Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Rose of Venus
When Atlas charges towards Roscoe, Malcolm and I bolt towards the iron door, swinging it open to find a winded Roscoe slammed into the wall.
Rex has recovered from the recoil and plants his fist into Leon’s throat.
If it were any other circumstance, witnessing his signature move would have been nostalgic, but I can only feel panic as Leon grips his throat, gasping for air as he drops to his knees.
Like a charged-up toy, Zeke pounces towards Rex, rapidly laying punches into his torso.
I can barely form words through my gasp at the speed of the scene unfolding.
“Stop!” I cry as I run towards them, while Malcolm pulls Atlas off Roscoe.
“Everlee!” Atlas pushes me behind him, automatically protecting me without even questioning why I am here, but his brows narrow at Malcolm. He says with an air of disbelief, “Is that… Is that Malcolm Clade?”
I nod, but I am unsure how he recognises him.
“CLADE?!” Leon croaks, his eyes bulging at the name.
Zeke gasps, slapping his palms to his face. “This whole time, you were Malcolm Clade’s daughter?!”
“Well, yeah, but … I’m not just Malcolm’s daughter. Rex and Roscoe Clade are my fathers too.”
I meekly point towards the masked men, who pull off their balaclavas to reveal themselves.
Roscoe grins wildly at the guys, savouring their shock.
Rex stands stoically before them, a small split on his brow releasing a single drop of blood striping down his cheek.
The guys’ faces are painted with horror, and I finally connect the dots.
It was my fathers who sparked the Mutiny War and would take turns caring for me while the others worked away, becoming integral to the strategy and training.
I guess the guys have come across them, although I wasn’t aware they were so renowned.
Leon cowers before my fathers, bowing his head to Rex. “Sir! I am so, so sorry!”
Rex dabs the cut, pulls his finger away to spot the blood on his fingertip, and unleashes a smirk. “It’s me who should be sorry. I underestimated your loyalty to my daughter.” And he offers to shake Leon’s hand.
“We could use guys like you for the cause,” Roscoe says with a chuckle, offering a handshake to Atlas.
The guys stand before them, giggling like bashful children. I give an incredulous laugh as they soften like dough, at my fathers.
Malcolm is the only one not enjoying this, evident in the stressed strain of his words. “Yes. Welcome to the Cornerstone. Now, everybody has been … introduced. Shall we begin the celebrations?”
My heart leaps at the word “Cornerstone.” My fathers have always referred to their efforts as building the cornerstone, the foundation of the future, so it’s heartwarming to hear that this is the chosen name of the resistance.
“What celebrations?” I ask, wiping my thumb along the line of blood on Rex’s face.
Rex taps his nose. “A small family gathering. But come on, you all need to get cleaned up.”
Malcolm and Rex give me a hug before splitting off, and Roscoe leads us through the maze of trailers.
The guys follow close behind, like a little line of ducks, their eyes wide and jaws slack as they comprehend their new reality.
When we arrive at the trailer where I woke, Roscoe mentions finding the guys their own trailer.
I grab his arm, leaning in conspiratorially. “But … can we stay together?”
He barks a laugh, pointing back to the guys. “You want these three grubby vagabonds in your pretty little trailer?”
The guys flinch at the mild insult, and I laugh. “Yeah. They’re like my brothers.”
He gives a satisfied, closed-eye nod, accepting our closeness with a single sentence. He leans in, pressing a kiss against my forehead. “Now that’s something I can get on board with, baby girl. Family’s family, and that’s that.”
The luxury of a warm shower is something I can get used to, feeling revitalised after a weirdly long day.
I resign myself to reorganising my room after unknowingly ransacking it, but there’s a sense of pride that this is my space.
My new home. It feels lavish to finally moisturise my tender sun-kissed face with a cool coconut cream, soothing my cheeks.
The clothes were no doubt selected by Malcolm, as he is my only father with any sense of style, and while my baggy jeans and T-shirts have done their job of concealing me, I have missed having my own clothes.
I pull on a pair of charcoal skinny jeans with ribbed thighs and slip on a fresh khaki scoop-neck top.
They’re all a little loose, but I suppose these past months have been more physically draining than I’m used to, and the scrawniness won’t keep for long, since I’ve rediscovered my appetite.
Even thinking about food sets my stomach rumbling, urging me to get ready.
