Brothers in Arms
Alistair
Two weeks later
Vera closed the door behind her as she stepped into my home office.
“Julian and Sapphire are here.”
“Send Julian in first,” I said, leaning back in the swivel chair. “I want a word with him alone.”
Her brows flicked up. “He and Saph are here to talk about—”
“Vera.” My tone cut clean. “This comes first. I’ll speak to both of them after.”
She lingered, clearly itching to argue, until I pointed at the door.
A low laugh slipped from her throat as she shook her head. “Fine. I’ll keep Saph busy. We’ll talk about what to do with Saira.”
“Good.” I nodded, snapping my laptop shut.
I drew in a long breath and tipped my head to the ceiling as the latch clicked behind her. Some truths could rot in silence. Others demanded daylight. This one couldn’t stay buried any longer.
My gaze locked on Julian as he stepped in.
He’d long forgiven me for hitting on his little sister back in Manhattan, and over time, he’d become more of a brother than Oliver, who barely looked at me these days.
On the surface, Julian looked steady enough.
Deep chestnut hair, combed neat. Casual but spotless clothes.
But his stride betrayed him. A stuttered step at the threshold. Not his usual effortless swagger. His dark eyes caught mine, and what lived there made my chest tighten. They carried the kind of pain that lingers, the kind that doesn’t let you breathe.
“Julian, good to see you,” I said, pulling him in for a quick hug, a solid back pat.
“Likewise,” he murmured, giving me a squeeze in return. He wasn’t big on affection, but with him and me, it was different. There was trust. A connection.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
“My struggle to sleep has affected my mornings, but I’m getting help,” he said. “A good therapist helps.”
I let a grin tug at my mouth. “Therapy saves more than people admit.”
The professor nodded, taking a seat on my sofa.
“Drink?” I asked, swinging open the minifridge by my desk.
“What’s on the menu?” Julian arched a brow, that same curious look I’d seen a hundred times on his sister.
“Coke, beer, water… or the best whiskey in town. Premium Scotch, naturally.” I shut the fridge and reached for the cabinet. “Want a glass?”
“Yeah. Pour it.”
“Ice?”
He shook his head. “Ruins the taste.”
“Good man.” I chuckled, setting the bottle and two tumblers on the desk.
I handed Julian his glass and dropped into the chair across from him. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” My fingers wouldn’t stay still, tapping against my knee as his stare pinned me. I wasn’t a psychologist. Hell, I could barely crack this man open.
Then a tired smile tugged at his mouth.
“I’ve been thinking on the drive over,” he said. “Sexual assault isn’t just an act. It’s the symptom of a sickness. It starts up here.” He tapped his temple. “The mindset. The rot in someone’s head.”
“My ex-wife…” I started, guilt clawing at my throat.
Julian lifted a hand. “What’s done is done. Abuse is an injustice that stains everything. It’s one of the ugliest pieces in this jigsaw world.”
“We can’t change what happened to us.”
“Us?” Julian placed his glass on the table. His lips tightened like thin ropes, whitening at the edges.
“Us.” I stared back at him, then repeated that binding word, “Us.”
“You?”
“Yes. I was forced into a situation when I was twelve.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Julian dragged his fingers through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed.
“I had to say it on my own terms,” I told him, holding his stare. “Before now, I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, man,” Julian muttered, shifting in his chair.
I leaned forward, placing both elbows on my knees, and clasped my hands. “I was twelve the first time I had sex. It wasn’t something I did willingly. I was forced into it at a youth camp organized by a church. Two adults were involved.”
Julian frowned. “You didn’t have sex. You were abused.”
“Your sister said the same thing .”
“She never mentioned it to me,” Julian mused. “But it’s not her place to speak for you on this particular matter.”
“I trust her with my secrets. You know, she’s good at keeping them,” I admitted.
Julian smirked. “She’s a master of secrets. The things she got away with when we were kids.” His low, rumbling laugh filled the space, and I couldn’t help but join in. For a moment, humor cracked through the heaviness .
“I’ve been in therapy on and off for years,” I confessed. “For what happened and other things. Healing isn’t linear. The past is like a chronic pain. You never know when it’ll flare, but it’s always there, somewhere in the back of your mind.”
Julian’s expression sobered. “I get it. Right now, I’m at the bottom of an abyss, looking up for a light. Saph’s pulling me through it. She and our son are the only anchors I have left.”
“You’re wrong about that,” I refuted. “You’ve got Vera, and you’ve got me. We’re family. Our bond’s thicker than blood.”
Julian gave a faint nod. “I know. I do.” His jaw tightened. “But this nightmare is fucked. Talking to the police wasn’t just remembering. It was reliving it. Like the whole ordeal reached out and dragged me back inside it.”
“I get you, man. For me, it was the betrayal of trust—the abuse of power—and realizing how hypocritical the world really is.” I paused, then asked, “You know about the bystander effect? Bystander apathy?”
Julian gave a slow nod. “Yeah. The bigger the crowd, the less likely anyone helps. People act when they’re the only witness.”
I leaned forward. “That’s what my life feels like. I’m surrounded by bystanders. People hovering because of who I am. But when it matters? I wouldn’t trust them to lift a finger. They’re sheep. Cattle. Whatever.”
Julian chuckled, thumb grazing his chin. “The whole world’s one giant fucking bystander effect.”
“I see it every day. What happened to me made me hyperaware of other people’s pain. It kills me to watch the helpless get ignored, like they’re invisible. The world’s too self-absorbed to give a shit. Eighty percent of the people I meet—”
“Are full of bullshit,” Julian cut in. “Not worth your breath.”
“Exactly. I stopped living like a victim after years of wrestling with it. The past isn’t something I can rewrite. What I can do is stand by other victims. Give them a sliver of hope. That’s how I move forward.”
Julian’s mouth twitched into something almost like a smile. “You’re a good man, Alistair. I saw it back in New York.”
“Really? Because I thought you were about to beat the crap out of me.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, I considered it. Vera was vulnerable then.”
I leaned back, studying him. “Julian, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“If your father were still alive, do you think he’d mind if I ask Vera to marry me?”
Julian scratched at his ear, a grin breaking across his face. “If Dad were here, he’d tell you to stop asking me and ask her.”
“Right.” I nodded, then quoted softly, “Proverbs seventeen. A brother is born for a time of adversity.”
Julian blinked. “Come again?”
I let a small smile curve my mouth. “We’re brothers in arms. Solidarity in peace and war. Willpower, loyalty, and unity are our weapons.”
His eyes narrowed. “This about Saira?”
“I plan to destroy her.”
I had no empathy for the wicked. I’d bleed kingdoms dry for the ones I loved.
It was time for war.