Page 29 of Take What You Want

“Jane, I’m so fucking sorry. He’s a loser. He always has been,” Walker says softly as he leans his elbows on his knees. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

Walker never particularly seemed toloveLiam, but I think he bought into the happiness that I always tried to project around our relationship. And if I was happy, then he was happy for me.

“I was embarrassed. Still am,” I mutter.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, he should be the one embarrassed that he fumbled you,” Scar pipes in.

I shoot her a grateful smile and set my plate on the table. My appetite is gone, and that wine Scar offered earlier is sounding better right now.

Sensing my shift in mood, Walker changes the conversation and we start chatting about our parents' newest hobby: jam making. No kidding, we’ve both received countless jars in the mail over the last few months. Unsurprisingly, a few of them busted open in transit and arrived in explosive, sticky fashion.

They’ve been empty nesters for years now, but our dad retired from teaching after the last semester. Now, they seem to have too much time on their hands.

I help them clean up from dinner and pack away all of the leftovers. Walker tries to convince me to stay for a movie, but I decline, ready to retreat to the comfort of my hotel room and privacy.

Plus, being around the two of them, as much as I love them, is hard sometimes. To see two people understand each other and care for one another like they do. It’s in the small things, like how they seem to subconsciously gravitate toward the other even as they move around the kitchen, cleaning up dishes. It’s in the small touches where Scar brushes a hand over Walker’s tattoos while they sit side by side on the couch, deep in conversation. It’s the way his eyes follow her wherever she goes, as if losing sight of her for even a moment would be utterly devastating.

It all picks at that desolate, isolating part of myself that I keep burying further and further down, hoping one day it’ll disappear. But it never does.

I think back to Nikolai’s question as I pulled away from the restaurant last night.

“Can I see you again before you fly out Sunday?”

In the moment, as his fingers cradled a lock of my hair as if he was trying to mesmerize the feeling, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to invite him back to my room and talk to him for hours, just like old times.

Maybe I even wanted more. To see if he could fill that void inside or at the very least, dull its razor-sharp edge.

But I already learned my lesson with him. And I was made a fool again by the man that came after him.

I won’t allow that to happen for a third time.

I drift over to the windows that look over the hills of LA. While they’re decorated with beautiful homes that cost more money than I can even imagine, I miss the architecture in Boston. The history, the charm, the details and rich colors. That might be just about the only thing I miss about there right now.

I feel more than see when Walker strides up next to me, looking out at the view as well.

“I miss you, Janie,” my brother says, pulling me to his side. His arm engulfs me and instantly a sense of peace washes over me. He’s my home, my other half, and I don’t think I realized until now how alone I’ve felt in Boston. Yes, I have Hallie and a group of girlfriends back there. But life has been so busy lately, that it feels like getting everyone together requires an entire month of planning and arranging schedules.

Plus, some of them are getting married and having kids and it sort of feels like I’m being left behind. What do I have outside of work?

“I miss you, too.” I burrow in closer. “I wish we could see each other more often than just a few times a year.”

“We could hang out more if you moved out here, you know?” His voice takes on that hopeful quality that it always does when he suggests I move out here. He’s been trying to get me to since we were eighteen.

I laugh softly. “Still trying to get me on that one?”

He squeezes my shoulder. “Always.”

Being twins, there could’ve been a level of competition between the two of us. Comparisons are inevitable and there can often be a divide that’s formed where one twin is dubbed a certain type and the other is dubbed another.

But thankfully our parents never fostered that kind of environment for us. We were always encouraged to try whatever we wanted to do, regardless of any expectations that might have been there for us. And if we tried the same thing, like soccer when we were much younger, they encouraged us to help each other practice and play together.

Over the years, we found our niche and ended up sticking in those lanes which I’m sure helped us never feel like we were in competition with one another. I never had to worry about Walker getting better grades than me and he never had to worry about me messing with his drum kit.

But yet, we always found common ground in other ways to maintain a close bond. Even when I went off to college and he went to LA, we never went more than a week without talking on the phone with each other.

“We’ll see what happens.” I sigh. “I’m dreading going back home tomorrow, honestly.”

---