Chapter 21
The ride to the hospital passed in a blur. Zane carried his son into the ER. While Jillian dealt with admitting, Zane followed a brunette nurse wearing dark blue scrubs to an exam cubicle.
Casey had stopped crying in the car. The instant Zane laid him on the gurney, he started sobbing again. “Don’t let go! Don’t let go of me, Zane!” He clutched Zane’s shirt. “Don’t let them nurses stick me with a big old needle!”
He hugged Casey gently. “Nobody is going to hurt you.”
Casey stared up at him. “Promise?”
“I promise.” With all his heart and soul. With everything he had. Everything he was.
A short, baby-faced guy in dark slacks, white shirt and bright cartoon tie strode through the curtain. “Hey, Casey. What happened to you?”
“Hi, Dr. John,” Casey sniffled, much calmer. “Donnie Ray bashed me in the nose with a softball. But it wasn’t on purpose.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll fix that right up.” He turned to Zane. “Hello, I’m Dr. John Torrence.”
“How old are you?” Zane blurted.
Dr. Torrence laughed. “I get that a lot. I’m thirty, have a real medical degree and everything. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Zane Wolfe, Casey’s—” Zane choked. “Casey’s friend.”
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. Zane got the feeling he understood far more than Zane wanted him to. “Is Jillian here?”
“She’s still in admitting.”
“Okay. Let’s take a look.” He leaned over Casey. “Was he unconscious?”
Casey clung to Zane’s hand as the doctor gently examined his nose. Zane gave the tiny fingers a reassuring squeeze. His horrific catapult into the past had eclipsed everything that had happened on the field after Casey was hit. “I’m not sure. If he was, it was only for a couple seconds.”
“You know, Casey,” Dr. Torrence said in a teasing tone as he flashed a penlight in the child’s eyes. “If you want to rearrange a face, you should just play with a Mr. Potato Head.”
The little boy giggled as Jillian entered the cubicle. “Is there a party going on in here?”
Now that Jillian had arrived, Zane tried to pull back, but Casey wouldn’t let go of his hand. Jillian slid her arm around his waist, drawing him close to her warmth as she stood next to the exam table. The two people he loved held him tightly, bringing him into their circle.
“Zane?” Jillian asked quietly. Her arm tightened around him. “You all right?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he lied.
Richard burst through the curtain. He took one look at Casey and gasped. “What happened? How bad is it?”
Dr. Torrence frowned at Richard. “Casey’s injury is minor. He’ll be fine.”
“Minor?” Richard all but shouted. “Look at all that blood. Both eyes are already turning black, and his nose is swollen three times normal size. Why didn’t you call me down from plastics for a consult? I don’t want him disfigured.”
Casey uttered a squeak of alarm. Jillian stepped between him and Richard. “Way to reassure the patient, Dr. Dick.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you before. His medical file is flagged to notify me.” His cold gaze raked over Zane’s coach T-shirt and whistle. He scowled. “You’re responsible for this, aren’t you? What did you do to the kid?”
Zane glanced at his son, who was watching the exchange with wide, frightened eyes. His gut twisted. He was responsible.
Jillian grasped Richard’s arm. “Outside. Now.” Her glance moved to Casey. “Be right back, sweetie. Why don’t you and Zane tell Dr. John all about the ballgame?” She yanked Richard out of the cubicle.
Casey enthusiastically began a detailed description. “That dumb old Jen kissed me for good luck.” He snorted. “Look what that got me, Dr. John.”
Zane’s roiling emotions slowed his reflexes, but he finally managed to make his feet obey his brain’s command to move. No way was he going to allow Jillian to take heat that belonged to him. He followed angry voices down a deserted corridor.
Richard’s furious gaze impaled Zane. “Now you’ve gone and done it, Dad. First you ruined my sister’s life by getting her pregnant and running out on her. Now you’re fucking with Casey’s life and ruining it, too.”
Zane stiffened. “Not my intent.”
“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
“Hold it, Dick,” Jillian demanded. “Deb didn’t consider her life ruined. She loved Casey, and chose to keep him. She chose to leave Zane in the dark. Casey’s injury was a typical kid accident. Happens every day at the Center. No way was it Zane’s fault.”
