Page 68 of Point of No Return

Wordlessly, Aleks and my father flank the long sides of the coffin, and Skar stands at the back. In unison, they lift the box and begin carrying it down the aisle. A sudden silence fills the hall, and when the coffin passes, my mother and I follow closely behind, heads bowed, two silent apparitions dressed in black.

It’s still raining when the temple doors open. The rain pours over us, trails falling down the umbrella my mother and I open and share between us. The men stand in the onslaught of it, rain drenching their coats as they lead the path down toward the hearse.

When I open the back and they lower the casket into the car, the rain pours harder. Water dribbles over skin, and as Skar slams the trunk shut and taps the car, I watch as rain trails down his jaw, his neck, his hands.

He’s steel-faced, cold as he usually is, but the water cuts the angles of his face so that I catch the barest glimpse of sorrow as the car pulls away. Sorrow- for his brother. For his family maybe.

It’s gone just as quickly as it had come. But as the rain pours and everyone on the street watches the scene, I feel it too. Sorrow. For myself, for what I’m meant to do. And then there’s just shame. I’m ashamed that I could ever feel sorrow for myself at a time like this.

It doesn't change the fact that despite what's been done to my family- despite my husband's secrets- I don't want to do this.

I don't want to do anything.

I wonder if after all of this is said and done if I’ll ever feel anything again.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Skar

I’ve been staring at the ceiling sleeplessly every night for more than a week. I have two additional weeks off of work- It’s more than enough time to get things in order, rearrange plans, and set others into motion.

I’ve been busy enough with other things around Viper and Viserion that I haven’t minded not going in. I know what’s waiting for me when I go back. Not just the new and official title of CEO or the new responsibility.

I’ve had several conversations with the lawyers about acquisitions- and there’s plenty of complications when it comes to distributing everything according to Tyson’s will. He was specific. Specificity, which many lack, was not one of Tyson’s weaknesses. Pettiness, however... I have no doubt I’ll spend the rest of the month cleaning up the mess my father left behind.

I’m growing more and more irritable by the day. It’s been months since I had a decent night’s sleep. While I’d like to blame it all on my preparation for the transition into CEO, I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that beforesomeonemoved in down the hall, I slept soundly. Six hours a night. And now I’m lucky to get three.

Wind rattles the trees just outside the bedroom, and I flip over onto my back, shoving my head back into the pillow in a futile attempt to block out the sound. I finally sit-up, accepting defeat as I scrub a hand down my face.

It’s been storming since the funeral. We’ve gotten more rain in a month than Westos normally gets in a decade. The rain has slowed for a few days, but now, it seems, the wind is wreaking havoc on the house instead. Past the walls creaking like wood about to give way under the weight of years, I’m acutely aware of the sound of a door opening down the hall.

Charlotte.

The sound of her departure isn’t surprising. It’s not unlike her to wander downstairs most nights. I know from security footage that I’m not the only one who doesn’t sleep, but it’s quickly followed by the sound of the front door slamming closed.

Odd, I think. She never leaves the house.

The thought has me grabbing my pistol from my bedside table and strolling down the hall. I carry the gun hidden at my thigh as I walk, my steps silent. Moonlight is a small sliver shining through the massive window at the end of the hall.

Another slam downstairs has me picking up the pace. I glide down the steps, following the sounds to the kitchen. It’s still dark but I can just make out the sound of voices.

“I understand why you’re upset,” Charlotte’s saying. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

I press myself closer to the wall, gun poised and ready as I listen at the entryway. “Everyone keeps saying that” comes Aleks’ slurred reply, and part of me exhales in relief, but I don’t let myself relax completely. I stay hidden behind the wall, listening in. “My own brother tells me he’s sorry. He’s s-sorry… thatOURfather died.”

I hear the familiar sound of liquid sloshing, a glass being filled to its brim. Charlotte’s reply is just as cool and collected. “I think that’s enough for tonight, Aleks.”

“What?” he laughs, and I hear him stumble around. “You don’t want to join me for a drink?”

“Losing your father doesn’t give you a free-pass to be an asshole.”

“I-I’m the asshole?”

“You’re being one right now,” she points out, not backing down.

He chuckles again, laughing to himself. “He hardly says a word to you. He treats you like a nuisance and yet I’m the one getting flack?”

“I haven’t exactly been warm with him either. But he is my husband-”

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