Which is why she works less now and spends most of her time talking to our kids and having girl time with her friends—that I absolutely loathe, by the way, because that means less time for me.
Or more like she talks with one demon spawn—Eli. It’s a known fact that Creighton would rather sleep than indulge in small talk. We’ve always respected his nature and his constant need for space.
But what we’ve been afraid of all along seems to have become a reality. It’s been some time since I suspected that his need for space is actually him withdrawing into himself to plot self-annihilation.
Still, I force myself to keep calm and stroke her waist in a soothing rhythm. “Breathe, Elsa, and while you’re at it, purge those cancerous thoughts from your head.”
“But—”
“Now.”
She goes still at my harsh command, then she glares at me. Good. Glaring means she’s distracted and won’t allow that poison to consume her. Little by little, her pulse returns to normal and she releases a long breath.
“You and your orders are too much,” she mutters under her breath.
“You letting dark thoughts consume you is the actual definition of too much.” I soften my voice. “Go rest, even for a few hours, then come back.”
“I don’t want to leave him. What if something happens when I’m not here?”
“I’ll be here. So will all the kids that alternate visitation time.”
“Still…”
“Elsa. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and personally drag your tight little arse to the hotel. You know I’m fully capable of that.”
She lets out a resigned breath. Though it doesn’t really matter whether we do it the nice way or the rough way. My wife knows full well that I would act on my every promise.
“I’ll take you back, Mum.” Eli appears from around the corner like a shadow, probably having eavesdropped on the whole conversation.
He has that loathsome habit that I tried to get him to drop when he was a kid, then soon gave up when he escalated. Eli understood early on that information is power, so he made it his mission to get his hands on any valuable tidbits.
That includes his own parents.
He wraps his hand around Elsa’s shoulder and gives me one of his fake smiles.
I don’t release her.
He doesn’t release her.
Elsa sighs. “You guys know that I can actually go back on my own, right?”
“Nonsense,” I say.
“No way,” Eli says at the same time. “I’m sure Dad will keep an eye on Creigh just fine as I’ll make sure you’re all comfy, Mum.”
“Aw, baby. What would I do without you?” She smiles at him, and although she still looks exhausted, some of that light returns.
“Live a boring life with Dad, probably. Sounds tedious even thinking about it.”
“I will kill you,” I mouth so his mother doesn’t see.
“Mum.” He puts on his acting cap, which he most definitely learned from that fucker Ronan.
Note to self: make him pay next time I see him and promptly think of a way to escape my wife’s wrath.
“What is it, hon?”
“Dad just threatened to kill me.”
“Aiden!” She furrows her brow and Eli grins in the background like a little devil. When Elsa focuses on him again, he switches back to the hurt expression. “You know how your father likes to threaten for sport. He doesn’t mean it.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Mum. Now, let’s go. I’ll escort you safely to the hotel. No one can protect you better than I can.”
“Like the way you protected your younger brother?”
Elsa pales and Eli freezes. His face gradually loses all humor and his posture stiffens.
“Aiden,” my wife whispers. “How can you say that?”
“Isn’t it the truth?” I don’t break eye contact with my son, the one who resembles me so much that it feels as if I’m staring at a younger version of myself. “You had one mission. To keep an eye on your brother and not let him spiral down any destructive paths and to inform me or your grandfather if anything were to go awry, but you’ve failed that with flying colors.”
“I had it under control.” His voice hardens, all attempts to rile me up gone now that he’s the one under attack.
I point at Creighton through the window. “Does that look under control to you? He’s fucking dying.”
“He is not dead.” Eli’s jaw clenches. “I left for a minute, to fix another situation, and when I came back—”
“All I hear are excuses.” I tower over him. “Admit that the situation got out of your control.”
His lips purse.
“Say it, Eli. Say that I’m right and Creighton should’ve stayed in London, where I could’ve monitored him better.”
“And you think that wouldn’t have cost him his life, Dad?”
“Stop this, please.” Elsa places a palm on each of our chests. “This isn’t the time to throw blame. We’re a family and we’re supposed to stand together at times like these.
“It was under control,” my son repeats.
I step toward him. “If you don’t admit you’re wrong, you’ll never win, punk.”
He glares at me and I stare back, not backing down.
Eli and I share the richest yet most complicated relationship any father and son could have. Ever since he realized what a challenge is and that I’m the best opponent he can have, he’s been actively trying to get on my nerves.
I gave him leeway when he was young since I understood him the best. If there was anyone who knew what it meant to try everything under the sun just to stop being so fucking bored with life, it was me.