Richard ignored her and turned on Zane. “What makes you think you can waltz in here after all these years and play daddy? Like I said before, you have no experience, no business raising a child.”
“I’m not playing at anything. I’m dead serious about becoming a decent father.”
Richard snorted. “Yes, and we all see how superbly that’s working out.”
“That’s enough.” Jillian’s low voice shook with anger.
“It’s not nearly enough. Casey is laying in there bleeding, with a disfigured face—”
“I’m warning you, Dick. Shut up.”
“All due to this moron’s negligence. He got Casey hurt and—”
Though Zane was standing an arm’s length from Jillian, he felt fury vibrate through her. Her fist shot out and punched Richard squarely in the nose. The woman had a wicked right hook.
For the second time in an hour, blood spurted. Eyes streaming, Richard howled and grabbed his nose. “You broke my nose!”
Jillian grimaced and shook out her fingers. “There. Now you and your nephew match.”
“You broke my goddamned nose!” Richard staggered toward admitting. “Someone help me, I’m injured! Get a nurse!”
Shocked, Zane turned to Jillian. “He’ll probably press charges.”
Jillian was trembling, her eyes amethyst lasers, her cheeks gloriously flushed. Zane didn’t remember her ever looking more beautiful. She planted her hands on her hips. “And admit to the world that he’s a wuss for letting a girl take him out? No way.”
“Listen, about what happened to Casey—”
Her eyes shot violet sparks. “Be warned. If the next words out of your mouth are, ‘he’s right about me not being a good dad,’ I’m going to punch you too.”
“But—”
She growled at him. Zane was no fool. He snapped his mouth shut. She grabbed his arm and towed him back toward the exam area. “We’ll discuss this at home. C’mon.”
Caught in her vise-like grip, he followed. How had he ever thought her fragile and delicate? The lady could strong-arm Vin Diesel.
They reentered the cubicle to discover Dean had arrived during their absence. Casey was sitting up eating a Popsicle and chattering at Dean and the pediatrician.
Someone had cleaned up his face. He looked tiny and vulnerable sitting on the exam table with his bloody clothes, bruised nose, and both eyes turning blacker by the minute.
Zane gripped the curtain so hard his fingers hurt as guilt body-slammed him.
Dean gave Zane a sharp look, but addressed his question to Jillian. “Everything all right?”
She sauntered over to Casey. “Had to evict a rodent, but everything is under control.” She ruffled Casey’s hair. “You look like you’re feeling better. Where’d you get the Popsicle?”
“Dr. John asked a nurse to bring it.”
Dr. Torrence patted Casey’s knee. “Casey has a bruised nose, and he’s got a head start on the two shiners he’ll sport for a week or so. There’s no need for x-rays. Fracturing a child’s nose is nearly impossible because their cartilage is much more flexible than an adult’s. Bed rest until tomorrow morning to ensure no more bleeding, and quiet activities for a few days. Children’s ibuprofen every four hours and ice packs will help with pain and swelling. And you can give him plenty of juice pops, ice cream, and non-carbonated cold drinks.”
“Awesome!” Casey grinned. “Wait till Donnie and Robbie Ray hear that!”
Dean gave Zane another narrow-eyed look. “Jillian, take Casey home. Zane and I will follow in my truck. We have something to discuss, man to man.”
“Pop …” Jillian glanced at Zane, then Dean. She nodded. “Okay.”
Zane steeled himself as he followed Ramsay to his pickup. Dean was going to ream him out in private. Casey’s grandpa deserved his say, and Zane could take it. He’d had his guts reamed by the master.
His uneasiness grew as Dean drove slowly and silently through town. Just as silently turned down the winding road to Jillian’s house.
Dean finally parked on a grassy bluff overlooking the ocean a few hundred yards from the house. Restless waves crashed against the shore with measured slaps. Seagulls screamed overhead. Zane could see Jillian’s pink convertible in the driveway. She was probably inside getting Casey settled in bed.
Zane propped his elbow on the window frame, and sucked in deep breaths of the ocean breeze.
Dean shifted, turning toward Zane.
Zane braced himself.
“So, son.” The gruff contractor’s voice was surprisingly kind. “What horrible crime is it that you think you’ve committed?”
Steeled for a blow, the unexpected gentleness stunned him. Moving in slow motion, he turned his head. Stared at the man in the driver’s seat. Blinked. “Come again?”
