38. Chapter 38
38
S oren and Rowan traded shots in the boxing ring, each hitting hard enough to make them feel like real men fighting, but not so hard as to knock the other out. Elowine was attacking one of the punching bags, tuning out everything and everyone else in the gym.
After Ilaria left, Soren felt the need to work out excess energy and convinced Elowine and Rowan to come with him to the boxing gym, the same gym that Ilaria had indisputably proved to him she could protect herself in an attack.
Rowan swung a left fist and decked Soren in the jaw, making him see stars for a minute. Soren bounced away, shaking his head to clear his vision. Rowan followed up with the right fist, but this time, Soren ducked and then socked Rowen in the ribs.
This went on for about twenty minutes until both were dripping with sweat. Soren then jumped rope for another fifteen minutes. By the end, he was good and tired, and any restless energy that lingered from this morning was gone.
Not that he was too tired to follow through on payback with Ilaria, of course. As he mopped his face with the hand towel, he recalled their playfulness from this morning and the night before. When was the last time he had laughed? With a bed partner, no less. She made him want to slow down, relax, and relish in the small things. Even elbows deep in dirty dishes—which were his least favorite chore when he was fifteen—was entertaining when Ilaria was by his side, also elbows deep, tossing witty barbs in his direction.
Ilaria was refreshingly candid and unpretentious, both vulnerable and tough-as-nails at the same time. She had fascinated him when they were teenagers, and his fascination and insatiable curiosity showed no signs of assuaging. He wanted to know more about her.
Following the pattern of domestication of the past day, Soren decided he would cook dinner for Ilaria tonight. An arugula salad, maybe, and a beef tenderloin roast with a creamy, sinus-clearing horseradish sauce.
With that plan in mind, he took a cold shower, washing off the sweat stuck to his skin. Then he drank an entire bottle of water to replace the sweat he lost and got dressed. As he walked toward Elowine and Rowan who were waiting for him at the exit, he received a text from Galen.
Galen: Caelum had a severe panic attack last night. Took him to the emergency department. They’ve kept him overnight for monitoring.
Soren frowned and read the text several times. Caelum had been afflicted with panic attacks as a teenager, shortly after their father died and they all moved in with Galen. As he grew older, they became less common, the last attack having happened more than a year ago. On top of getting years of psychotherapy to try to solve the root cause, the therapist had shown Caelum that managing his stress was the best way to prevent them.
His heart pounding, he opened the message thread with his brother.
Soren: Caelum, are you okay? What happened?
Caelum: I’m okay. In the hospital now.
Not a satisfying answer. He returned to the thread with Galen.
Soren: What happened? I thought he was getting better.
Galen: So did I. I did notice he seemed a little more stressed than usual, so I had told him to take it easy, not to work too late. I don’t know if he listened to me.
Soren: He probably didn’t. Keep me updated on any news.
Soren’s teeth clenched. With everything going on with the Carosis murders, he hadn’t noticed if Caelum seemed more stressed. And it was just like Caelum not to say anything, to hide whatever was bothering him, in an effort not to pile onto Soren’s problems. In the past, he had always had a sixth sense for Caelum’s moods and would proactively drag it out of his brother.
But over the last few hectic months, he admittedly hadn’t paid much attention to his brother’s moods. Or the moods of any of his siblings, for that matter.
“Let’s get back to the house,” he said to Rowan and Elowine, who fell into step behind him as he strode to the car. “Caelum had another panic attack. He’s in the ED.”
“Is he okay?” Elowine asked, concern lighting her face.
“I don’t know.”
Rowan weaved the car through traffic. Not that Soren could do much from Chicago, anyway. Short of flying back home, he had to sit tight and wait for news from his uncle.
So, as was typical lately, he felt powerless once again.
Soren wished he were back in the boxing ring so he could punch something. All the anxiety and excess energy he had worked out of his body came back, and he felt completely wound up.
Despite the extraordinary circumstances of the Carosis murder, he couldn’t help but blame himself for not being more aware of any extra stress that his family was taking on. Of course, hindsight was also crystal clear. Why wouldn’t they have accumulated stress from that situation? They had all known Ilaria’s parents since they were teens, and such an act of violence would obviously impact them.
