Aiden’s smile grew, and he pushed to his feet.
Rafe closed the distance between them in just a few hurried steps and threw himself into the man’s open arms. They closed around him, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt truly safe and loved.
Since he’d first met Aiden at the age of eleven, the man was his father. He was the impenetrable wall that protected him from the outside world. He was the kind and gentle hand, guiding and helping him. He was the voice of reason when Rafe got some crazy idea in his head.
Drawing in a ragged breath to get a hold of his emotions, Rafe inwardly winced at the broken sob that escaped. Aiden’s arms tightened even more. It was like he was trying to press Rafe deep into his own chest to hide him from anyone who might try to hurt him.
“Let it out, Rafe. My dear, soft-hearted son. Let it out,” Aiden whispered. His hand slowly ran up and down Rafe’s back, easing out one choked sob after another as if only he knew where they were hidden within Rafe’s frame.
And he did. Rafe pressed his face into Aiden’s strong shoulder, held on to his father, and cried. He cried for the death of Julianna and all the suffering she’d experienced during the past decades. He cried for the pain suffered by himself and his brothers thanks to their mother’s illness.
He cried for Aiden. Even if he felt only a fraction of what Aiden felt for Julianna, then he truly didn’t understand how Aiden was even functioning. Philippe was still alive and well, but the thought of never seeing him again was ripping him apart.
Time passed and Rafe slowly pulled away from Aiden, wiping his face. He felt foolish but lighter. There had been no tears after Julianna’s death. He’d been sure he’d shed them all a long time ago. The mother he’d known and loved had died when she’d become a vampire. But apparently, there had been a part of him that still needed to say good-bye. To let her go.
Aiden’s gentle but firm hands steered him over to the couch and pushed him down. Rafe watched as the man who’d never been in his penthouse before confidently walked over to the bar and picked up two tumblers. Bending over, he grabbed a bag of blood from the mini fridge and turned to the wall of alcohol behind him. A little smile pushed at the corners of Rafe’s lips as he watched his father scan the labels until he finally found the one he was searching for. Aiden’s favorite. Even if Aiden never came to his home, Rafe was careful to always keep a bottle on hand.
Nimble fingers broke the seal on both the bag and the alcohol. He expertly mixed two glasses of blood and scotch, then brought them over to the sofa.
“Thank you,” Rafe said in a scratchy voice as he accepted the offered glass. “Have you seen Marcus, Bel, and Winter?”
Aiden paused in the act of sitting in the chair closest to the sofa and gave Rafe a look as if he’d lost his mind. He sat down and held his glass in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. “Yes, I’ve seen them. I’ve been staying at Marcus’s…for the past two nights.”
Rafe nearly choked on the swallow of alcohol. “What?” he gasped around the burn in his throat.
“Two nights. I fully expected to see you stroll through his door at any second, full of your usual cocky sass, but you never appeared. Marcus said you were recovering, which I apparently didn’t understand as I needed to. I thought it was one of your typical bacchanal recoveries, but that wouldn’t have stopped you from appearing at Marcus’s.”
Setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him, Rafe lowered his head and shoved a hand through his damp hair. He didn’t even know where to begin when it came to Philippe, or if he wanted to say any of it out loud just yet. Everything was a horrible mess, and he’d wronged not only Philippe with his failings but also let down his brothers.
Aiden broke the long stretch of silence with almost whispered words. “I took your mother home.”
Rafe nodded, surprised that the lump he had just gotten rid of was trying to return. “That’s what Winter said.”
“Do you remember the ring of trees in the woods behind the house?”
Almost against his will, a smile formed and Rafe nodded again as the memory came back with startling clarity. “We placed candles in old wine bottles and had a picnic there. You and Mother danced while I played. Winter pretended to be a pirate and stole the strawberry tarts Mrs. Morton had made,” Rafe said, finishing with a chuckle.