Page 87 of Map of Pain
“Pictures, mostly. Some of Mom’s sheet music. Your old report cards.”Caleb’s voice carried a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty. “Iwasn’tsure whatyou’dwant to keep, so I just... kept everything.”
Everything.The word hung between them, loaded with implications. Caleb held onto pieces of Nick’s life even when Nickhadbeen trying to destroy them.
“Can I...”Nick’s hand hovered over the box’s worn edges.“Can I look?”
“It’s yours,”Caleb said simply.“All of it. I just kept it safe until you came back.”
Until you came back.Not if. Until. Like Calebnever doubted that Nick would find his way home.
The first thing Nick pulled outwasa photo—faded and creased from handling, showing two boys on a tire swing in what looked like their old backyard. The younger onewasgrinning at the camera with gap-toothed joy while the older one looked more serious, protective arms wrapped around his brother’s shoulders.
The memory hit him like a physical blow. Not the fractured, painful flashbackshe’dbeen experiencing, but something warm and golden and entirely his own.
“You remember this?”Caleb asked.
Nick’s throat worked silently for a moment.“The summer before I started eighth grade. Youwereseven, maybe eight? You kept asking me to push you higher on the swing.”
“You were always worried I’d fall.”
“You did fall. You scraped your knee and cried for an hour.” Nick’s voicewasrough with memory.“I carried you inside and put Batman band-aids on it.”
“You said the band-aidshadspecial healing powers.”
“They did.”Nick’s mouth quirked in something approaching a smile.“You stopped crying, didn’t you?”
Caleb laughed, and the sound seemed to unlock something in Nick. The careful tension he carried everywhere finally eased as he reached for the next item in the box.
Sheet music, yellowed with age and covered in pencil markings. Nick spread it across the coffee table with the careful attention of someone handling archaeological artifacts. His mother’s handwriting in the margins, notes about tempo and phrasing that hespent hours studying as a kid.
“Mom’s arrangements,”he murmured, fingers tracing the familiar notation.“Shewasworking on this before...”
The sentence hung unfinished. Before the accident. Before shewasbrain-damaged and bedridden. Before everything fell apart and Nick learned that pain medication could make the world soft around the edges.
“She never got to finish it,”Caleb said.“I kept hoping maybe you would try... when you came back...”
Nick’s throat tightened. Hehadn’ttoucheda piano in years,and he wasn’teven sure his remaining hand could manage what used to come so naturally.“I don’t know if I can...”
“That’s okay. It’ll be there when you’re ready.”
They sat in silence for a while, Nick sifting through the contents of the box with increasing confidence. Report cards with straight A’s and teacher’s comments about his kindness to other students, a program from a middle school piano recital with Nick’s name listed under“Bach Invention in C Major”, a photo of them with their mom at Field Museum.
Each itemwasa piece of the person he used to be, preserved by a brotherwho’dnever stopped believing that person still existed somewhere underneath all the damage.
“You kept all this,”Nick said, wonder creeping into his voice.
“Of course I did.” Caleb’s expression was fierce. “You’re my brother. Just because you were gone didn’t mean you stopped existing.”
Tears spilled over before he could stop them, and he pressed his hand to his mouth as if he could hold back the sound of his own breaking.
Caleb moved without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Nick’s shoulders and pulling him into a embrace.“I’ve got you,”he whispered.“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go again.”
Nick went slack in Caleb’s arms, twenty-six years old and crying like the scared kidhe’dnever allowed himself to be. All the painhe’dbeen carrying—for the person he used to be before the world broke him—poured out in ragged sobs that seemed to come from the marrow of his bones.
From the kitchen, he could hear Luka moving quietly, giving them privacy while staying close enough to help if needed. The consideration felt like another small gift, another piece of evidence that maybe hewasworth protecting after all.
Nick pulled back with red-rimmed eyes and a wobbly smile. His chest felt hollow but clean, like an infection hadfinally been drained.
“Sor—” he started, then caught himself. “That was overdue.”
