Page 69 of The Older Brother
“I went to your house while my mom packed up her jewelry and clothes. I wanted to . . . fuck, Saylor, I wanted to see you. I wanted to somehow protect you from it, I guess. I thought maybe I could come up with some story to tell you that would make life okay when you woke up in the morning and your dad was gone. But your dad already had things handled. He thought of you first. He and your mom agreed on the story they’d tell. They didn’t want to dress it up, but they wanted the appearance of any other divorce for you. Two people who simply weren’t the right fit.”
“Ha, yeah. Well, that’s what they were. To the extremes, it seems.” Bitterness comes out in her tone.
“I’m sorry, Saylor,” I stutter out. Her eyes lift to meet mine, a strange look of surprise in them.
“Why would you be sorry?” She shakes her head.
My shoulders lift to my ears.
“I don’t know. Because I didn’t tell you the truth then, or at any time over the eight years since. Because I kept it from you, and it was such a big part of your life. Maybe you would have pushed to move in with your dad if you knew. You deserved to have the facts. Even if you were a kid.”
Saylor leans across the console, leaning on her elbows as her hands circle my forearm. I let her drag my hand toward hers and splay my fingers so she can grasp my palm. My gaze fights to meet hers, and when it does, I find so much forgiveness in her eyes.
“Saylor, I’m so sorry,” I say, swallowing down the weight of everything still to come, the hard part still waiting to be shared.
“You wanted to protect me, Rowan. And you still do. You weren’t the one who made the choice to betray our family. And you aren’t your father, so stop going there in your head because I know you are. You aren’t him. He’s part of your genetic code, sure, but that man . . . he isn’t your heart. Not even close.” Shelifts a hand to my cheek, running her thumb along the two days of beard growth I haven’t had the energy to shave. I close my eyes and press into her touch, turning enough to kiss her wrist.
I’m still shaking, my lips trembling, because the hardest words are sitting on my tongue. I blink my eyes open and take her hand back in mine, meeting her gaze and breathing through the death-grip my nerves have on my chest.
“That’s not all,” I utter.
Her lips part slightly with a short gasp.
“I went to the beach house that night with my mom. Caleb was at home asleep, just like you. And I was so confused and angry. I wanted to be with my mom, so when she got in the car to drive away, I pounded on the passenger window until she relented and let me in. We drove all night through the desert, and we were exhausted when we finally got to the house. I fell asleep on the couch. My mom busted into the wine and went upstairs. I don’t know how many hours we slept, but I woke up to my mom shaking my arm and pulling me to my feet because the room was filling with smoke.”
Saylor shakes her head slowly, and I drop my gaze for one final gut check. I have to say the words out loud. To someone. My eyes flit back to hers.
“My mom set the fire. She burned that place to the ground. But I couldn’t let her go to jail for it. That wouldn’t have been right. So, when the investigators started asking questions, I confessed. I didn’t tell her I was going to do it. I didn’t have much of a plan. I just knew that I could handle the punishment, and my mom . . . she’d been punished enough. So, I confessed, and when she tried to make me change my mind, I refused. I fought her on it so hard. I begged her to let me. And she was so scared, so fucked up from everything that had happened, she gave in and let me make the call. And I know she beats herself up for it still, so I try to remind her that it was my choice, every timeI see her. I was a kid, yeah. Maybe. But I was also pretty grown up. And being a juvenile meant I’d do less time. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Saylor’s eyes haven’t blinked once since I began sharing this part. But they’ve comforted. The soft shape of them, coupled with the faint smile on her lips, the first look of empathy—true empathy—that I think I’ve ever seen looks back at me now. I open my mouth and draw in the mix of cold and hot air from the doors having been opened, and my lungs soak it all in. My body fills, my fingers stop tingling, my muscles pump with instant energy. My exhale is joined by an uncontrollable laugh, one that makes Saylor’s smile inch just a little higher.
“God, that felt good,” I say, my open hand clutching to my chest. My heart hammers with relief, and I start to laugh harder as I run my palm up my jaw and hold my gaze on Saylor in disbelief. “Thank you for letting me tell you. For looking at me like I’m not a monster. For listening.”
“And that’s why I love you, Rowan.” Her sudden words break through the weight of everything, and her eyes blink finally, lashes slowly kissing her cheeks. She doesn’t seem afraid. Her words were clear. Easy. Soft. Genuine.
“You love me?” I don’t believe her despite all the evidence, and I know it’s because I still don’t think I’m worthy. I’m still David Anderson’s son. There’s still bad in there somewhere. She can’t love me. She shouldn’t.
“I do. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. But I love you, and I want you to know that. And I’m glad you told me, all of it. And it’s okay that it hurts. It’s supposed to.”
She dips her chin and peers up at me, waiting for my response. My mind is wild with thoughts, arguments against my happiness, battling with reasons I should let myself feel joy.
“Okay,” I croak finally, my mouth dry and throat swollen with the lump lodged inside.
“Now, let’s go eat. And you’re buying. It’s the least you could do.” She smirks, and I shake with quiet laughter. She’s making this so easy. Too easy. I don’t deserve it. But I take it. I take the soft landing. Because that’s what I wanted my mom to do when I claimed all the consequences for my own. I wanted her to accept my love. And I accept Saylor’s. And when my heart heals and I can find the right words, I plan on telling her just how much I love her back.
Chapter 22
Maybe I always knew.I certainly suspected. My mom spent so many hours in that place, surely it couldn’talwayshave been about moving up the corporate ladder. I think the reason I never tried to know for certain was the other side of the coin—what if it was all about getting ahead, even the affair part? Lust has more integrity than prostitution in this case, at least it does to me.
Rowan’s lead foot sat heavy on the gas as we drove here. I can see how much lighter he is. He’s carried that truth around by himself for years. Selflessly. He didn’t even burden his brother with it, instead letting Caleb resent him and think less of him, rather than know the truth about what his mom did in a spiral of hurt and rage, and what his father did to cause it. I wonder, though . . . would knowing even make a difference to Caleb? There’s a clear line between the person he is and the one Rowan is, and I think Caleb has more in common with his father.
“You ready?” Rowan’s eyes settle on mine as we sit parked outside the quaint apartment complex in the heart of downtown Tucson.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
He leans across the console and pulls my face toward his, kissing my cheek with sweet reverence. I feel like I belong here, with him. To him. Not in a possessive way. In a cherished way.
I meet Rowan and the front of his car, and our hands fold together easily. He kisses my knuckles at the top of the steps to his mom’s apartment, and doesn’t let go, even as he knocks and we hear her call from inside.
