Page 80 of The Older Brother
Her eyes blink slowly as her lips tighten into a hard line. Several seconds pass before her gaze lifts to mine, and when hereyes hit me, they don’t exactly look pained. Instead, there’s a distinct shade of anger across them.
“Is that why you’re here? Was this all about getting evidence? Snooping in our home?”
I stand up immediately, my defensive instincts kicking in and blending with sheer panic that I’m about to lose her over this.
“Saylor, hold on,” I begin, but she’s on her feet too. She snags the press release from the desk and glances at it, her eyes tracking the words. Her scowl etches in deeper before she shakes the paper in front of me.
“It’s a fucking press release, Rowan. They get these all the time. It’s probably one of their companies, and maybe it’s something that came across my mom’s desk. There’s nothing to this.”
“Saylor—” I move around the desk to close the gap between us, but she takes a large step back. I stop in my tracks and press the palms of my hands into my eyes as I groan.
When I drop my hands back to my sides, my eyes sting with frustration and despair. I can feel the tears glazing them, my vision a little blurry. There’s no way for me to lead her through this without it hurting. And she’s been hurt so much.
“Look at the number on the press release. Look at the PR firm’s number.” I nod to the paper in her hand.
She’s hesitant but eventually lifts it up to the light. I watch as her gaze moves around the page, then holds steady on the upper right corner. Her lips part with a quick breath, and her hands seem to be trembling. The paper is shaking in her grasp. I move closer, moving my hand to hers, but she takes another sharp step back, the paper ripping in the process, and her sharp gaze cuts right through me.
“Get out.”
I lose my breath. My mouth opens to say her name, but I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.
She shoves my chest, and I fall back a few steps.
“I said leave, Rowan! Get out.” The tears are pooling in her eyes, and I want to wrap my arms around her until they stop.
“Now!” Her shrill scream is my sign to be patient, to change course, and do as she wishes. As she needs.
“Okay,” I croak. “Just let me get my things.”
I leave her alone in the den as I pad up the stairs and slip on my jeans and shirt, stuffing my bare feet into my shoes and picking my socks and wallet up off the floor. Saylor is still standing in the same spot I left her when I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I hover there for a few quiet seconds, hoping . . . waiting. She doesn’t lift her head up, though. Her gaze is fixed on the center of the floor, half of the press release clutched in her hand, and the only reason I know she’s breathing at all is because I can see her shoulders rise with every draw of air.
“I’ll be in my car. I’m not leaving here until you make me. Until we talk. Because I fucking love you, and if you think I could ever do something like this knowing it would hurt you, then I haven’t done a very good job of showing you how important you are to me.”
I slip out the front door, letting it click shut behind me as I drag my tired soul to the curb. I get into my car and pull the recording equipment from under my seat and simply stare at it. Maybe I should suck it up and let my dad pin everything on me. Take one for the team, even if the team can’t fucking stand me. That’s what I do.
I flirt with the idea of breaking the promise I just made and driving away, but the thought of leaving Saylor behind hurts too much. She’s the only person in my life who is worth it besides my mom. She’s all that’s good, and her compass is set to all the right choices. I won’t give up on us. I won’t give up on her.
I drop the keys into the cupholder and move the wires and mic to the passenger seat. I push my seat back so I can forcemy eyes shut for as long as it takes for either Saylor to accept my version of the story or for the cops to arrest me for stalking or loitering or some shit. The second they close, though, a loud knock at my window makes my entire body jolt back to life.
Saylor’s hand flattens on the glass, and her red eyes and full bottom lip are so heavy with sadness. I press the button to roll my window down, and her hand falls away as the glass drops.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I croak, moving my hand to the window’s edge, but not too close that I startle her. She’s made the move out here. It’s her choice how this conversation goes.
She lifts her hand and places it on mine a second later, and my chest shudders in relief. Her fingernails scratch along the back of my palm as she holds the tip of her tongue between her teeth, her brow furrowed as her gaze rests on our touch.
“Let me wear the wire. I can get you what you need. I can get my mom to say the right things. Let me?—”
I shake my head instantly.
“No.”
Her gaze pops up then, and there’s a determination in her eyes. A renewed strength. And I know that no matter what I say, what I think, she’s in charge now.
“I’m doing this,” she says, moving her attention to the pile of tech in my passenger seat. “Show me how it works.”
I draw in a slow breath and look to my right for a beat before giving in.
“Get in,” I say.
