Page 79 of Mine

He’s here.

The fact that he’s here has to mean something, doesn’t it?

I set my bag down, footsteps heavy as I go for the door. I slide it open, and John doesn’t even turn around, doesn’t look back at the sound.

“I texted you over a month ago, John. I don’t even deserve a reply?”

He doesn’t answer, just swishes his bourbon around in the glass, takes a drink, and sets it on the table. And that’s when I see it—the second glass.

He knew I would come. I don’t know yet if that’s a good thing or a bad one. If he wanted to talk to me here to let me know he can’t forgive me, that he wants me to walk away from Jay, or if John misses me too. The thing is, I know him. He does miss me. He does love me. There’s not a part of me that believes this isn’t hard on him too, but that doesn’t mean he can accept it.

With a sigh, I walk over and sit across from him, the small wicker table between us.

“Do you remember being out here for my sixteenth birthday?” he asks, voice low and sad.

“Yeah, I remember.” I take the bottle and pour some in my glass.

“I told you nothing would ever come between us. We were getting older, and people talk about how friendships fade around that age—kids change and meet new people. I think you were worried because Cal and I were getting more serious, like me loving her would change my friendship with you, and I wanted to make sure you never, ever believed that. We were brothers for life, I told you that day, do you remember?”

Tears prick my eyes. “I do. And I still feel the same way about you as I did back then. You taught me what it is to have a family. You showed me what it’s like to have another person who is always in my corner. Who will do anything for me. I know you feel like I betrayed you. And I did. I hate that, but you know me, John. Would I ever risk you if it wasn’t for something that’s real? Even in the beginning, I had to have known JT was different for me, or I never would have continued once I found out who he was. I’m in love with him, and I would never, ever hurt him.”

Finally, for the first time since the day we told John and Callie about us, he looks me in the eyes. They’re watery with unshed tears too. “But you do hurt him, don’t you?”

“I love you, brother, but that’s not your business. What we do in the bedroom—”

“He’s my son!”

“And he’s a grown man. One who is so fucking strong, just like his father. I know you look at him sometimes and don’t think you’re anything alike, but you are. You fought so hard for JT…for Callie…all while still becoming a dentist, and all because you love them and you’re too determined to back down. You’ve always known what you want, and you go for it. JT is the exact same way. He knows who he is and what he wants, and he sticks to his guns, no matter how difficult it is. He got that from you, and just because the things he wants are different from yours, it doesn’t make them less valid; it doesn’t mean they take less work, less grit, less stubborn pride. He’s his own person in every way he can be, but he’s also your son in so many ways that you don’t see.”

He looks away, swiping at the tears on his face.

“I love you, John…so fucking much…and I’m in love with your son. I want to spend my life with him. I want to wake up with him every day. He makes me feel… I don’t even know how to put it into words. Like I can have more than I ever thought possible. Like I’m worthy of it. He makes me laugh and want to soak up more of the lightness in the world that I’ve spent too long trying to pretend I don’t need.”

Tears begin to streak down my face too, chasing each other. John’s chin wobbles, his face with rivers of his own.

“I don’t know how to do this, Marsh. I don’t know how to get past it. He’s twenty-two. How can he really know this is what he wants?”

“How many people said that to you when Callie was pregnant at seventeen? And the both of you ignored them because you knew yourself, and you were right. Trust that JT knows himself too.” For just a moment, I consider telling him about Jay wanting to be a chef, but I don’t. That’s not my story to tell, and really, it shouldn’t be what’s important here.

John takes another drink. “Do you remember when my dad took us hunting?”

The memory flashes in my head. I’m surprised he’s mentioning it right now and not sure how it relates. “Yes.”

“You thought you wanted to go, but you couldn’t shoot when you had the chance.”

“No…I couldn’t.” I’ve never liked seeing someone or something suffer, and I certainly don’t want to kill it myself. I don’t begrudge people who do hunt. There’s nothing wrong with it, I just don’t have it in me. “Your dad took the shot for me.” But he never made me feel bad about not being able to do it.

“And you cried all night.”

“I thought you would make fun of me for it, but you didn’t. You hugged me and told me there’s nothing wrong with how I felt…and you didn’t hunt with your dad anymore.”

“Because I wanted to be more like you. I think you believe it’s the other way around, but I’ve always wanted to be like you, always respected you more than anyone else. I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

“I wouldn’t have,” I admit, lost for other words as he speaks to me. John wanted to be like me? He thought I would judge him for something I never would?

“I remember when you didn’t have much food at your house, but you gave your lunch to someone else who was hungry.”

“And you tried to give me yours.”

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