But he had been so deep in his own head that he didn’t ask them—didn’t even notice—how they might have been feeling, so that he could have taken steps to help them manage it.
Never mind that they were all adults. He still felt responsible for their well-being: emotional, mental, and physical.
Rowan pulled into the garage of the safe house, and Soren stormed inside. He pulled out his phone again and called Galen, who answered immediately.
“How is he?” Soren asked in greeting.
“He's resting.” Galen sounded tired.
“When did this happen?”
“Middle of the night,” Galen said. “He woke Niema up who came to get me. It was pretty severe, more severe than he's had in a long time. We called the ambulance. The ED gave him something to help him sleep. They said he'd been severely dehydrated and probably hadn't slept or eaten for a few days.”
Soren's hand gripped the phone. “Was he working all night? What could he have been doing to keep him from sleeping or eating?”
Galen sighed. “I don't know. I haven't had a chance to ask him. When he arrived at the ED, they took him in the back immediately and started running tests.”
Soren felt like a vice was squeezing his chest. He wanted to lash out at something, someone. But it was no one's fault but his own. He had gotten distracted, and he didn't keep tabs on his family. He had gotten lax. This emergency was a wake up call.
“Soren, it's not your fault,” Galen said, reading his silence.
“I should have been checking up on him,” Soren said in a low voice. “I should have made sure he was taking care of himself.”
“He’s an adult,” Galen said firmly. “He should have been taking care of himself. He knows the consequences when he doesn’t.”
A surge of impatience welled up in Soren’s chest. His uncle didn’t understand, would never understand. “It would never have gotten this far if I’d been watching out for him like I should have been.”
“Soren, you are not, and never were, his father,” Galen said in a hard voice. “I’m sorry you were placed in that position. You were just a kid. You did the best you could, but at some point, you have to accept that his choices—his life—are his own. And that goes for Niema and Arick, too.”
Anger clogged Soren’s throat. “How could you understand?” His voice came out in a growl he didn’t recognize. “You never had kids of your own.”
There was a long beat of silence.
“You’re angry and worried right now, so I’m going to let that one go,” Galen replied stiffly. “But don’t think that I didn’t love the four of you like you were my own, and that I didn’t have the same struggles any other parent would have. You are not the only one who feels responsible for what happened to Caelum.”
Ah, fuck. Soren took a deep inhale and let the air whoosh out between his teeth. He had never shown such disrespect to Galen before.
“Why don’t you take some time to cool off?” Galen’s voice still sounded too stiff. “I’m at the hospital right now. When the doctor has some news, I’ll call you.” He disconnected without waiting for Soren’s response.
Soren sat down heavily on the sofa and put his head in his hands. Everything was unraveling. He didn’t actually mean what he said to Galen. He would never be anything but grateful to Galen for taking them in. And in a way, he had felt he had to continue taking on the burden of parenting his siblings so as not to lay that burden on Galen even further. If Galen wasn’t overwhelmed with suddenly adopting four teenagers, then he wouldn’t later regret his decision and kick them out.
He rubbed his forehead. He should call Galen back and apologize. It was a shitty thing for him to say.
The front door opened, and Ilaria walked in. “Hey,” she greeted, her eyes lighting up with pleasure. But they dimmed immediately when she saw Soren. “What’s wrong?” She immediately went to sit next to him on the sofa and put her arm around his stiff shoulders.
“Caelum had a severe panic attack.” He sounded hollow. “He’s in the emergency department.”
Her eyes widened. “What? Is he okay?” Her brows furrowed with worry.
Soren told her everything he had learned from Galen.
Ilaria let out a breath. “So there’s no real news yet.” She shook her head. “I had just asked him about his panic attacks when I saw him, and he said they were much better. What could have stressed him out so much to trigger one now?”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “I don’t know. But I should have known.” He was determined to beat himself up.
She took his hand. “He’ll be okay, Soren,” she murmured.
He pulled his hand away and rose quickly from the sofa. “You don’t know that.”
Ilaria blinked at him, surprised. “But…panic attacks aren’t life threatening, right?”
