Chapter 3
MALIN
Brodrie carefully balances a square block on the cylinder that Sawyer put down. When he’s finished and it’s still standing, they look at me. I have a bridge piece, and I stand it on end. It remains upright when I take my hand away, and the twins grin widely.
I muse over how relatively easily they are impressed. They are just babies. Almost eighteen months, I think. I suppose everything looks impressive through the eyes of a child.
Sawyer picks up a sphere and tries to get it to stay at the top of the bridge piece. He gets frustrated after the third attempt, so I hand him a cube that’s open.
“This first. Then the ball,” I tell him.
He tries to put the ball first until his brother takes the cube and puts it up. Then Sawyer’s ball stays where he wants it. His smile splits his face when he meets my eyes.
“Good job.”
His laughter is one of those belly laughs. The kind that kids have, and you can feel it throughout your body. As if their laughter is contagious, and you’re tempted to laugh with them. Brodrie gives in and laughs with his twin.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
There are times I remember what my previous therapist warned Ellory about after I shared that they were having kids.
He expressed his concern that because I was sexually abused as a child, I might become an abuser as well, and that I shouldn’t be allowed alone with their babies.
At least not until those babies can speak for themselves.
Remembering those words has my hands itching.
“That wasn’t abuse. I loved you!” Ryan’s voice demands.
I rub my hands together, trying to get the itchy feeling to go away. Needless to say, Ellory was furious. Not only was that therapist fired, but I think there’s a legal suit against him.
I wonder if he’s right, though. Not because I have any gross thoughts about my brothers—they might as well be my brothers—but I wonder if that’s just a thing. Is it true?
The tower comes tumbling down, and Sawyer makes a frustrated sound. He tosses one of the blocks, and it hits my thigh. When I turn my head to look at him, his eyes are wide.
“No throwing our toys, okay?” I tell him.
His lip trembles. Brodrie pats his leg and hums, just like I’ve heard both Avory and Ellory do when the babies are upset.
“I’m not hurt. But you only throw things that are meant to be thrown.
” I’m not sure they understand. I’m told by many that they don’t, but the way they’re looking at me suggests that maybe they do.
There are definitely words they do understand, but full sentences of explanation? I’m at fifty-fifty odds that they do.
“Want to try again?” I roll back to my side and offer him a block.
Sawyer takes it and sets it on the floor. Brodrie sets a rectangle horizontally. I set the bridge piece horizontally, too. This tower reaches three rounds apiece before it topples over. When it falls this time, Sawyer isn’t upset about it.
Avory pokes his head into the boys’ room. “You guys ready for lunch?”
“Yep,” I answer, even though I’m not hungry. I get to my feet and offer both kids my hands. In unison, their hands land in mine, and I pull them to their feet. They giggle as their feet come off the ground and then land softly upright.
Avory’s smiling as the boys run toward him. Run might not be the right word. Toddle. Wobble. Barely not fall. Only moving slightly faster than when they were crawling.
Avory scoops both boys up and waits for me to join them before heading down the hall and downstairs. Ellory is setting the table. He takes Brodrie from Avory, and together, they buckle the kids into their chairs.
I watch as they kiss each other. Share a brief embrace. Then they’re moving around the dining room to finish getting the meal ready.
By that, I mean they unload it from the tray that was delivered. When I first moved in, there was talk about teaching me how to do basic living chores. Not because they wanted me to work around the house, but because those are tasks all people should know how to do.
I’ve spent time with various uncles and brothers, cousins, and even the staff to learn things over the years.
Avory and Ellory have staff who tend to the upkeep of our home.
They have staff bring all our meals. There’s even a nanny to help with the babies throughout the day.
Right now, the nanny is sorting out the twins’ clothes, getting rid of everything that no longer fits.
There are households different from this one. Imry and Haze, for instance. They don’t have a nanny. They take care of Amzi on their own around the clock. Avory said that Imry was grumpy for the first several months that Amzi was home. He didn’t get enough sleep.
Uncle Noaz and Briar have help to keep up with their household chores, but they take care of their kids on their own, too.
Ellory says there’s no one way to take care of kids or even to live. It matters more how you treat other people, including those who you pay to clean your house.
I’ve tried cooking a few times. Apparently, it’s not something that you can just do. It takes practice, and I’m not all that good at it.
“You have plans for the afternoon?” Avory asks me.
I shake my head. “I think I’ll go to the lake later.”
“Make sure you’re putting sunscreen on,” he says.
“I will,” I agree.
“And drink,” Ellory says as he pushes a bowl toward Brodrie. “It’s hot out.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Ellory and Avory watch the boys eat while they do. When the twins are fully invested in their food, their attention turns to each other. The twins are between them, but you’d not know that when they look at each other.
