“A few minutes… Please,” I mutter, my voice more tired than I realized.
The nurse looks over my haphazard appearance: my wrinkled suit from the day before, the hair I’ve probably dragged my hands through a million times. On a normal day, I’m not a man to be trifled with. But now…especially now…
“Yes, Sir…”
My last few moments of silence pass by all too slowly, and I take a steadying breath before I stand and cross the room toward my brother’s side. He’s still holding Tyson’s hand, and I carefully squeeze his shoulder to wake him. His eyes pop open, and he jolts, lifting his head.
“Wha- Skar?” Slowly, he comes around, turning about the room and finally letting his eyes land on Tyson. On the glazed-over expression on his face, on the paleness of his skin.
I reach forward, shutting Tyson’s eyes before Aleks can look at him too long. “The doctors will be in soon,” I tell him gently.
I expect my brother to shake his head, to back away in disbelief, to yell and cause a scene. I expect the usual tactics when it comes to him, but instead I’m met with this complacency…
The dark and weary acceptance on his face is a surprise in itself. He’s blank. A cold-crafted shell of the boy he usually is… My chest aches as I realize our father’s death might very well be the end of whatever childish innocence my brother has left.
He stands abruptly, brushing past me with a simple “I need a coffee” over his shoulder. I don’t try to stop him as he disappears down the hall. Not this time.
I just stare at the man who raised me- the man who spent more time teaching me with the end of a cane than he ever did with kindness. Patience. The kinds of things a kid deserves. Things I didn’t get. Things I couldn’t. But I let them go a long time ago.
I pull the thin cotton sheet over Tyson’s face. The doctor appears less than a moment later. He lifts Tyson’s wrist from beneath the sheet, feeling for a pulse. “I’m incredibly sorry for your loss, Mr. Benenati.”
I wash my hands before grabbing the blazer from the chair I laid it over, shrugging into it as I look back one last time: “I am too.”
Charlotte is still sleeping in the lobby just outside the door when I step out. Her arms are crossed over her chest, brows furrowed even in sleep.
Innocent, is my first thought.
She’s let her hair down, and her dark curls fall over her shoulders, sprawling over her seat. It looks entirely uncomfortable, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at making her sleep here all night. But she was able- willing even- to help when Aleks asked her to come.
I let my finger trace the soft curve of her neck, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. Beautiful.
So fucking beautiful, I think even as her emerald eyes flutter open and shes sees me standing over her.
She blinks a few times before sitting upright, stifling a yawn behind the sleeve of her dress. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”
Though sleepily, she stands, and I lean against the wall in front of her as I watch the question pass over her face:Is he dead?
My answer must be obvious because she clears her throat, crossing her arms again. “What time is it?”
“Just after four.”
“Did you sleep?”
I shake my head. “Aleks is going to take it pretty hard.”
“Is he really gone…?” she glances toward the room where we stayed all evening before trailing off.
Her hair falls into her face, and maybe I’m just tired but I don’t stop myself from lifting a hand and brushing the lock back… From letting my thumb trace the line of her cheek.
The touch is sobering, and the way her eyes widen reminds me of that moment at the club when I’d been seconds away from punching my father. All it took was the feeling of her hands to calm me, to steady me enough to see reason and leave.
God, she was so damn good at it.
Charlotte recovers quickly, standing further upright. I drop my hand, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch her. “Want a shitty cup of coffee or anything?”
“Only if you’re not planning on poisoning it.”
Her lips lift up in a smile, eyes lighting as she pats my chest. “Don’t give me any ideas.”