“I’ve raised four children, all hard-headed as the day is long. I recognize a guilty conscience when I see one. What’s stuck in your craw and choking you to death, boy?”
Zane inhaled. Act like a man.
“You were there. I ... I pushed Casey beyond his abilities and he got hurt.”
“Is that right?” Dean’s square, callused fingers drummed a tattoo on the steering wheel. “I didn’t notice any pushing.”
Confused and off balance, Zane gripped the top of the window frame. “I forced him to play third base. He was scared. He didn’t want to.”
“You forced him. Now that’s interesting. Because that’s not what I saw.” Dean’s fingers slowed to a steady, rhythmic beat. “Do you think Casey is afraid of you?”
Zane thought about it. Thought hard. He’d never seen fear, except in the store when Casey had been worried Zane might spank him. “No. He’s not afraid of me.”
“How do you figure you forced him to do something he didn’t want to, something he was slightly anxious about, unless he feared you? And feared you more than playing third base?”
Zane sat frozen while Dean’s question swirled in his mind. He couldn’t form a logical answer.
“Were you afraid of your father, Zane?”
Zane’s pulse started to hammer. “Yes.” He stared out the window at the white-capped waves, translucent emerald in the sunlight. But beneath the deceptive beauty lurked dangerous riptides. Riptides that knocked people who thought they were wading in safe, shallow water off their feet. Swept them to their deaths.
His life was like that. His past always lying in wait. Ready to knock him down, sweep over him and drown him … just when he thought he was safe.
But neither Jillian nor Dean was following the pattern. Zane expected accusations. Pain. Instead, they offered kindness and understanding.
He didn’t know how to respond, except with total honesty. “I didn’t have a good example. My old man was a sadistic bully. He destroyed everyone in my family. Drove my brother to suicide. I don’t know how to be a father. Not like you.”
“Ah, so you think I had a shining example of fatherhood?” Dean chuckled softly. “My father was the biggest bastard in three states. Drinking, whoring, gambling away what little money we had. He beat the living tar out of me and my brothers nearly every damnable day of our lives. Just because he could.” Dean’s drumming fingers stilled. “I vowed when I had my own family I would never be like him. I made a conscious choice, and I never laid a hand on any of my children. Look at me, Zane.” Serious blue-violet eyes held Zane’s. “We come from cruel, brutal men, but that’s not who we are. Do you know what makes the true measure of a man?”
Push, criticize, shove your way to the top, no matter how many bodies you step over on the way up. The gospel according to Stoneheart. The gospel of hate. The gospel of destruction.
But Dean Ramsay had a different message, one Zane was hungry to hear. “What?”
“The true measure of a man is how he treats others. Being a man means more than having the power to wreak or withstand violence. A real man needs the strength to be tender … especially with a child who counts on you for guidance and protection. I’ve seen you with Casey and with my daughter. Decency is rooted deep within you. Whatever your father did, he didn’t make you what he was.”
Dean rested a broad hand on Zane’s shoulder. “But if you can’t put it behind you, he wins. He’ll have destroyed you as effectively as the rest of your family.” Dean nodded. “Then you might as well be in the graveyard with your brother. Face down your past, Zane. Then let it go.”
This man of integrity, a man Zane respected, saw something good, saw promise in him. He began to shake. Tears again pressed dangerously close. He held them back with effort.
“Don’t be ashamed of your tears, son. I cried like a baby when my beloved Kathleen passed.” He squeezed Zane’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. Let Jillian help you. She’s a wise woman and strong, like her mother.” He slid his arm across Zane’s back, gave him a quick, hard hug. “And from now on, if you need anything from a father, I hope you’ll ask me.”
Zane’s past, present and future collided in a dizzying explosion. Maybe he had a chance at a decent life after all. Maybe it all came down to a choice.
His choice.
His throat tightened. He swallowed. “I ... need ... I have to ... think.”
He flung open the door and bolted toward the house. But he couldn’t run fast enough to stop the memories from choking him. Couldn’t escape the pain. It grabbed him, clawing, tearing. Eating him alive. He thundered upstairs to his room. Caught in a deadly, uncontrollable spin, he needed solitude to process the barrage of whirling images.
