Page 243 of There's No Us Without You
Once I was old enough to get my hands dirty, I found my own way of making money. Tyler and I never went hungry again.
And I made sure he never went to school with holes in his shoes.
We still had to endure the beatings until both of us were old enough to move out. The old man wasn’t happy about it, but what the fuck was he going to do? By the time I turned fifteen, Istood over him by at least five inches. Tyler ended up taller than me, but we never once raised our fists to our father.
I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s the same reason I pay to keep him in his house—he’s still my flesh and blood.
And I’m nothing like him.
I swipe my tears away with the back of my hand so Wren doesn’t notice I’m losing my shit. “You can leave whenever you want,” I say, wiping down the bar with a clean cloth, keeping my head down. “I can finish the rest tomorrow.”
“Fuck that,” he says, snatching up a few more empty glasses and stacking them in the sink. “You really think I’m leaving your arse here to clean up by yourself?”
“It’s no big deal.” I lift a shoulder. “Not really keen on going home just yet anyway.”
Wren rubs his forehead, his green-and-gold eyes searching my face. “It sucks,” he says, taking a seat on a stool at the bar. He nods to the one next to him. “Let’s talk.”
“Fuck’s sake. Do we have to?”
An eyebrow raised, he pats the stool. “I flew all the way from America, arsehole. The least you can do is listen to what I have to say. I don’t give two shits if you don’t want to hear it, but you’ll fucking sit there and at least act like you’re listening.”
Jesus. I’ve missed him. Even if he is a bossy prick—a lot like me, I guess.
“Fuck. Fine.” I grab two beers from the bar fridge on my way. If I’m going to do this, I need another drink.
When I take the stool next to Wren, I slide a bottle over and tap the neck of mine against the one in front of him. “Thanks for being here,” I say, giving him a tight smile. “It... means a lot.”
Wren wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head quickly. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else, man. You know that. Tyler was like a brother to me. To all ofus, even if he did hide my underwear every time you two stayed over.”
A slight smile creeps onto my lips, my vision blurring slightly. “Remember that time—I think we were about fifteen, Tyler twelve—and he wanted to play hide and seek?” I shake my head at the memory. “We told him to go hide, and we’d come find him, except we got distracted and he ended up falling asleep for three hours in the old doghouse.”
Wren snorts out a laugh. “Fuck... yes. That was the highlight of my week. He was curled into a ball. I don’t even know how he got in there in the first place. That thing was made for a miniature poodle or some shit.”
“I have no idea. I just remember it being the first time Tyler slept without waking up in a cold sweat.” My smile falls from my face, and I swallow down the lump in my throat and grip the bottle in my hand.
Wren sighs and places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “He’s going to be missed, man.”
I rub my eyes, nodding, before taking a sip of my beer. “Yeah... he is.”
Wren remains silent for a while, letting me sink into my own personal hellhole. Tyler isn’t here anymore.
How the fuck do I deal with that loss?
Eden isn’t here, either. And that’s my fault.
After seeing her today at Tyler’s funeral, I spent an hour writing the same message over and over, my thumb hovering over the send button, only for me to turn to chicken shit and delete the words.
Every time I close my eyes, she’s there next to me, her head on my chest, dark hair in my face while she traces circles over my stomach.
I have Emerson—he hasn’t left my side—but without Eden snuggled between us, nothing feels real anymore. Not only did I lose my brother, I lost one of the greatest loves of my life.
I finish the bottle, then lean over the bar to grab a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey from the shelf on the underside. “Want one?”
Wren shakes his head. “I’m good. I should probably get going soon.”
“That’s fine,” I say, pouring a shot into the glass before throwing it back and slamming it on the bar.
