Still.
Knowing it would happen, and hearing that it had happened . . . the difference was excruciating. Why had a stubborn, senseless part of him clung to hope?
Kissing.
They were probably already in Brandon’s flat, searching online for a place they could call their own.
They were on their way to being their own family.
Would they be happy? Would Wade be happy?
Franny’s venomous purr hit his ears with a shiver. “Now you’re on our doorstep. At least you’ll be easy to get rid of.”
Noah laughed. “You worthless bitch.”
Franny gasped. “How dare you—”
“Oh, I’m not finished.” His voice was restrained, quiet. This was all matter of fact. “I actually feel sorry for you. Your life is a dark hole and you’ll never know the warmth of true happiness.”
She laughed, no humour behind it. Her eyes were dark on him. Cold. “And I suppose you will?”
It hurt, but he pushed through it. “Your brother.” He glanced at Mrs Ferrars. “Your son deserves all the love in the world. It’s a good thing he’s left. He won’t find that around you.”
“Is this why you came here? Oh, God. I was right. You are after him.”
He turned his back on them and headed back to Brandon’s car. Watched Mrs Ferrars and Franny through the windshield, shaking their heads. Laughing.
They climbed into Franny’s car and zipped around the corner.
A movie. After everything . . .
Limbs restless, veins ratcheting to boiling, Noah returned to his childhood home. What hate the bones of the house now bred. He dragged his fingers along the outer wall, a pitiful apology. He wasn’t sure what was possessing him. But he knew what he wanted.
He’d heard the living room window butting against its frame, forgotten, as he confronted the Ferrars’. Here he was now, pushing it out, levering himself onto the sill. Climbing into the living room.
This wasn’t something he should do.
He had to do it anyway.
He hunted the house. It was in none of the ground floor rooms; Noah took the stairs two at a time. Master bedroom, study . . . could they have sold it? Or simply disposed of it out of spite, guessing its sentimental value? He’d take it. Give it to someone who really cared.
He wouldn’t let them have this too.
He strode past the bright yellow walls of his old room—
And backtracked.
The painting. Their own backyard, a knight—Noah—in the distance carrying his brother. The one Zach had begged him for at the wedding.
Instinctively, he stole toward it, only half aware of the open wardrobe, the folded piles of clothing on one side of the bed.
Wade had been living in this room. Had he . . . chosen it? Hung it here, above his bed?
“Franny wanted to sell it.”
Noah whisked around at Wade’s deep, low voice behind him. He stood just inside the doorway, arms folded, where Noah had the night of the wedding as an orange vase flew from his hands. His dark hair, his dark shirt and confident stance, stood out against the bright wall. He didn’t seem surprised to find Noah there; his expression held something else. Noah might even call it wonder, if he dared. But no, more likely a shade of curiosity Noah hadn’t seen on him before.
Because we never knew one another long enough.
If we had . . .
He looked away; had to. The painting on the wall blurred.
Wade shifted. Noah’s skin turned to gooseflesh, a wall of warmth just behind him, at his shoulder.
“I bought it off her.” The words skimmed his neck and Noah closed his eyes. Did he know how close he was? How every shiver was torture?
Noah’s eyes pinged open, focusing sharply on the greens of the garden, the laughter on his face and his brother’s.
“You bought it?”
“It felt wrong that someone who had no connection to this house should own it.”
It belongs to you, doesn’t it?
So many questions bubbled to the surface, and Noah managed, “But you’re saving for your own shop.”
Wade shifted, shoulder bumping with Noah’s, profile sharp as he stared at the painting. “Some sacrifices keep the soul healthy.”
Noah faced him. “I thought you and Luc were at Brandon’s apartment.”
“I never finished packing.”
“I was sure I heard you in your car, on the phone.”
“Yes. It was too much, being here for Luc and—are you . . . shit, ah—”
Wade shot to the bedside table and pulled out some tissues. Noah swiped his eye. He hadn’t felt the tear until it streaked halfway down his cheek. It’d been a long time since he’d lost control like this; it took everything to keep his voice steady. “Thank you. I’m sorry to intrude . . .”
“I’m not.”
Noah raised a brow.
“I got back as Mum and Franny drove around the bend. I could see you climbing through the window as I parked. It . . . boggled my mind. Took me a good minute to get out of the car. And then I couldn’t anymore. Wait, I mean. I had to know what you were up to.”
