Page 18 of The Older Brother
We both laugh at the memory, and Saylor stretches her arms out wide to mimic the stroke, at least the way she did it back then.
“I was better at drowning,” she laughs.
I shake my head, though, because even with her unpolished technique, she was always the fastest in the water.
“I distinctly remembering you smoking my brother in a race after your first practice. You were a natural,” I praise.
Her lips settle into a faint smile as her gaze drifts to the side for a beat.
“Caleb doesn’t tell it that way,” she finally says, her gaze hesitating but coming back to me.
My brow draws in.
“He’s told that story a few times, like to people at school or to your dad. In his version, he wins.”
My chest burns with this tiny piece of intel, and I know it’s not important, but I can’t seem to shut off the defensive flood that’s suddenly eating at me inside.
“Why didn’t you correct him?”
I know why. The same reason I let other people’s versions of my story go unchecked. It’s easier that way.
Her shoulder rises as her mouth bunches.
“It seemed way more important to him, I guess,” she says in a soft voice.
I nod and match her tight-lipped, resolved expression.
“I understand.”
A brief silence settles into the garage, but my phone buzzes on the tabletop before it becomes unbearable. I flip to my screen in my palm and am instantly filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation at reading Brady’s response. He has the part, and it’s mine if I want to pick it up today at their warehouse. It’s just a mere six hundred bucks, which I would laugh out loud at if I were alone. Since I’m not, I keep the sticker shock to myself. I know it’s still the best price I’ll get for it.
“Is that Brady?” Saylor slides off her perch as I hold up a finger, pretending to still be reading his response. I’m not sureif I can make it through this day without touching her, and I’ve already crossed the line plenty.
I type Brady back.
ME:Awesome. I’ll swing by on my way home for the day and leave cash with Bev.
Bev is Brady’s mom. She runs the books, and she loves when I operate in cash because, well, she also cooks them.
As soon as Brady sends me a thumbs up, my shoulders relax. Before Saylor can invade my space again, I tuck my phone into my back pocket and move across the room to snag my keys and wallet from the locker in the corner of the garage.
“The good news is he has the part. The bad news is it won’t be ready for pick up until the end of the day, so I’ll have to do the work tomorrow.”
Her lips curve down with disappointment, and I feel my own mouth twitch from guilt. It’s too late, though. I’ve spun the tale, and I know in my gut that I need to get the two of us out of this space. This way, tomorrow, I can work at my own pace and without the smell of her citrus shampoo and chlorine invading my senses.
“I can give you a lift, though,” I offer.
Her eyes light up, but before I can fully catalogue the new world of trouble getting her alone in my car could cause, our private conversation is interrupted by the high-pitched hum of my brother’s electric BMW.
Caleb pulls into the bay, between Saylor and me, and I can’t help but chuckle at his obvious play. I’m not sure what the hell he’s doing here, but I one hundred percent recognize his jealous behavior. He cuts his engine, and the quiet whir ceases.
“Having car trouble, Saylor?” His back is to me as he gets out of his car and glares at Saylor from across the roof of his car as if he owns her.
“She is. What do you want, Caleb?”
My brother turns to face me, and I silently connect with Saylor before I give him my attention. I can’t tell if her wide eyes are twitching because she’s freaked out that Caleb is here or that I just took over answering for her. I shouldn’t have, but my brother pushes me into auto-defense.
“Dad needs to get a scan of your license for the trust paperwork. I offered to come by,” he mutters. He keeps glancing back at Saylor, though, obviously rattled by her presence . . . here.