Their love is strong. Visible. In the way they smile at each other. In their eyes. The tone in which they talk to each other. There are certain smiles that they reserve only for each other.
My heart hurts. I look at my plate as I slowly munch on the meat pie. My hands itch. These thoughts are sinful. That’s what Ryan would say. I need to be cleansed of them.
“You had a love bigger than that. If you’d followed me into death like you should have, you’d still be loved like that,” Ryan’s voice says.
I clench my jaw, trying to drown out his voice. My therapist says I still hear him because Ryan was the only voice of guidance and authority I’ve had for the majority of my life. He taught me everything, even when those lessons were wrong.
He conditioned me to be his puppet. I was the perfect little boy of his own design.
Maybe they’re right. But I hear Ryan as if he’s standing next to me.
I can see him sometimes. I’ve told my therapists this over the years, and their answers don’t change.
Ryan was the only adult in my life who had any impression on me.
He made sure of that. I was trained to only work for his approval, and he’d trained me to know what his approval was.
Of course, I still see and hear him.
My eyes flicker to where I thought he’d been standing, but the space is empty. His voice came from my right. He’s not there anymore. Was he there at all?
“Kos’ second birthday is tomorrow,” Avory says. “Do you want to go shopping for a gift later?”
I turn my attention to him. “Tomorrow?”
He rolls his eyes, smiling. “You know Uncle Kairo. We’re supposed to read his mind and know when he plans to celebrate Kos’ birthday.”
“Just like last year,” Ellory says.
Uncle Kairo is a bit of a dick, but not to me. I observe it often, but he’s always been kind to me. Or indifferent, at the very least.
“Okay,” I answer. “What do I get him?”
“I’d tell you he’s two, and he’s not going to care, but let’s do something somewhat generic because he’s a spoiled baby and has everything under the sun,” Ellory says.
Avory gives him an amused look as he hands Sawyer a piece of bread.
“Yes, yes. I’m spoiled too. It’s different.”
Avory snorts. “Of course it is, sweetheart.”
Ryan never called me sweetheart. Do I only wish someone would because it’s a sign of affection between two people deeply in love?
My hands itch, and I drop them into my lap as I chew. Fisting them together until my nails dig into my palms.
“Excuse me,” I say and push away from the table. I can feel everyone watching me walk out of the dining room. Even the twins.
I take the stairs two at a time and rush into my bathroom. The light over the sink is dim as I turn the water on and reach for the nail brush. That little soft-bristled brush that I use to get blood out from under my nails.
It has a second purpose, though. Two squirts of soap, and I begin scrubbing my hands under the water as it heats up.
I need to get the dirty feeling away. I can’t reach the itchy, gross feelings that are carved into my bones by Ryan.
I don’t know how he reached there, leaving remnants of himself in places I can’t get to, but they’re there.
This helps only a little.
“That’s not the cleansing you need, boy,” Ryan’s voice says.
I squeeze my eyes closed, ignoring him. Praying that he’ll go away and stop talking to me as I scrub my hands clean. The water is hot. The soft bristles irritate. The soap stings. My breathing feels labored.
I jump when a hand rests on my arm and inhale sharply.
Ellory’s there with concern. He turns the water off and gently takes the brush from my hands. They’re getting bloody. I see hints of blood in the creases of my skin.
He wraps my hands in a cloth and puts them on my chest before taking me in his arms. Ellory sighs. “Honey, what do you need? Tell me. Anything at all.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I want him to go away,” I whisper, not for the first time. I try to blink through my tears. I hate crying. I hate that weakness.
Ellory holds me tightly, rubbing my back.
“He will never love you like I do.”
“How do I make him go away?”
Ellory shakes his head. He doesn’t know. No one knows. Not a single person has had a suggestion on how to successfully purge my mind of Ryan Johnston, so he’s still here. Haunting my days, giving me nightmares.
“We’ll find a new therapist,” Ellory says. “There has to be a good one out there somewhere.”
I nod because what else am I supposed to do? It’s not that I hate my therapy sessions. I think I’ve grown out of them. I’ve gotten everything I’m going to get from them. Not a single one of them has made Ryan go away. No one has moved me beyond this plateau.
No matter how many times I talk about my past, I’ve healed to the point I’m going to. The only hindrance I have in healing more is Ryan’s ghost living on in my head.
“I promise we’ll find an answer for you, Malin. We won’t stop until we find someone to make his memory go away.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I take a deep breath. I’m tired of telling my story to new people. But what if this next one is the one who has the answers? I can try once more.
It’s the same thing I’ve told myself countless times before. Just one more therapist. I’ll tell my story just one more time. This one will be different. They’ll make Ryan go away for good.