I step out of my room, scrunching my damp curls with a towel.
I startle to find Malcolm in my hallway.
“We’ve been saving this trailer for you.
” He smiles, raising his hands in apology.
“Sorry, I was dropping some new clothes off for your friends.” His eyes shrink behind his glasses, and he tilts his head with a sigh.
“You look so grown up. I was still expecting our rambunctious little princess to skip through the door.”
“It’s still me. I just grew my hair out,” I say, but as he runs his fingers along my auburn curls, his loving gaze grows sombre.
“No. No, you’ve changed… It’s changed you.
” He gulps, and his jaw tightens as he meets my eyes.
“It sounded so simple to say, ‘just a couple of years.’ But time has passed so slowly in your absence. I can’t even imagine how tough it’s been for you.
I so desperately wanted to help you, to scoop you up and bring you home. We all did.”
I almost want to ask, “Why didn’t you?” There’s a swirl of anger and guilt at how I had convinced them to let me leave—negotiated, argued, and pleaded to help the cause.
Yet while I was away, I cursed them for their absence.
It was my choice to leave. I wanted to help, and it must have been torturous to allow me independence while wanting to keep me safe, to keep me hidden.
They allowed me to walk into enemy territory so they could work on the bigger picture, so I could one day have the freedom we were all fighting for.
In the end, the guilt is stronger than my anger towards them.
I urge my face to stay still, wanting to be brave before my father. “Yeah, it’s been tough… I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer.”
He shakes his head. “Little sparrow, are you kidding me? Knowing the right thing to do takes good people. Doing the right thing takes powerful people. We were so scared for you, but we couldn’t have been prouder after the incident at the bar…
You stood up against a villain and rangers, protecting yourself and your …
good friend.” His voice drops to a joking tone.
“But taunting an angry six-foot man to punch you… That’s a Roscoe move.
I thought I taught you better than that? ”
We both laugh as I bashfully bow my head. I nod in agreement, shrugging my shoulders. “I’ll try to be more Malcolm in the future.”
His eyes close, softening, the words enveloping him like a warm hug. He steps towards the front door. “I’m looking forward to catching up. I’ll leave you to get ready. Head towards the church when you’re done.”
“Church?!”
I strain to see as he points through the window on the other side of the trailer, where the building has completely escaped me.
A classic stone church, with intact stained-glass windows and unbroken slate tiles, sits in the middle of all the trailers.
Little stone gargoyles, unscathed by decay, perch atop its roof, unlike many fallen churches I have seen outside of the cities.
A shameful number of religious buildings and libraries were destroyed when Beckett came into power, blaming international enemies. But we knew better.
Malcolm leaves, and I search for snacks, but find nothing in the pearly-white kitchen units.
It’s so clean and new. If anything, it makes me nervous as I walk around with my sullying touch.
The guys are already occupying the teal couches, and as always, they are ready and done within ten minutes.
They look shiny and new without dirt-dusted cheeks, wearing new T-shirts free from oil stains or holes.
Leon says with a hint of sarcasm, “That was a nice little surprise, wasn’t it?”
“My dads?” I grin. “I know. I can’t even believe I’m home!”
“Well, yeah. That was nice for you, I’m sure. But how about the bit where your fathers are the leaders of the revolution? The Clade brothers!”
I smirk, tapping my finger to my chin. “Ohhh… Did I forget to tell you that bit?”
“Yeah! Yeah, you did!”
“You know they’re not actually brothers. There’s nothing biological about our family.”
Leon shakes his head, smiling at the concept, “I just can’t believe it. I mean, shit, Lee… They’re living legends. I can’t believe they would go home to you and play dad.” He looks between the guys. “Do you remember the speech Rex gave at—where was it—Washington?”
Zeke says, “Yeah. I get chills thinking about it.”
“I was ready for the American flag to drop behind him,” Atlas says.
“Oh, and that time Roscoe drove a truck through those gates!”
“But that shot Malcolm made! What was it? One-and-a-half thousand meters?”
They continue to fanboy over my fathers, sharing all the memories they have of them and the stories they’ve heard.
I sit, absorbing the emerging details, unable to look away as they tell stories with such vigour and animation.
They have led this life like heroes to more than just me, and I underestimated my fathers’ popularity.
I knew they were a little more than ordinary, but to me, they will always be my fathers first.