that boy? That’s all good. It’s the light in you that makes you a good person. Will killing a man take that away from you and make you dark? No, but thinking about murder and committing murder are two very different things. I’m guessing you already know how I know that. One thing I will say though, I won’t be the one to take the choice away from you.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Do you think I could end a man’s life?”
“Yeah, I do. There’s strength in you, Mia. But Colt would never let you pull the trigger.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s his right as president to execute the man that killed one of our brothers. Plus—well—he would never want you to have to live with the weight of that decision. That is his cross to bear.”
“He’ll take away the choice from me so I don’t have to worry about it? That doesn’t work for me.”
He shrugged. “That’s between you two. Though, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda wanna be there when you give it to him.”
I took a sip from the bottle. “Can I change the subject?”
“Really wanting to bend my ear tonight, aren’t ya?” he asked with a wink.
“I haven’t cried yet.”
“No?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “I thought it was because I was numb. Just a cold block of ice.” I absently rubbed the spot on my chest over my heart. “But I got angry today. Over Silas. I got protective and sad, and I wanted to bawl my eyes out thinking about that little boy without his brother, wearing jeans too short for him, living in a trailer with a father who couldn’t give two shits about him. I just—it was like all the ice around me melted. But when I think of Shelly, I can’t—there’s no sadness there. No well of emotion to feel from. Just blackness and hate.”
“I’m sure you’ve got a theory about that.” He reached for my bottle of booze and drank from it. He didn’t offer it back and I didn’t take it from him.
“When my grandmother died…it sent me into this…I don’t know—not a depression—I wouldn’t let myself be depressed. I worked all the time, I barely slept. I’m afraid that,” I swallowed, “if I break down and grieve for Shelly, I’ll be grieving everyone I’ve lost in my life. Does that make sense?”
“Makes sense,” he said softly. “But I gotta tell ya, if you don’t find a way to process, to mourn, you’ll think you’re fine and then one day something will come along and break you apart. And there will be no coming back from that. You took in Silas, a little boy who needs boundaries and parents, and someone to tuck him in at night. What will happen if you fall apart on him too? He’s already learned that his parents are shit and his brother is dead. Don’t be someone else who fails him.”
I looked up at the stars, wondering if they would give me answers.
“Grieve, Mia. We’ll be here waiting for you.”
I crept into the silent and dark clubhouse. I checked in on Colt, who was still sound asleep. I then went down to the basement to look in on the kids and to see if Silas needed anything.
A nightlight lit the way.
Darcy had told me that her children had had nightmares the past three nights and crawled into bed with her and Gray. Tonight was the first night that they’d wanted to sleep with their friends in the basement. Not wanting to smother them, she stayed upstairs in Gray’s clubhouse room.
I didn’t know if Silas had nightmares since he’d been at the trailer with his father. Silas and I hadn’t yet talked about his brother and the day at the park. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of getting to know a long-lost father as well as getting to know a boy who’d I claimed as mine.
Silas was sleeping in a pile with Brock and Cam, with Captain sprawled across his legs. The dog lifted his head to stare at me and the snuggled back down when he realized I was a friend. I gently scratched his ears and he let out a noise as he yawned and stretched. It made me smile.
I took a moment to study Silas and then brushed his hair from his face. He stirred, cracking one eye open. He didn’t look surprised to see me and even let out a little sigh before closing his eyes and falling back asleep.
I moved to the couch, careful not to step on any pockets of sleeping children. After I got settled, I pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over me, including my head. Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing, but the more I sank into it, the more shaky it became. Before I knew what was happening, I was crying silent tears not three feet away from a group of children who’d been traumatized by a psychopath.
I cried until there were no more tears, and then I fell asleep, dreaming of revenge.