Page 41 of The Meaning Of You

Shit.

I spun on my heels, almost tripping over Shelby in the process. She squawked and hightailed it back to the dining room while I legged it down the hall to my study. Davis and I had never shared an office... ever. The very thought appalled me, especially considering the unspeakable mess on his desk most days. He’d always preferred paper notes to digital, but filing cabinets were invented for a reason, whiteboards needed cleaning more than once a year, and I was firmly convinced the reason his plots were so convoluted was because he couldn’t find half the outline until it was too late and then had to weave it in after the fact. One year, I’d discovered one of his plot twists lost down the side of our sofa, and when I’d shown it to him, he’d whooped with delight and run for his office. I didn’t see him for days after.

Davis’s office sat at the front of the townhouse with a cheerful view to Rangitoto Island whilst mine was secluded in the smallest bedroom at the rear—the darker room much easier on my eyes with those endless spreadsheets.

The police box was exactly where I’d left it, minus the shredded bloody clothes I’d trashed, the takeout containers, and his car keys, which I’d hung back on the hook by the garage door. The fact his car had been annihilated had seemed irrelevant at the time. Back then, we’d all thought Davis would be coming home and I wanted him to be the one to do the throwing out.

He hadn’t come home, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the keys.

They were a reminder of him every time I left the house.

And a reminder to drive safe.

His reminder to me.

I could live with that.

Everything else was still in the box, including the Mickey Mouse keyring—a present from Davis’s mother when he’d started writing his first book. I carried the box into the dining room, emptied its contents on the table, and kicked the dining chair aside.

There’d been little left of Davis’s car to determine what exactly caused the crash. The absence of any obvious mechanical problem left speed and careless driving at the top of the list. When the police checked Davis’s phone, they found it had been turned off for most of the day until just before his last phone call to me, so there was no way to trace his movements and why he’d been out that way in the first place.

I shook my head free of all the questions starting to crowd my thinking and began searching through the box. It quickly became clear there was no folder or laptop, only a Ziplock containing the remnants of what looked like Davis’s usual phone, and a lot of irrelevant bits and pieces from the pockets of his car such as mints and pens and empty drink bottles, an umbrella, a pair of track shoes, and a half-dozen books—the predictable selection of reading material. Wherever Davis went, books followed. It was an unspoken law of the universe.

Since I’d downloaded his stuff onto a new phone, I put the Ziplock aside, which left me with the Mickey Mouse keyring. I gave the attached key a narrow-eyed stare before picking it up. “What the hell were you playing at, Davis?”

I reached for my phone and my brother-in-law answered on the third ring. “Nick?” He sounded surprised, almost shocked. “What’s wrong?”

I blinked. “Um... nothing? I just have a question for you, Samuel, if you’ve got a minute?”

A worrying silence barrelled down the line. “A question.” He sounded pissed. “Youhave a question forme. Not a word since Christmas, and now you have a question for me? What the fuck, Nick? If it wasn’t for Mum keeping me in the loop that you were doing okay, I’d be losing my shit completely. A call would’ve been nice. Hell, even a reply to one of the million texts I’ve sent. You’re not the only one grieving, you know. He was my goddamn brother—” His voice broke and my heart a little with it.

Because I’d been too wrapped up in myself. I hadn’t thought... I wasn’t thinking... “Samuel, I?—”

“Jesus, Nick,” he said over me, choked and upset. “I thought I was losing you as well. You’re an ornery fucker, but you’ve kind of grown on me over the years. What is up with you? We’re family, you arsehole.”

“Ornery fucker and arsehole in one sentence, huh?” I tried for a laugh but it fell flat into the looming silence. “Okay, I guess I deserved that.”

“Fucking oath,” he muttered. “What the hell have you been doing since I saw you at Christmas?”

I pulled the dining chair closer and sat. “Not much. New Year was fucking awful, to be honest, so I kind of went to ground. I should’ve called. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you should’ve called,” Samuel snapped. “You should’ve done a lot of things. Don’t ghost me again. Don’t shut me out. We both loved Davis in different ways, and you’re the closest thing to him I have left.”

Fuck.I slid the phone onto the table and dropped my head into my hands. I’d screwed up big time. So fucking typical.

“Nick?”

“I’m here.” I lifted my head and stared at the screen. “And I’m really sorry. You and Davis might not have looked much alike, but your voice, your sense of humour, even that stupid laugh, I could hardly stand it sometimes.”

Samuel was quiet for a moment, then he rasped, “Don’t try and sweet talk me. You could’ve said something. I would’ve understood. You’refamily, Nick.” He emphasised the word with such raw emotion it threatened to send me reeling. “I get that’s a hard concept for you to trust, but Mum and I aren’t done with you just because Davis is dead.”

I flinched at the bluntness.

“You’re still family regardless, maybe even more now because he’s gone. You’ve become my brother as much as Davis, and you don’t get to slink away and lick your wounds believing that we’re all gonna wipe our hands of you just like your parents. Like we’re looking for any excuse to let you go.” He paused, letting the sting of that truth sink in because in my darkest hours, that’s exactly what I’d thought. “We’re not your parents, Nick, so don’t you dare lump us in with them. We deserve better and so do you.”

His words picked at a scab on a wound that had never healed, not completely. I scrubbed at my eyes and tried to formulate a response, any response, but nothing came. Samuel meant what he’d said, I knew that, but switching those childhood messages in my brain wasn’t easy. Davis had managed because... well, because he was Davis and I’d loved him. If I hadn’t trusted his love for me in return, I’d have fucked us up completely.

“I’ll try,” I conceded. “But I might need reminding.”

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