Page 64 of Cherished Lands
"Because you're drunk," I said quietly.
"I'm not drunk." Chase's voice was deadly quiet. "Just tired of pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That I'm ever going to be anything like you! Perfect Elliot with his perfect plan. Taking over the orchard, expanding the business, getting married." He looked at Tessa again, something ugly in his expression. "Tell me, Brother, does she know about your little checklist? Was 'find wife' right between 'build cidery' and 'save family business'?"
"Don't." I leveled my gaze at Chase, my tone somewhere between a warning and a plea. My chest tightened and my palms were clammy. We were hurtling towards something dangerous. Words I'd never be able to take back clawed up my throat, itching to get out.
Charlie started to rise again. "Maybe I should?—"
"No, stay," Chase insisted. "Family meeting, right? Isn't that what we're all about? Family?" He spread his arms wide. "Except some of us are just taking up space in the basement while others are out there being the perfect fucking son?—"
"That's not?—"
"Not what? Not true?" His voice cracked. He was on his feet now, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You've had every step planned since we were kids, and I'm still here trying to figure out who the hell I am when I'm not just Elliot's twin!"
"Boys—" Mom started.
"Get out." My voice was ice. "Now."
Chase stared at me across the table—my mirror, my brother, my lifelong friend. "Always giving orders." He pushed away from the table. "Don't worry, I'm going. Wouldn't want to embarrass the family any more than I already have."
The front door slammed behind him, and we all looked around at each other.
Where the fuck did that come from?
The barn doorgroaned on its tracks as Dad and I rolled it open. The metal was so cold it burned my palms. Inside, the John Deere sat silent, waiting for spring. But for now, it needed its winter maintenance.
We worked in comfortable silence. Dad handed me tools without me having to ask, and I passed them back without looking. The only sounds were the quiet buzz of the work lights overhead and the occasional clink of metal on metal. We hadn't talked about last night, but it hung over all of us. Tessa slept on the couch again last night, and she was gone before I got up thismorning. It wasn't much better at my folk's house. On the surface, everyone was acting normal, but there was a subdued feel to the place. Chase hadn't been seen since last night, and the sound of everyone not talking about it was deafening. All-in-all, I wasn't surprised when Dad spoke up.
"Your mother worries about him." His voice was steady as he helped me remove the air filter. "About both of you, really."
I focused on the task at hand, not looking up. "Chase made his choices."
"Did he?" Dad leaned against the tractor's massive wheel. "Or did we make them for him?"
The wrench in my hand stilled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You boys came into this world together, but somewhere along the way..." He rubbed a hand over his chin. "Sometimes, I wonder if we pushed too hard. Expected too much."
"You didn't push anyone. I wanted this." I gestured at the barn, the orchard beyond. "Chase could've?—"
"Could've what? Been you?" Dad's voice was gentle. "Son, he's spent his whole life trying to figure out who he is when he's not being compared to his brother."
Chase had said as much last night. But coming from Dad, the words had more impact. I set down the wrench, my hands shaking and my throat tight. "I don't know how to help him."
"Maybe he doesn't need help. Maybe he just needs time." Dad picked up a rag and wiped grease from his hands. "And maybe you need to figure out who you are too."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You've got your perfect plan, just like Chase said. But lifeisn't a checklist, Son." He gave me a knowing look. "And neither is marriage."
Heat crept up my neck. "Tessa and I?—"
"Are fooling exactly no one." Dad patted me on the shoulder and turned back to the tractor. "Except maybe yourselves."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. What could I say? That I was falling for my fake wife? That watching her with my family made my chest ache? That the thought of our inevitable divorce made me feel sick and hollow?