The anger was back, surging through him. Why did everyone insist on reassuring him? He walked over to the bar counter and gripped the back of the chair. “No, they’re not. But it was still serious enough that he had to be admitted to the goddamn ED.”
She stood and walked over to him, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry this happened, Soren.”
Soren’s arm jerked as if she had shocked him. His chest heaved as he ran a rough hand through his hair with impatience. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” she asked slowly.
“This.” Soren spread his arms wide. “Us.”
She watched him carefully. “What does this have to do with Caelum?”
He pinched his lips together at having to explain himself. “If I hadn’t been so…distracted, I would have checked in with him. Made sure he was eating properly and getting enough sleep.”
“Distracted,” she repeated. “Distracted by me, you mean.”
Soren stared at the floor and didn’t answer.
“Is this my fault?” she asked. “Because I kept you from staying in touch with your family? Because my situation dragged you out here to Chicago?” Her voice rose in volume.
“It’s not your fault,” he muttered. “It’s mine. I lost my focus. I forgot about my priorities.”
“But, babe,” Ilaria frowned. “Caelum is a grown man. Why is it your responsibility to make sure he was taking care of himself?”
Soren gritted his teeth at her term of endearment. He was in no mood for loving, sweet talk. “You wouldn’t understand.” Nobody understood.
“Then help me understand.” Her voice was pleading.
“You know my family’s my priority.”
“Of course I know that, just like it’s a priority for many people,” she replied. “But why are you taking total responsibility for his well-being? Do you have to be there for every sip of water or bite of food? Are you the one who needs to make sure he gets to bed at a certain time every night?” She looked at him with an incredulous expression.
Soren scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not what I meant.”
Ilaria’s brows lifted. “It kind of is. You’re taking the blame for his panic attack as if he’s not a twenty-nine-year-old adult man who has a say in what and when he eats, when and how much he sleeps. Where’s his responsibility?”
He stared at her with a mulish expression.
“Does it make you feel good in some way to blame yourself for everything bad that happens?” Ilaria kept pushing. “You keep trying to justify why you’re to blame.”
Soren’s chest squeezed. “That’s enough.”
“Why don’t you deserve to be happy, Soren?”
“Because my happiness is irrelevant,” he snapped. “Because it’s not in the cards for me. My lot in life is to take care of my family, and that’s that.” The rage was a living thing under his skin, and he tried desperately to hold it in check. “You grew up with privilege, with loving parents. So stop acting like you know me, or that you understand me, or presume to know what I want.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t completely understand the position you’re in. But I know you’re hurting. Please don’t shut me out.”
“Ilaria.” The leash on his fury finally broke. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. We both knew this was temporary to start with, that it would have to end eventually. We are not, and never will be, in a serious relationship.”
Ilaria recoiled at the venom in his voice. She watched him steadily for several beats. “You’re right. This was all just fun and games, nothing serious. Better to end it now.”
Soren’s jaw was tight. For some reason, her agreeing with him didn’t alleviate his rage. If anything, it escalated it.
“You have your life, your family, in Scotland,” she continued, her voice shaking slightly. “And I have my life here. We were never going to be compatible. I’ve come to terms with it. And if you have as well, then I’m glad for you.”
He stared at her, not trusting himself to speak.
“I hope this thing with Vincent resolves quickly so you can go home,” she added, moving toward the front door.
Soren’s stomach was roiling. Ilaria looked entirely too calm with their breakup. As if it really had been just fun and games. As if it had meant nothing to her.
He suddenly wanted to take back everything he said. He wanted to hold her, make love to her, take comfort in her. To tell her that what they had for this brief period meant something to him.
“Ilaria, wait.”
Ilaria looked at him expectantly, waiting. As if she knew what he wanted to say but she wanted him to say it.
But all the words were stuck in his throat. If he didn’t let her go now, he never would. And his responsibility to his family required that he let her go.
“I’m sorry.”
Disappointment dimmed her eyes. “Me, too,” she replied, and walked out.
A voice in Soren’s head urged him—screamed at him—to go after her. His hands fisted, resisting the urge.
And beneath the rage and fear, he felt something like a broken heart.