18 | Nate
Nate
Ihave been away from the house for the last five hours.
After I sent off the envelopes, I decided to take some time away and go for a ‘clear my mind’ drive—which you could also call a ‘Nathan is avoiding his boyfriend’ ride.
I needed the fresh air to clear my thoughts about the situation, but I also didn’t want to be the one who had to explain everything to Mike.
I hoped his brother would step up and take the metaphorical spider out of the house for me—aka, solve the problem.
Besides, I am more useful to them with a clear mind.
Someone needs to be the voice of reason, and between the three of us, I am the one who is the least emotionally involved.
This situation shouldn’t affect me at all, in fact, yet it does.
And I don’t know how to make sense of it, because it isn’t my family who lied to me since I was born.
I shouldn’t be this angry for them, but I am.
In fact, I am furious. I want to scream.
I want to break things and set people on fire, and this is exactly why I needed to get the fuck out of the house for a good chunk of the day: to avoid doing any of the above.
Most importantly, to avoid going into ‘kill the woman, solve the problem’ mode, which I think all of us have been tempted to do so far—even Liam.
Killing her would solve all our issues at once.
We could go back to ignorance and murder.
God knows how much I miss those blissful times when our only problems were who to kill and where to eat.
I swear Mike jinxed it by saying things had been getting boring a few days ago.
Well, he got his wish. Things aren’t boring anymore, and now we’re all on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Great wish, Mike. Remind me to never let you blow out candles on your birthday ever again.
If that’s how your non-birthday wishes turn out, I do not want to see what you can do with a little extra luck from the universe.
When I finally do, there is dead silence.
Not a single sound. That’s not good. Did Mike kill her already?
Did Liam kill Mike for killing their mother?
That idiot tends to be weirdly moral sometimes.
Maybe she escaped and killed both of them instead.
Is being a murderer a genetic thing? Could it pass from generation to generation?
Because that would explain a lot. For example: I’m a murderer, my cousins are murderers, their mother was one too, and I think we have at least one uncle on the Greek side of the family who went to prison for murder.
Maybe it’s a family thing and Mary is just as dangerous as the twins.
I decide to explore. I need to figure out what’s going on.
Why does this damn house feel so silent?
I walk to the basement first. I need to check if the woman is still alive—or if she’s in there at all.
The moment I reach the door, I see Mike sleeping on the floor.
A sense of relief washes over me. That’s one of the twins, still breathing.
We need one more, preferably also alive and breathing. I scan his body for blood and injuries.
He seems fine. He looks broken, though, and I don’t know if Liam informed him about the details of the situation or if he’s simply driving himself crazy, overthinking what might be happening.
I fully intend to wake him up, but I need to prioritize.
I try turning the doorknob. To my surprise, I find it locked, but when I reach for the key where it usually sits in the lock, I notice it’s missing. Fuck.
I drop to my knees next to Mike and place a hand on his shoulder. “Wake up, buddy,” I say softly as he stirs from his slumber.
“Nate?” He asks, caught between being asleep and awake.
“Yes, pretty boy, it’s me,” I try to reassure him, and I must be doing a good job because he smiles back at me.
He’s always been a fan of that nickname.
I started calling him ‘pretty boy’ when we first met, back when all I saw was a broken boy with the look of a lost puppy in his eyes—yet he was always so beautiful.
‘Pretty boy’ just fit him. He was both. That’s since changed, but the nickname remains.
“Where is your cousin?” I ask, not sure if I should call him his brother.
“I don’t know. He took the key after he locked her in and left,” he tells me, sounding defeated.
I hate seeing him like this. It breaks my heart.
I don’t want this man to suffer, ever, because he’s the only reason I’m still on this earth, breathing and fighting through all the dark thoughts in my head.
I was deep in depression when I met him, and in a way, he saved me as much as I helped him and his brother through the hard times they were going through.
I sit next to him and open my arms. He moves closer.
I hug him as tightly as I can, stroking his hair with one hand and kissing his head softly.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he mumbles, and I know it’s time to tell him.
I can’t keep him in the dark any longer.
He deserves to know, and I have to be the one who tells him.
It’s my job as his partner to protect him, but it’s also my job to be truthful.
I need to be the person he can count on, and lately, I haven’t been fulfilling that role.
“I need you to pay attention to what I have to tell you, my sweet boy.” He nods and rests his head back against my chest as we sit on the floor.
“I would never keep something from you unless it was important. You know this, right?” I ask him first, because I did keep something from him, and I need to know he won’t be upset with me on top of every other feeling that’s about to crash over him like a hurricane.
“Yes, I know. I trust you,” he tells me, not really understanding why I’m even asking. He’s oblivious to why I need the confirmation of his trust, but he gives it to me anyway.
“During the hunt, Mary recognized Liam. That alone seemed weird, but then she told him she’s his mother. She also asked about you.” He is now facing me, sitting upright.
“What?” He asks, confused.
I continue, because I need to say all of this now before I back out like a fucking coward and flee the house again—which, I’ll admit, I am very close to doing right now.
“After everything she told him, something clicked for him. He pieced things together and stopped the hunt because we needed to know more before we killed her. If that’s what you choose to do,” I explain.
“Liam would want to spare her if she’s his mother,” he says—a statement, not a question.
“Yes, he normally would, but it’s a little more complicated than that, and I don’t think that’s the case this time,” I explain, ready to get to the point, yet drifting further away from it.
“I didn’t know he was adopted. No one talked about it when we were kids.” He thinks this is only about Liam, which is making this harder than it should be. Entirely my fault. I should have just said it already. Why is it so hard? Just say the words, dammit.
“When we returned home, I ordered a background check on her. We found out that she gave birth to twins. We ordered a DNA test, and I’m waiting for the results.
That’s why I was out this morning,” I say, instead of addressing his statement, trying to push through the conversation and explain the reality we’re facing.
He takes a minute to process the information. “Liam has another sibling,” he says finally.
“He does,” I confirm.
“We need to find them before we kill her, then. He needs to know his sibling.” A spark of hope flashes in his eyes, and I hate that I have to take it away.
My man is sitting there thinking things are going to be hopeful.
I know him well enough to know he’s happy Liam might have more family—because in his mind, he thinks he’s responsible for the deaths of the family Liam lost.
“We know who his brother is,” I begin to explain, but he cuts me off.
“We need to find him then. Bring him here. Maybe hide a few things, but they need to face her together before—”
“You’re his brother, Mike,” I interrupt, because if I keep beating around the bush, this man is going to start planning a family reunion.
“What?” he asks. The hope in his eyes vanishes in an instant, and the broken man returns.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to break it to you softly. I am so sorry,” I apologize. It’s not enough. It doesn’t take the pain away, but those are the only words I know how to say right now.
“So... we’re brothers, but we were raised by two different families until the age of ten,” he says, taking it better than I thought. He’s confirming the facts, as if trying to make sense of the information.
I prepare to confirm what he said, but before I can say anything else, he gets up and goes to his room.
He returns with a key. It takes me a solid second to realize it’s for the basement.
Of course he has a spare key. Before I have time to question it, he unlocks the door and disappears down the stairs, closing the door behind him.
I stay still, in the exact same spot on the floor, waiting for what comes next.