Accidental Shield

It’s not my fault.

I’m still going to do something about it, just like he did with her, but I’m not going to beat myself up.

And if I have anything else to say about it, neither will he.

* * *

We wake up late the next day, past eleven o’clock.

I hear the shower hissing and smile.

While he’s in the bathroom, I collect our clothes. I lay his on the bed and get dressed before walking out to the kitchen.

Since Flint made such a scrumptious dinner last night, I’d like to return the favor.

I’ve never had the opportunity—no, that’s not right.

I’ve had the opportunity to learn how to cook, I just never took it because we had a chef.

Since living here, I’ve learned a few things. So I dive into fixing sandwiches, grabbing everything from the fridge.

They’re piled high with meat and fancy cheeses, plus a selection of fresh fruit on two plates, when he comes into the kitchen.

I’m nervous. I don’t know exactly what to say. Remaining silent, I stay planted.

Flint grasps my hands, pulls me close, and kisses me like no tomorrow.

It’s nice knowing he feels the same way after I saw him naked last night in more ways than one.

My heart doesn’t stop pounding when we separate, though. A small part of me worries what he’ll say next.

“Been doing some thinking and…fuck it, babe, I can’t be a flaming hypocrite. You’re right. It’s time to start burying the past. You aren’t to blame, and neither am I.” He kisses my forehead and looks at the sandwiches. “These look great.”

I grin, mainly because of his bad acting.

They look like a dog’s dinner. But mine tasted pretty good from a test bite or two.

His face says he still doesn’t believe he wasn’t to blame, not fully, but it’s a start, just saying it out loud. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have understood that, but I do now, and I believe it.

I poke him in the ribs. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

He grins, picks up the sandwich, and takes a bite. “Starvin’. Need to keep my energy up after last night.” He winks at me. “So do you.”

I’m surprised I don’t melt into a puddle of feely-feels right on the spot.

We joke around while eating. Neither of us wants to touch the idea of him going to the King Heron offices again. Anger at Ray for putting us all in this predicament and upsetting Mother curdles the food as it hits my stomach. He can’t keep doing this.

Not to mother, not to me, or anyone else.

“That hit the spot,” Flint says, picking up his empty plate. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You’re welcome.” No longer hungry, I pick up my plate to dump the other half of my sandwich in the trash.

Flint pulls his phone out of his pocket while setting his plate in the sink.

The way his face instantly goes blank takes my breath away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I grab the phone as he drops it on the counter and turns, running for the door.

“Stay here,” he tells me, not even caring what I read off the screen.

Get out here now. Someone just dropped something off at the gate.

The text is from Davis.

My turn to run for the door.

“Stay there, Val!” Flint shouts back, already outside and darting down the driveway.

The gate hangs open and Davis is dragging something heavy through it. A limp body.

I barely get out a gasp. My heart stops as I recognize who it is.

Ray.

Frozen in my tracks, I can’t speak until Flint and Davis are walking past, working together to carry Ray by his arms and legs. “Is he…is he dead?”

“No,” Flint answers. “Get inside.”

I run ahead of them, holding the door, and then rush to the couch and shove aside the pillows so they can put my brother down.

He’s been destroyed.

His eyes are swollen shut. His entire face is battered and bruised and covered in dark spiderwebs of blood. Same with his arms and hands. His dark purple shirt is torn, stained all over with more rusty splotches.

“Oh my God.” My trembling hand goes to my mouth.

“Cash is on his way,” Flint says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll save him.”

I nod, and needing to do something, I go to the kitchen for a bowl of warm water and a washcloth.

An odd numbness fills me. I’m so mad at him, but he’s my brother, and for now a helpless man who’s been beaten within an inch of his life.

I don’t even know if I love him, but no one deserves this.

If he’s done wrong, he should be on trial in front of a jury.

Not smashed to a bloody pulp by vigilante monsters.

Flint takes the washcloth out of the warm water as I set the bowl on the table, wringing it out, but I stop him.

“I’ll do it,” I say, and start wiping Ray’s face, discovering a large gash on his forehead that’s still bleeding.