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Summary
“You gotta answer me,” he spoke gently, like he was speaking to a young child, because in reality, Lo’ak was a young child.
Realising what his son said, watching his living boy tremble in his arms, hearing the heart-breaking sounds his son was producing was enough for his own tears to dribble down his worn out face.
“He was perfect, and talented and I’m just nothing, useless, a fucking disappointment,” Lo’ak interupted Jake screaming, wailing, allowing himself to confess the terrible thoughts he’d bee thinking since the day of the incident.
“Lo’ak,” the voice was so close.
“Lo’ak, look at me.”
“Lo’ak,” he called once again.
If the younger had been more like him, less prone to get into danger, was more careful, aware of his surroundings, maybe just maybe he would have his older brother back.