Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,21

this point, I’m too tired, physically and emotionally, to care. Hopefully they won’t, either. It’s been quiet in Mads’s room, which could either be a very good sign or a very bad sign…or maybe Peyton’s finally given up. The thought of that pains me, and I’m reminded again that I’m not the only person with a dog in this fight: lives are depending on me.

I put my hands in my pockets and lean against the wall while Killian finishes getting dressed, pulling a fitted T-shirt over his head and rolling his shoulders back. As if reading my mind, he turns to me with a frown. “I haven’t heard anything from your brother in a while,” he remarks. “Do you think…?”

I shake my head. “Like we should be that lucky. She probably just wore him out, and he’s taking a break.” I let out a long sigh. “It’s terrible. I can barely think about it without wanting to pull my hair out.”

“Again, not your fault,” Killian tells me as he pulls open my bedroom door.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” I reply. “I just want my best friend back.”

“Maybe you should try talking to her, then,” he suggests, crossing his arms. “You might be able to get her to remember.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. If Peyton couldn’t get through to her, I doubt anything I say is going to make a difference.”

“You sure about that?” Killian shrugs. “She’s known you longer than she’s known him. She’s been there with you since day one. Weren’t you the one who told me that?”

“I…” I fidget. What he’s saying makes sense, but I don’t want to bite the bullet. It’s all just too painful. Then again, what choice do I have? “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Killian replies, grinning broadly. “I’m always right.” He holds an inviting hand out to me. “Come on,” he suggests. “We can ask Peyton for advice. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

“Easier said than done,” I point out but don’t hesitate to take his hand. I’m going to get through to Mads if it kills me.

In spite of my bravado, I’m practically shitting bricks, and the walk back downstairs seems to take ages. Wiser now, Killian ducks out of the way before the hand can reach out of the painting, shooting the damn thing a look that might have made me laugh if our situation weren’t so messed up. Out the bay window, I can see mum working in the garden with Ruby, Michael observing haughtily from his living space over by the fence. The little girl seems to be adjusting well, all things considered, and it warms me a little to know that, in spite of everything she’s been through, she still seems to be bouncing back all right. If she can, maybe I can, too, I think, the corners of my mouth turning up a little. Maybe we all can.

While my other brothers seem to be busying themselves in the kitchen, fighting over leftovers, by the sounds of it, we find Peyton in the living room. He’s curled up on the couch, his elbows braced on his knees and his head resting in his hands. I’ve never seen him look quite so tired…or quite so despairing. I know exactly what that feels like. He doesn’t even look up when Killian and I settle onto the couch next to him, and I cautiously put a hand on his back. Right now, I feel more like an older sister to him than I ever have before in my life.

My touch seems to startle him, and he lifts his head. There are bags under his eyes, which are bloodshot and damp with tears. He looks utterly defeated. “I’m assuming the news isn’t good, huh?” I ask tentatively.

Peyton shakes his head, letting out a long sigh. “I keep trying,” he says, “although I don’t even fucking know why anymore. She’s like a stranger to me. And I’m…” He chokes a little, his voice breaking on the last word. “I’m like a stranger to her, now. I guess.”

I give his back a couple of pats, unsure what I can say to make this better. “She still loves you,” I tell him, although I don’t sound very convincing. Hell, I’m not even sure if I believe it.

My brother snorts, straightening up, and I let my hand fall. “She doesn’t love me anymore,” he replies, the sheer bitterness in his voice leaving me feeling taken aback. “She doesn’t even know who I am. She