Page 17 of The Older Brother
“I mean, I’m pretty boring,” I say, sinking my hands into my front pockets and balling them into fists. “But if you want?—”
“I do want. To watch, I mean.”
Our eyes are locked, and the quiet seconds drag on in slow motion, the tension wrapping around my throat, slipping down my chest and into my veins. This is a slippery slope, and Saylor is playing with fire.
I take a step back and laugh softly, flitting my gaze to the open bay doors behind her, willing someone—anyone—to walk through and save me from the pending terrible but tempting decisions.
“Saylor, what are we doing?” I level her with my gaze, my mouth pulled into a disciplined line, my head slightly askew, my fingers fisting even tighter.
Her eyes shift from mine as she blinks her focus to the center of my chest while she draws in a deep breath. She flattens her palms on the desk across from me and raps her fingers a few times before pulling her mouth in tight and falling back on her heels.
She makes her way back to the workbench where she was before, when she was sitting and scrolling through her phone quietly and at a safe distance. I assume she’ll go back to that, so I slide a pile of invoices next to my computer and begin looking them up on our system to see if checks have cleared yet. I’m not normally the accounting guy, but I know what I’m doing in the software. And frankly, I could use the distraction.
“You shouldn’t diminish your dreams, Rowan.” I flinch at her words, but something about the genuine care in her tone forces my eyes up from the screen.
I shrug.
“I don’t diminish them. I’m doing exactly what I want to do, and I know how lucky it is that I can say that. Believe me . . . you don’t have a two-hundred-pound parole officer unlock a monitoring anklet and not feel grateful about the good shit in life.”
She smirks, and her gaze drops to the open space beneath the desk where my legs are on display. My skin warms, and though the anklet is long gone, the place where it circled my leg throbs from the memory of its weight.
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
Her tone is quiet but not the ashamed kind my brother and father use with me sometimes. Her gaze has shifted up a bit, too, though not fully on my eyes.
Rather than dismiss her apology with the typical write-off I typically do, saying, “it’s no big deal,” I decide Saylor deserves my honesty. I wasn’t lying when I told Brady she was like family. She’s more family than my brother and father at this point. Besides, I’m sure Caleb filled her head with his perspective. It’s only right I get the chance to counter it.
“It stung more than anything. I thought Caleb had a higher opinion of me, is all,” I say, biting my tongue when Saylor’s brow pulls in.
Maybe she doesn’t know.
“Caleb was my character witness. I assumed he told you.” My eyes dim as her gaze drops with the shake of her head.
A short, breathy laugh causes my nostrils to flex, and I flip over the golden pen weighing down the stack of invoices. I’m tempted to throw my brother under this massive bus right now, but despite our mutual disdain, I can’t lie about him completely.
“He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He just shared a little too much.” I lift a shoulder and pull my mouth into a crooked smirk.
Saylor sinks back, resting her shoulder blades against the brick wall.
“He told them about the fire?” She exhales the words in one breath.
I nod.
“Yep. They unsealed that sucker faster than the final lap at Daytona. I’ve learned closing a case is more important than getting it right sometimes, so I took a deal.” I grimace at the memory from that moment, when I knew I was going to have to fall on another sword. At least in my past I was the one making the choice. This sword left me with few options, if any. And it was sharp.
“Is your sentence done now, or do you have a parole officer or community service hours?”
I nod.
“Parole Officer Steve and I have a standing date every Thursday. At least for the next eighteen months. Unless there’s overwhelming evidence of good behavior.”
My eyes flash to hers, and there’s a snap in the air that I don’t think anyone can hear but me. Saylor’s head falls to the side as a wry grin etches into her cheeks.
“I think we both know your behavior is questionable at best,” she jests.
I chuckle, then flip the pen over again to rid my hand of nervous energy that builds during the brief silence.
“What about you? Collegiate swimming is a big deal. I still remember the lanky girl flapping around the swim club pool, trying to pull off the butterfly stroke.”
