Page 83 of Infinite

He motions toward Carson, the gesture barely perceivable like most of Emer’s ways. It’s only then I raise my chin. “Daddy needed you. We all did. But maybe you’re not our brother, after all.” He meets me square in the face. “A real brother wouldn’t have left us like you did.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” I mutter, my rage and disappointment slicing my veins like a blade. “The hardest thing I ever had to do was walk away and leave you behind.”

“Then why did you?” Emer asks. “I get that you needed a few days, weeks, maybe even months to process what Daddy said. We would’ve given you that.Years, Hale? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I don’t know who I am,” I answer truthfully. “But I can tell you who I became, a man without a father, trying to live a life that wasn’t a complete lie. Everything I thought I was, I wasn’t. And everyone I knew to be real was furthest from the truth.”

“Except your friends, right?” Emer asks. “Mason, Sean, Trinity, and let’s not forget her brother, Landon, andtheirfolks.” He looks like he’s ready to break me in two. “And then there’s Becca. Sweet as sugar, gorgeous as the rising sun, Becca.” He shoves a finger at me, not quite touching me, yet hurting me all the same. “It was okay to stand with them. Be there for them when they needed you, wasn’t it? But God forbid you stand by those who called you their own.”

“Don’t bring my friends into this.” I was already pissed when he dragged my posse into this conversation, but when he mentioned Becca . . . that was a whole lot of rage I could’ve done without.

“Why not, Hale?” Carson drawls.

My head whips in his direction. I thought for sure he’d passed out on the lawn by now. “I would think we’d be worth as much as them. Then again, we’re the ones who were never good enough. For you or for Daddy.”

He rises from where he sits near the grass on wobbly feet. It’s only when I see how red and swollen his eyes are that I realize he’s been crying. Damn. I can barely recognize him. A beer gut has formed over abs that were once as flat and rigid as mine. The muscles on his arms are nothing more than loose skin and fat.

Carson was the brother with more notches on his bed post than seemingly possible. Young women would turn on each other for a chance to be his, if only for a few hours. Now look. He had his choice of women only to have the one he married leave him and take his kids with him.

“Daddy wasn’t supposed to love you,” Carson says, repeating Emer’s words like I hadn’t heard them. “But he did. Just like the rest of us. Just as Momma did from the start. You were our brother, Hale. Our blood. And you up and died on us. You think we lost our father that day in the hospital? And our momma soon after that? Well, we did. But I guess we should have dug another hole beside them, because we lost you, too.”

Carson stumbles across the lawn, tripping over his own feet. “You think watching you on TV, reading about you in the paper, seeing pictures on the Internet of you beside whatever woman you were fucking was enough? It wasn’t.”

Carson stops short near the bottom of the steps, his face purple and his veins popping with how loud he yells. “Goddamn you, Hale. You should have been there for us.” He chokes on a sob. “We would’ve been there for you.”

My eyes burn as if dipped into acid and I’m not alone. Emer, our leader, the reasonable one, the one who never showed a hint of his emotions, looks away before the first of his tears can show.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking with how much I mean it. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I didn’t come here to apologize. Knowing what I know about my family, I expected to fight, to yell and roll around the dirt as my brothers laid into me. It’s what I’ve expected for years and maybe what they expected, too.

Except here we are, three tough as nails men, fighting back tears like three little boys. Boys that spent years running around this property, scraping their knees, climbing trees, and overall pissing each other off.

But maybe loving each other, too. No matter how much we all tried to fight it.

The wind blows again, scattering more leaves and bringing a fresh stream of ocean air. For a moment, I’m that young man again, tasting salt from sweat on my lips, carrying planks and hammering boards into place to make the porch what it became.

Emer isn’t crying. He’s too busy sawing wood. Carson isn’t drunk, he’s flipping through the blueprint, making sure we’re following it to a tee and talking about heading into town to fetch more lumber. Daddy is reaching for the tray Momma hands him, topped with sandwiches and large glasses filled with the best sweet tea this side of the island.

I look toward the front gate, almost expecting Mrs. Stevenson to pop out of her brand-new Lexus with her basket of peaches. But Mrs. Stevenson died a long time ago. And my Momma. And my Daddy. And so should the bad memories.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Almost as fast as they arrived, Emer’s tears stop.

I motion toward the house. “Inside, if that’s all right.”

Carson looks to Emer. Emer keeps his attention on me. He’s wondering what I’m up to. I don’t know myself. All I know is I can’t leave them again. Not like this.

“We can order ribs from that barbecue place Daddy liked,” I offer. “The one with the fried corn and homemade coleslaw.”

Neither replies. “We don’t have to,” I add. “I just . . . I’m not ready to say goodbye is all.”

“Brisket,” Emer says. “Momma liked the brisket.”

“The fried pickles, too,” Carson agrees.

They don’t flat out say yes, but they don’t argue with me, either. We wait for Carson to walk up the steps. He gets to the door and plows through it. Emer follows quietly behind him.

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