For a moment, Rake thought he’d honest-to-God faint, just swoon like a heroine in a black-and-white movie. Bad enough he’d fallen off the bed; now passing out seemed imminent. He’d been gripping his phone so hard that his fingers ached, but finally he managed to whisper, “Don’t even joke about that.”
“I would never, because I agree,” Blake said, also subdued. “It’s not a thing to joke about.”
“You didn’t. Right?” Rake heard the pleading tone but was helpless to stop it. “Blake? Come on, man, you’re winding me up. You didn’t really do that. Right? Blake? You didn’t, right?”
“Rake, our mother left me with few alternatives.”
He slapped his hand over his eyes. It was, unfortunately, the hand holding the phone. “Ow! Oh God.” His mother had cut Blake off—that alone was difficult to wrap his brain around. But she had threatened Blake with the nuclear option if he didn’t obey. So Blake … deployed the nuclear option? It made no sense! It was like using a tank to go grocery shopping: total overkill. The guy was drunk. Or nuts. Or suffering from a high fever.
“And if nothing else,” Blake was blah-blah-blahing, “it will be a way to get some answers out of Shannah Banana.”
“Who? Listen, tell the truth. I won’t be mad. It’s a good joke.” Rake managed to croak a fake laugh into the phone. That sounded natural, right? Not even a little like a duck being slowly strangled. “Really good, but you didn’t really do it, right? The nuclear option? You’ve eloped with Natalie Lame instead—”
“Lane.”
“—and this is just—” What? What other explanation could there be? “—just a weird way for you to break it to me gently.” An odd, shitty way. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. You really got me on that one, bro, good one.”
“I did, Rake.” Uh-oh. That was his brother’s determined “This is serious, you incompetent moron” tone. He never used it when he was joking. The man barely joked at all. “This is not a drill. I called her last night. She’s coming.”
“You arrogant ass,” he breathed. “You’ve killed us all!”
“The line,” Blake said, because he was just so fucking awful, “is ‘You arrogant ass, you’ve killed us.’* And, in fact, Tupelev’s arrogance did doom his crew, although technically the explosion when the torpedo impacted the hull killed them, and if not that, then the water pressure, or they drowned. Whatever the official cause of death, it was, in fact, his arrogance that doomed them all.”
Rake missed phone cords. He could be halfway to unconsciousness right now if he’d started wrapping as soon as his brother mentioned the nuclear option.
“Seek help, Blake. Not just for being stupid and crazy enough to call Nonna Tarbell…” Although that was incredibly stupid. And extremely crazy. “But just in general. You’re completely nuts.”
“Could be.” Blake was almost eerily calm, which was finally a mood Rake understood. Sometimes when you’ve pulled the switch, the relief is incredible: You’ve done the worst thing. You’ll live or die, but either way, things will change. No more suspense and dread. “But watch yourself, little brother. It’s probably genetic.”
“Great. Just keep my name out of everything. I’ll figure out my own mess on this side of the world, and you and Nonna stay over there on your side, and we’ll meet up in the middle during Christmas or something and, I dunno, shake hands or hug or something, and that’ll be fine until our birthday.” Rake shivered. “Assuming you even survive.”
“Yes, there’s every chance this will get me killed, and that’s only if I’m not dying at the bottom of a canyon.”
Huh? “Blake. Seriously. Call someone. You’ve lost it, dude.”
“Don’t call me ‘dude.’ Godere Venezia.”
Rake managed a smile, which was progress. Anything was better than free-floating dread. Messing with Blake was just a plus. “Sorry, what?”
A sigh. “It’s ‘Enjoy Venice’ in Italian.”
Sometimes he wondered if Blake was only pretending to forget Rake was octolingual. “Oh, shut up. Fucking show-off.” He heard a chuckle, and then Blake was gone.
He sat up and looked for Delaney, then realized she was gone, too. And in a hurry—she’d left her laptop.
Hmmm.