Panting, he leaned against the closed door. His father. His mother. Brent. Trevor. Dean. Jillian. Casey. Who was the real Zane Wolfe in relation to the people in his life?
What measure of man was he?
The images taunted him. His little brother, covered in blood.
His little boy, covered in blood.
He looked down at his white T-shirt, smeared with Casey’s blood, and flinched. He grabbed the stained shirt by the hem, ripped it over his head, and flung it into the corner. Decades of suppressed emotions welled up. His hands shook. His throat spasmed. The room tilted as his stomach pitched. He barely made it into the bathroom, where he was violently sick.
Agonizing minutes later, a cold wet washcloth settled on the back of his neck. Small, strong hands rubbed his back, soothing away the dizziness. He risked a glance sideways to see Jillian next to him. She’d changed into white cotton drawstring pants and a floaty sleeveless pale blue top. Her feet were bare, her shiny golden hair loose. His angel.
He groaned. “You do not want to be here right now.”
“There’s nowhere else I belong.”
Gasping and spent, he staggered to the sink to splash cold water on his sweaty face. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Vulnerable?” She handed him his toothbrush, piled with toothpaste. “Hurting? It’s okay. You don’t have to suffer alone, Zane. Not anymore.”
He brushed his teeth and followed up by rinsing with minty green mouthwash. Shaking, he stumbled back into the bedroom. As his knees gave out, he leaned back against the wall and let himself slide down to sit on the rug.
Jillian sat next to him and tugged him down to lie full length on the carpet beside her. She enfolded him in her arms. Her soft, cool hand stroked his forehead. “Everything will be okay.”
He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her familiar fragrance. “Where’s Casey? How is he?”
“He’s snug and cozy in his bed. Pop is reading him stories.” She rubbed his back. “Casey asked for you. I told him you weren’t feeling well.”
“He asked for me? Even after what I did ...” He trailed off, unsure if he’d actually done something wrong, or where he stood. Even with himself. If his son ended up despising him the way he despised Stoneheart, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She gasped softly. “This is more than a flashback of Trevor’s death, isn’t it? What happened on that field, Zane?”
“You mean before I froze when my son was unconscious and bleeding and needed me?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “I’ve never freaked at the sight of blood. Hell, I’ve never frozen in the line of duty. But I failed my own son.”
“An involuntary reaction to a past trauma. Casey’s accident so soon after you told me about Trevor, well, Trevor was on your mind. Combine that with the similarities between the two, it was inevitable. You couldn’t control your response any more than you can control your heartbeat. And you know it.” She tugged gently on his hair, forcing him to meet her too-knowing gaze. “What’s the real problem?”
Trust his wife to dive right to the heart of the matter. “My entire life, past, present and future has suddenly telescoped into one crucial moment. I feel like I’m boiling alive inside. Confused.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Afraid.”
Her serene, loving gaze held his, giving comfort. The ocean’s muted thunder drifted into the room on the breeze. “I’m here. Talk it out.”
“Casey was doing so well. I ... I thought ... I might have forced him to play third base when he didn’t want to. Not on purpose. But maybe I couldn’t control myself. Maybe—”
“You’re worried you pushed him like your father did you.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, feeling queasy again. Not wanting to see condemnation in her eyes, he dropped his gaze to the gentle hollow of her throat where the pulse beat in a steady rhythm beneath her creamy skin.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
He replayed the scene in his head. “I said, ‘You should play third base.’ Casey hesitated, and answered, ‘I dunno, it’s an important spot.’ I told him he was doing really well with his catching. He scrunched up his face—you know how he does—and said, ‘I don’t … ’ Then I told him to try it. He looked really scared, but he said, ‘Okay, if you want me to.’ I replied, ‘Go out there and get ‘em.’” Zane swallowed hard. “Did I coerce him? Did I make him do it?”
“How did he act after he got out there?”
“He was nervous at first, but then he settled in and did a great job. He made a catch, was having a lot of fun. Until he got hit.”
“Look at me, Zane.” Her eyes held no condemnation, no pity. As soft as velvet, her violet gaze wrapped him in loving resolve. “Give me your take on the situation. Be Mr. Objective FBI. Be brutally honest. Stick to the facts. Leave your feelings out of it.”
