Could it be dumb luck that Nash had experience with my problem? "Who? Can they heal like me?"
"No, they have a different ability, but the point is they weren't cursed. They just had bad luck. And now, they don't."
So, not like me. At all. I didn't have bad luck. Nothing bad happened to me personally. Nash didn't understand, and he wouldn't unless he knew the entire gory truth.
"It isn't the same." I sat down, drawing my legs tight against my chest. Nash didn't try prying the death grip I had around my knees loose, sitting beside me instead with his arm draped protectively over my shoulders. "When my parents died…"
"You can't blame yourself," Nash growled.
"I don't. And I do. I didn't know what would happen." Tears filled my eyes as I brought myself to that night. To the real events that had changed every moment of my life after. "I need you to just sit and listen, okay? I've never told anyone this, but you need to know, if you're going to understand. It may seem like what I do comes from a place of good, but it doesn't."
Nash nodded solemnly but kept his mouth closed.
"I remember a lot of the crash. Most of the crash, actually. The parts about the winding road, the rain, all true. My dad must have been going too fast, or maybe he hit a slick spot. Either way, we rolled. It was so loud. I didn't think anything could make that much noise. There was glass everywhere, and the smell of smoke mixed with gasoline made me throw up. But my parents were fine…"
I watched the question form on his face, but true to his word, Nash didn't ask it. I'd told him my parents died in the crash. And they had. Just not because of the crash.
"I was hurt, though. Very badly. I remember looking down and just seeing red and flesh, like hamburger spilling from me."
His arm tensed over my shoulders, and he let out a growl that I was beginning to learn wasn't a growl-like sound but an actual growl. The sound came from deep in his chest, but at least this time, it didn't scare me as much as it let me know how unhappy my story was making him. The feeling was mutual.
"I remember my mom crying as she scrambled to unbuckle me, reaching for me with these huge tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. And then my dad, trying to lift me, but it hurt too badly, and I screamed. I was dying, knew it with a clarity I haven't felt since. And I was okay with it. My mom and dad weren't hurt. They'd be okay. But something happened when they touched me at the same time. The pain lessened, and my injuries healed. I didn't know what was happening until it was too late. When the smoke cleared, I was healed, and they were both dead. That's when the Good Samaritan found us, but it was too late for my parents."
I tucked my face against my legs, my mouth bumping my knees as I spoke. "My parents had healed me, at the cost of their lives. My ability has never worked like that again. I've never been able to heal myself. Not after the first time. This power… you say it isn't a curse, but how can it be anything but one? My parents were its first victim."
"They died to protect you, Phin."
I shook my head, pushing abruptly from the mattress. I couldn't be touched, consoled. I didn't deserve it. "They had no idea what was happening. That I was sucking the life force from them. It wasn't like this was something they could do before."
"I don't know what they knew, but I know that if given the chance, they would've agreed to it. You were their child, Phineas. Your parents weren't cursed—they were lucky. They died saving their child."
I wanted to believe him, but I had so many years of nightmares—night after night of seeing my dead parents asking me why I killed them in my dreams—I couldn't. "How are you so good with all of this? I just told you I was on death's door and my parents healed me with their life force, and you didn't bat an eye."
I expected him to laugh or make light of the moment. When he didn't do either, I looked at him more closely.
"Nash?"
"I need to tell you something—"
He was cut off by a ringing sound, not just of his phone, but a second, more urgent tone. That was his work line. Nash cursed and reached for his jeans on the floor, pulling out his phone. "Fuck, get dressed, Phin." Nash slid his pants on, looking around for his shirt. I handed it to him after finding my own.
"What is it? What's happened?" I knew someone had been hurt. I just hoped we would get there in time.
Nash's face was white. He reached around my waist, half carrying me out of the apartment. "It's Riley," he told me as we moved. He grimaced, his mouth twisting unhappily. "He's been hurt."
***
The gravel flung out from under Nash's tires as he revved the engine. Even though we'd turned down his driveway, he accelerated, slamming to a stop at the front door. We'd made it before the emergency services. The front door was open, and Paul stood inside, frantically waving at us to come in.
"Branson doesn't know how it happened. Riley went out to get the grill ready for lunch and—just—boom." He had a dark smudge, ash maybe, on his cheek, and though he was obviously worried, he kept his voice even.
"Paramedics are coming," Nash told him. "Make sure there isn't something they'll see that they shouldn't."
Paul grimaced. "That's the thing. When he got hurt, he shifted. We can't bring him back."
Shifted? What the hell did that mean?
"Who called 911?"
"I did. I'm sorry! The explosion was so loud. I thought we were being attacked. I called them before I even knew Riley was hurt."
Nash looked to me with a face of indecision. "Phin, maybe you should wait…"
He'd told me he had secrets. Maybe this was one of them. I didn't care. I pushed past him. "No. He's hurt. I'll help him. Where is he?"
I ran into Aver next, who looked over my head to Nash.
"Let him in. He can help," Nash told Aver, but he remained where he was.
"You know what this would mean, Nash," Aver said.
Frustration welled inside me while the two big bad men spoke in covert sentences over my head. "Look, I don't care about your secret club. After this, I'll pretend I don't know again, but Nash is right. If Riley is hurt, I will help him." The longer they made me wait, the harder it would be. My abilities had their limits. If a person was too far gone, I couldn't do anything.
Aver still didn't budge, so I tried a new tactic.
"Move," I snarled.
"He's not breathing!" Branson yelled from deeper inside the house.
That got Aver to move. I rushed in the direction of Branson's tortured shout, finding him in the kitchen. The last time I'd been in this house, it had been full of laughter and joy. Now, Bran Jr. was crying in the corner while a huge dog lay on its side on the counter. Large swaths of fur had been burnt off, leaving tortured, blistering skin behind. If this was what had happened to their dog, I couldn't imagine the shape Riley was in. "Where's Riley?"
"That is Riley," Nash said cautiously. He picked up the dog's leg as if he was checking its pulse.
The dog was… what?
"Why did you bring him?" Branson muttered angrily.