As though he might extract clarity out of his own skull, Landon rested on the border of his bed, elbows on his knees, his hands wound in his hair. Still, understanding eluded me. Rather, the storm inside him worsened.
Every word, every argument, every moment he didn't treat Avery seriously weighed on his chest like a cement block. He took a shaky breath and shut his eyes.
The last time they spoke, he could not get her expression—afraid, pleading for him to listen—off his mind. But he did not. He shut her down, pushed her aside, and brushed off what she attempted to say.
He chewed tough. God... what if he had been mistaken?
Guilt crept up his spine. Perhaps he hadn't treated her properly. Perhaps his dread took precedence above all else. Maybe things wouldn't have blown out the way they did if he had just listened—once.
Trying to settle the severe pulse behind his eyes, he rubbed his forehead.
Then a concept came to mind. A concept he had been trying to get away from. A idea that felt like poison seeping into him.
His hands stopped.
His heart slowed then quickened.
Avery must have—if he was truly impotent, if the doctor wasn't lying.
He left unfinished the idea. He didn't need to.
It still slammed him in the stomach though.
Thick and heavy, his breath stalled in his throat.
She certainly slept with somebody different.
Cold and cruel, the words echoed within him.
Anger, distrust, and something much more excruciating—hurt—mixed inside him twist violently. His chest started to hurt intensely and brutally, leaving him gasping. He didn't want to accept it. Not going to picture her with another man. Didn't want to think of her dating another guy. But the logic wave was pitiless.
Should the report be true, then the pregnancy would not be his.
His jaw clenched so tightly a cheek nerve skipped.
He mumbled, the words acrid on his mouth, "Who was it?" "Who did she go to?"
He despised the way his voice sounded—trembling, tense, nearly breaking.
He was at a loss as to why it hurt this badly. He never gave her a pledge. They were not a pair. They were not dedicated. The notion of her lying to him, though, or of her relying on someone else and turning to another, scratched him like glass.
He rose up rapidly; the movement was too fast; a piercing pulse went through his arm—though he hardly noticed it. He moved around the room, gasping.
He pressed his hands on his head. The walls felt too close. The air appeared to be far too light.
"She lied," he whispered, his throat constricting. "She lied to me... and I trusted her."
He was not even conscious of when his trembling began. He only knew the rage simmering under his ribs didn't feel like rage at all. Though he refused to name it, it seemed like heartbreak.
His chest contracted severely.
He asked the deserted room, "Was I not good enough? Was I not worthy of the truth?"
There was silence that did not respond.
All it made him was enraged.
His vision clouded with heat he did not wish to call tears; he snatched the nearest item—his pillow—and launched it across the bed. It thud against the wall dully.
insufficient.
Next, he grabbed the chair and tossed it to the floor. The legs thumped heavily; the noise echoed in the quiet.
Still not quite enough.
He kicked the laundry basket, sending clothes flying across the room in a messy heap. His heart raced in his head. His breath came in tough blasts.
His throat burned, his eyes stung, and everything within seemed to be coming apart all at once.
He staggered backward till his back collided with the rim of the bed. He dropped down just a little, his breathing labored. His arm then ached and at last cleared the fog. He looked down and saw the blood soaked into his shirt's sleeve, spreading like a black blossom.
He blinked, baffled for a second, as if it belonged to another person.
He dropped a hand to it. Warm. Wet.
He couldn't be bothered.
He hardly perceived anything at all.
His thoughts were moving too quickly for the pain to match.
That was how Lucas discovered him—curled slightly forward, eyes unfocused, room a mess, blood staining his clothing.
The door flew open and smacked against the wall.
"Landon—" Lucas froze mid-step, horror flashing across his face. "What did you do?"
Landon did not lift his gaze. Still looking at the floor, he
Lucas did not lose time. He sprang toward the shelf, grabbed the first aid kit, then sank to his knees next to him.
Lucas said, voice low but urgent, "Hey." Look at me."
Landon did not.
His eyes were hollow, glassy, far-off.
Lucas gently grasped his hurt arm. "Hold still."
His brow crinkled in concentration as he steadily cleaned the wound. Landon did not flinch. Did not respond at all. His appearance suggested someone whose thoughts had gone someplace distant beyond the room.
Lucas rested back once he had wrapped the bandage firmly around the arm and began to examine his brother's face.
"Landon, talk to me."
Nothing.
Lucas touched his shoulder to bring him down. "Landon."
Slowly, as one wakes from a mist, Landon at last raised his eyes.
Their eyes were red-rimmed, weary, and fiery with something Lucas couldn't quickly identify.
Landon swallowed, his voice ragged. "She deceived me. Avery. She convinced me of something never true."
Lucas frowned fiercely. "What transpired?"
Before words came out, Landon's throat worked each strained one.
"She betrayed me," he whispered, painfully. She slept with me...then vanished as though it meant nothing. Her voice broke on the final words: "How—how is it possible when I'm impotent?" And now she's pregnant.
Sympatheticly, Lucas's face relaxed. He was seated next to the bed.
"You're hurt," he said gently. "Really hurt. I'm sorry, bro. I wish I could do something. No one should have to hear news like that alone."
With shuddering breath, Landon squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know what's true anymore. I don't know whom to believe. I don't know what she feels or what she meant or... why she didn't simply inform me."
Lucas grabbed Landon's shoulder tighter. "You will sort it out when you calm down. Right now, your head is full of feelings louder than the truth."
Landon remained silent, but his body eventually relaxed; the earlier rage dissipated into a profound, painful weariness.
Lucas went lightly on, "I'm here. Whatever unfolds next, you are not going through it alone."
Landon slowed his nod. His breaths calmed. The rage rested heavy, compounded with mourning, perplexity, and a terror he found difficult to admit openly rather than scratching at his intestines.
Lucas remained next to him. Peaceful. Regular. Not inquire further.
Just being present.
For the first time that evening, Landon permitted himself to lean into the quiet since it alone was not tearing him apart.