“I think—” He held her gaze like a lifeline, fighting to view the incident objectively, as he would a case. To separate the facts from his doubts and fears. “I think he did it not because he’s afraid of me, but because—” He struggled with the admission. “He wanted to please me.”
“Because he admires you.” She touched his cheek. “Go on.”
“I didn’t force him.” Relief streamed through him, turning his limbs to jelly. “I asked him, and he chose.”
She nodded. “And what were your motives for asking him to play third base? Was it about you and what you wanted?”
“Of course not. It had nothing to do with me. I thought I could help him build his confidence.”
She stroked her hand over his shoulder, down his arm. “And your father pushed you because...”
“Everything we did was a reflection on him. It was always about the family image. Everything was about his image.”
“Did he ever show any remorse when you were hurt?”
All those years of pain. His hands fisted in her blouse. “No. If we showed any weakness, he pushed harder.”
“And how did you feel when Casey got hurt?”
“I’d rather cut off my right arm than see him hurt again.”
She nodded again. “Because...” she prodded.
“Because—” A switch in his brain tripped, banishing the darkness. Filling him with brilliant, warm light. “I’d never knowingly cause him pain. His happiness comes before mine. I love him so much I’d give my life for his.”
“ Real, deep, abiding love.” She smiled gently. “Your father has his legacy, Zane, and you have yours. Which do you think will endure?”
“I—” He choked on a swell of understanding. The flashback of Trevor’s death had overshadowed his thinking, skewed the incident with Casey entirely out of proportion. His shoulders hitched as he made a Herculean effort to fight the tremors that shook him. “I’m not my father. I’m not anything like him.”
The tears he’d repressed for too many years welled in his eyes, trailed down his cheeks in hot, wet streaks of relief and joy.
She gathered him close. “It’s all right,” she whispered into his hair. “It’s been a long time coming. Let it out, Zane.”
Wrapped in Jillian’s tenderness, Zane let go. Shaking, he clung to her strength while the torment spilled from his soul and rolled down his face. She held him, her blouse soaking up his tears, her love soaking up his pain.
He grieved for his mother. For his brothers. For himself. For the wasted, empty years.
Finally his grief was spent, his heart drained of the agony.
Relaxing, he fell asleep, cradled in the arms of the woman he loved.
Sometime later, a butterfly kiss brushed his lips. He swam through the sleepy haze toward consciousness. His eyelids floated up.
Jillian was bent over him, tenderness wreathing her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked so precious lying there asleep, I couldn’t help but kiss you.”
The all-male part of him wanted to roll his eyes. But the fact that Jillian considered him precious curled warmly around his heart. This woman who believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after had rescued him from a lonely, empty existence. He smiled at her. “You woke me from my sleepwalk through life. You battered down the wall around my heart and pulled me out of the pit. Hell, lady, you and your rose-colored glasses slew my demons.”
“I have it on good authority that demons are scared spitless of rose-colored glasses.”
His smile widened. “I’ll spend the rest of my life being your champion.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “I love you, Jillian.”
She inhaled sharply and her lips wobbled. Happy tears brightened her eyes. “I love you, too.”
“How long was I zonked out?”
She glanced at her watch. “A couple hours. The rest was good for both of us.”
“You’d better get back to Casey.” Zane didn’t want to let her go, but Casey probably wanted her comforting presence.
“He does great with Pop, and you need me more right now.” She propped herself on one elbow. “Can I get you a drink of water or some coffee? Something to eat?”
“No.” He paraphrased her words. “I need you more than food or drink right now.”
Her gaze held him in a warm embrace. “I’m here. Now and always.”
Awe washed over him. He took a deep breath. He still had unfinished business with the past before he could focus on the future. “There’s one more thing I have to do. You know that stack of rocks on the beach that looks like a tower?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Would you meet me there in two hours?”
“Absolutely.”
Humbled by her unquestioning faith and unconditional willingness to stand by him, Zane accepted her farewell-for-now kiss.
She left, and he retrieved his bloody T-shirt from the corner and stuffed it in the garbage. He buttoned on a dark green shirt, then pulled the nylon tote from his closet and retrieved what he needed to lay his final ghost to rest.
Aragorn’s fuzzy white head nudged open the door, and he slinked inside.
