Page 46 of Lights, Camera, Love

Resting my back against the apartment balcony’s glass railing, I take a deep breath of sea air and swipe a shaky finger through the Visitor Information page for Long Bay prison.

If Jace got a message that his brother wanted to visit him, what would he think? I haven’t the faintest idea whether he’d be thrilled, disgusted or something else.He’d probably be furious that his closest living relative—I doubt his father’s still around, not that Jace would know either way—seems to have forgotten his existence. Evie’s dad has never shown any interest in her life, and she talks about him as if he’s the devil.

If Jace turned down my request for a visit, I know I’d feel a thousand times worse than I already do. But something else Evie said to me last night has latched onto my brain like a parasite, and I can’t shake it loose.

He ignored me.

Even more distressing than her words was the desolate expression on her face—it was the look of someone who’s spent their entire life wanting to receive love from someone who refuses to give it.

Is that what it’s been like for Jace? Does he see me as the older brother who knew he was in trouble and should’ve done everything he could to protect him, but put himself first? The brother who had the opportunity to be in his life but chose another family instead?

A heavy feeling of shame clamps down on my gut, and I shut down the prison website. Maybe it would be better to write him a letter first.

I head back inside the airy apartment, wanting to get this done before Austin gets back. Swapping my phone for a notepad and pen, I settle onto the sofa and cast my gaze around the spacious living room, furnished in a minimalist palette of greys and blacks. Money, money, money. Jace would be lucky if his cell had its own grubby toilet.

I can’t be here.

I snatch up the paper and pen, head into the corridor and catch the lift to the ground floor. Avoiding eye contact with joggers and dog-walkers, I trail down the sandy path leading to the north end of the beach. I stop at a grassy slope overlooking the ocean baths and find a quiet spot to sit.

Icy wind gusts whip my cheeks as I lay the flapping paper on my thigh, ready to write whatever comes out.

Dear Jace,

I’m probably the last person you’re expecting to hear from. I know it’s been a long time. It’s your half-brother, Kye.

Fuck. I shouldn’t say ‘half-brother’; it sounds like I’m intentionally pointing out that we’re not fully related. I tear the page off the notepad and start again.

Dear Jace,

I’m probably the last person you’re expecting to hear from. I know it’s been a long time. It’s your brother, Kye. I’m thirty now, and living in Sydney after a couple of years in Los Angeles with my client, who’s an actor, and also

My jaw clenches as I rip that page off the pad, too, and scrunch it up. According to what I could get out of Mike, Jace spent most of his childhood moving from one abusive foster home to the next. He ended up fallingin with a bad crowd, and when he was nineteen, he was sentenced to a minimum of six years behind bars on charges of carjacking and assault.

And here I am, talking about the bright lights of Hollywood. Could I be any more of an asshole?

I dump the paper on the grass, fold my arms around my legs and gaze out at the glistening blanket of ocean, a dreadful coldness crashing over me.

There’s nothing I can say to my little brother that would justify the mistakes I’ve made.

The truth is, I abandoned him. I was given the opportunity to be placed in a home with him—to be his older brother, to help keep him safe—and I didn’t take it. I chose Austin instead.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip, and my eyes blur as I pull out my phone to call Mike. He’ll understand how I’m feeling; he’ll tell me what to do.

But the message notification on my screen makes my breath snag.

NADIA:CAN U CALL ME PLZ

For Christ’s sake.

All my instincts tell me to ignore Austin’s ex-wife, but she’s completely erratic right now—I’m worried about what she’ll do. I tap through to her number and hold the phone to my ear.

‘Hey, ghoster,’ she says, a nervous bounce in her voice.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask coolly, like this is no big deal—like this isn’t the first time Nadia and I have spoken since the shitstorm that disintegrated her marriage. I grab my crumpled notes and begin strolling back to the apartment.

‘What the fuck is going on with Austin and that bimbo from his new movie?’ she asks, any warmth in her tone evaporating.

My trainers halt against the pavement. ‘Nadia,’ I warn, ‘this has to stop.’

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