Since I didn’t want to recreate the strained relationship I once had with my own father, I gave him green light to do everything he wished. Even supported his methods that are socially frowned upon. Where Elsa tried to shackle his nature by teaching him about love and sunshine, I let it loose. When she wanted to take him to a therapist, I vehemently refused.
Just because we’re different, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with people like us.
It’s not our fault we were born superior. The world needed to learn how to accept us like Elsa did.
However, Eli never, and I mean never, saw any attempts I made to understand him as support. He had this weird fixation about winning against me. In everything.
He’s competitive to a fault, and goes against me in whatever he finds worthy of his time. Including gaining the affection of his mother and brother.
Which is why I went off on him just now. He needs to learn that Creigh’s life isn’t a fucking game that he can use in his plans.
“Um, hi.” A small feminine voice breaks the tension.
Elsa smiles, completely ignoring us, and goes to hug the newcomer. After they break apart, she strokes her hair like a loving mother.
My son watches the entire exchange with a stiffer posture, his eyes darkening until they’re almost black.
“Ava, honey. What are you doing here?” Elsa continues patting her hair and clothes, not leaving a single imaginary wrinkle alone.
My wife always wanted a little girl, and since she didn’t get one, Ava kind of volunteered to act as her surrogate daughter.
Sometimes, Eli used to grumble, like a sorry sod, that Elsa loved her more than she loved him and Creigh.
A fact that my youngest smiled at and teased his brother about.
As much as Eli can be difficult, he’s still the best brother Creighton could’ve had. Which is why I’m pissed off that he failed to protect him.
Ava keeps her full attention on my wife. “Uncle Aiden texted me.”
“You did?” Elsa asks me. “You should’ve let her rest and go to school. She was here last night.”
“I thought you’d be more at ease if Ava took you back and stayed with you. She already agreed. Isn’t that right, Ava?”
“Yeah, sure!” She interlinks her arm with Elsa’s and smiles. “Anything to help and spend more time with you, Auntie.”
“I’ll be the one to take Mum back. You. Leave.” Eli steps toward them, having completely forgotten about the topic of discussion from earlier.
“Eli! Don’t talk to Ava that way,” Elsa scolds.
“Never mind him. Uncle Aiden invited me over, so his opinion doesn’t matter.” Ava’s smile falters before she forces it back in place. “Let’s go.”
My wife gives me a warm look and doesn’t protest as Ava leads her down the hall. Eli follows after.
Silently.
If I had known Ava’s presence would have Elsa finally listening and actually relaxing, I would’ve had her come a long time ago.
I slide a hand in my pocket as I stare at my son’s unmoving form. The doctor said it’s entirely up to him now, and while I threatened to kill all the doctors and sue the hospital if something happens to him, I know the current situation is all on Creigh.
There’s a hurdle that’s stopping him from opening his eyes.
What, I don’t know. But I’m sure it has to do with what the kids have been whispering about in the corner and refusing to tell us.
Needless to say, I know this isn’t some robbery like the shit actors, except for Landon, tried to convince us of. They got their stories straight, but it was all too perfect and had Lan’s scheming stench all over it.
I’m curious to know what drove them to go to such lengths.
The only one who can answer my question is none other than my nephew, Landon. The others are easier nuts to crack and would bring me faster results under duress, but he’s the mastermind behind this and, therefore, he’s hiding the true reason.
One problem, though. He’s been methodically avoiding being cornered by me.
An issue that I’m currently finding a way around. Just like I found a way to have Elsa actually rest instead of straining herself.
My gaze flits to Creighton and helplessness bangs against my rib cage. The fact that I can’t do anything to get him out of this state, short of inventing a time machine, wraps around my neck like a noose.
Eli is my biological son, my flesh and blood, and the only son I thought I could father, but it’s Creighton who’s has been the son I didn’t know I needed.
He’s the one who randomly texts me a new fact he’s learned or makes sure I’m included whenever that punk Eli tries to antagonize me for sport.
He plays the mediator between us, the link that keeps our father-son relationship functioning. Without him, we’d probably fall apart.
Not once have I considered him any less just because we don’t share DNA. Creighton is proof that family doesn’t depend on blood, and I considered him a miracle, just like Elsa did.
“Wake up, son,” I whisper, my voice gaining a haunting quality in the silence.
I know he can’t hear me, but I’m ready to try any method, including satanic rituals, if it means we can get him back.
Which could start with pestering the doctor. So I do just that, barge into the chief doctor’s office while he’s in a meeting.
He and his associates gape at me as if I’m the devil fresh out of hell.
“Mr. King…is there anything I can do for you?”
“Besides actually being competent and bringing my son back to consciousness?”
Dr. Strauss, a bald old man with bulging brown eyes and a pointy nose, appears flustered. “As I told you, we’ve done everything we could.”