Page 115 of Big Bad Wolfe

His stomach cramped. It felt like a mortal sin to bring such darkness into her life.

But she was light, and light conquered darkness. In the impenetrable blackness of night, even one tiny lamp could be seen by pilots flying thousands of miles above the earth.

“Yeah. Okay.” He would do this quick and clean. Relay the facts. Tell her what she needed to know and not allow it to drag him through the slicing blades of grief and anger. Not allow it to chop his heart into bloody pieces.

Been there, done that, bore the agonizing scars.

Appetite gone, he set down his cocoa. “I— When my two brothers and I were growing up, our old man drove us hard. He not only demanded perfection from my mom, but also from us. In every way. When we brought home A’s, he ordered us to bring them up to A-pluses. When we made a sports team, he expected us to be captain and MVP. He forced us to go to school even when we were sick, because we had to have perfect attendance. ‘Virile agitur’—act like a man—was the family creed. No vulnerabilities allowed.”

He paused, and she sat silently, patiently waiting.

“When we didn’t measure up, he punished us. When we were younger, he’d ground us to our rooms for days, withhold food. Sometimes he’d smack us around. Sometimes he’d smack my mom around. Until … until I turned fifteen and was big enough to stand up to him. He gave Mom a crack across the mouth and bloodied her lip, and I … I broke his arm.”

“It was justifiable, Zane,” she said quietly.

“It stopped him.” He raked trembling fingers through his damp hair. “But does violence justify violence? I ask myself that every day on the job.”

“You know damned well sometimes it’s the only way to stop the bad guys.”

“Yeah. After that, everything he dished out was verbal. Mocking, taunting, scorn.”

She put a reassuring hand on his thigh. “And verbal abuse is as damaging as physical abuse, if not more so. Because harsh words crush your spirit, leave wounds inside that don’t heal.”

Zane leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, muscles rigid. “We lived in a nice house, but it wasn’t a home. My youngest brother Trevor and I used to take off and play in the woods. Nobody ever came looking for us there and it was a great place to escape. We’d wade in the creek and fish, and then cook our catches over an open fire. We’d eat in the fort we built and talk about the future, when we’d be out from under Stoneheart’s hammer. We were best friends.” A shard of pain breached his defenses, and he clenched his fists.

She rubbed his back, her voice as gentle as her touch. “It’s okay. I know it hurts.”

It can’t hurt if you don’t let it.

He’d survived his childhood, hell his entire life, clinging to that mantra.

He steeled himself and continued. “My oldest brother, Brent, toed our father’s party line and became an asshole just like him. Hard, driven, without mercy. He took second-in-command in the old man’s company and has two ex-wives who hate his guts and a fourteen-year-old son in drug rehab for the third time.

“At first I strove to please my father, too. Then I figured out nothing I did would ever be good enough. When he’d go off on me, I pretended not to give a damn. Pretty soon, I didn’t. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite block out the brutal rants, and the way they made me feel … worthless.”

Still rubbing his back, she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“Trevor … unlike me … he never got the hang of distancing himself. He craved the old man’s approval so badly. When I got my baseball scholarship and left for UT, Trev was a senior in high school. He was determined to get into Stoneheart’s ivy league alma mater, prove himself. He knew he had to ace his SATs to do it and he called me the night before, scared shitless. I tried to convince him it was no big deal, but man, the kid was wound way too tight. Trev was smart enough to hit the top scores, no problem. But he was so psyched-out, he bombed.”

Zane hesitated, holding back the encroaching pain.

Jillian’s compassionate gaze held his in a warm embrace. “And your father got angry.”

The sizzle of burning wicks and the smell of melting wax carried clearly in the quiet room. He looked away from her, stared at the fluttering candles. Willing himself to stay anchored in the present as he related the terrors of his past.

“Dear old Dad’s barbed tongue could flay with sadistic efficiency. Trevor and the old man had a vicious fight. Trev called me again, in tears this time. Stoneheart had told him he was a disgrace to the family name and he was going to disown him. I reassured Trev he could take the SATs over again if he wanted to. I told him to hang on, that I would drive right up, and I’d help him straighten everything out.”

“I’m sure just knowing you were on the way helped him.”

“He got real calm. Said not to bother, that he couldn’t lean on his big brother to take care of his messes anymore. He sounded so determined, so composed, I never guessed. Never even suspected—”

Zane shook his head, blinking away moisture pressing behind his eyelids. “I sped like a maniac. I knew he needed my support if he was going to confront Stoneheart again. When I finally got there, my parents’ car was gone. They’d left to attend a corporate party. Usually when Trev knew I was coming home, no matter what time it was, he’d be waiting for me in the driveway and we’d shoot some hoops. Talk shit out. This time, he wasn’t there. I went in the house, shouted for him. He didn’t answer. I thought maybe he’d gone to our old fort in the woods. I was about to head out there—”

Zane went rigid, fighting the emotional storm. “—when I finally found him. Dead.”

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to give way to the threatening agony. Keeping his feelings safely bottled up behind the dam, he stated the facts like he would in one of his case reports. “He ... was in the bathtub, fully clothed. Looked like he’d fallen asleep. Except for— Except for the blood.”

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