“Uh oh,” Zane muttered. “I don’t have time to spar with you, Your Majesty. I’m in a hurry.”
To Zane’s astonishment, Aragorn twined between his feet and began to purr. Loudly.
“Lulling me into a false sense of security so you can snarf a chunk out of my ankle? Oh no, I’m on to you, Big Guy.”
Aragorn butted Zane’s calf and purred louder.
Well, hell. Cautiously Zane bent and extended his hand. The huge feline nuzzled Zane’s fingers, then licked them.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch.” Zane gingerly scratched behind Aragorn’s ears. The animal’s rumbling purr increased in volume. He stared down at the cat, who stared back. They studied each other with wary mutual respect.
“Okay, now I’m a believer.” Mystified, Zane shook his head. “Somehow you knew I was waffling, and you were protecting Jillian and Casey.” Zane gave the animal a final pat. “Truce. ‘Cause I’m here to stay.”
Feeling validated in some crazy way by Aragorn’s hard-won approval, Zane headed for the beach.
Two hours later, Zane looked up from his sketchpad, sensing more than seeing Jillian’s approach. Still barefoot, she strode gracefully across the sand. The setting sun floated over the jeweled ocean in a glorious sphere of orange-gold, bathing her in its glow.
He put down his pencil and rose from his cross-legged seat on the blanket to meet her. He was barefoot as well, having kicked off his runners and socks when he’d arrived on the beach. “How’s Casey?”
“Happy as a clam in seaweed. He polished off a hot dog, some curly fries, and a bowl of chocolate ice cream. He and Pop are making a Lego city.” Compassion darkened her irises to the color of spring pansies. She touched his cheek, brushed at the dampness from the rest of the tears he’d shed during the past two hours. He’d still had a bit more grieving to do. “Are you all right?”
He managed a smile. “Getting there.” He tore the sketch he’d just completed off the pad and handed it to her.
She bit her lip. “Trevor.”
“This is the portrait I’d started right before he killed himself. I saved it. Carried it with me everywhere. But I could never bring myself to finish it. Somehow, the picture of him with only half a face seemed ... fitting, you know?”
“Yes. I can see why you’d feel that way.”
“Deep in my gut, I’ve carried around a load of guilt about Trev all these years. I always wondered if maybe—” He swallowed hard. “If only I’d picked up on a clue in his voice. Said something more profound to him on the phone. If I’d just driven a little faster.” He thrust trembling fingers through his hair. “Hell, if I hadn’t gone away to college— I could have stayed, protected him. It would only have been another year.”
“Survivor’s guilt.” She grasped his hand. “You had no idea what would happen, and you had your own life to live.”
“I realize that now. And something more, thanks to Dean. We’ve all got choices to make. The way my old man behaves is his choice. What Trev did was his choice. A horrible choice, born of pain and despair, but none of it was my fault. The way I respond to the past is my choice.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re a smart man, Zane.”
“Took me long enough.”
“You overcame your past at fifteen when you went your own way instead of following your father. You just didn’t realize it. But denying your emotions all this time held you back from the final step of healing.”
He stared at the restless waves and nodded. “Shoving everything deep down and ignoring it seemed so much easier.” He took the sketch of Trevor from her. “But I’m ready to release it.”
Hand in hand they followed the winding trail to the top of the rock tower. With Jillian at his side, Zane stood at the edge, looking out over the ocean. Waves kissed the base of the rock with a steady hiss, the setting sun engraving a golden path on the outgoing tide. He stared down at the sketch, at his little brother’s face … whole now, and serene. Just as Zane’s heart was now whole.
His fingers clenched on the paper, clinging to it a moment longer.
Then, holding the sketch over the crystal waves, he opened his hand. The paper fluttered in the soft breeze, cartwheeled gracefully across the water to land at the edge of the glowing path.
One last tear spilled down Zane’s cheek as Trevor drifted toward the horizon. “Goodbye, little brother,” he whispered. “Peace.”
The portrait floated along the bright path toward the sunset before gently sinking beneath the waves. The anvil dropped off Zane’s shoulders.
He’d miss his brother the rest of his life, but he would no longer carry the burden of sorrow and guilt.
He looked at Jillian, tears pouring down her face. He drew her into his arms. “Don’t cry for me or Trevor anymore, Jillian. We’re both free.”