Page 50 of Forever Love

Braden

“It’ll be fine, Mom, I swear. I can handle this. You and Dad get out of here,” Brent says, practically shoving my parents out the door.

My parents have a rule. One that’s existed as long as I can remember. Every other Friday night, they have a date night. It’s their way of getting out of the house, away from the business, and away from me—and Brent, when he lived here—and focusing on each other. Having been through the crushing difficulties of a disconnected relationship, I can understand why they do it.

For Brent and me, it’s finally time out from under Mom’s constant fawning and Dad’s watchful eyes. Not that I’m necessarily excited to spend an evening with just my brother, but at least he promised to move my PlayStation down here for the night.

Once he’s ushered them out the door, he dramatically flops onto the couch next to me. “How ya doing, little bro? Need anything?”

“I’m fine.” It comes out more clipped than it needs to. He’s been helping out and just been here. I appreciate it, but I can’t stop the frustration I still have for him. He’s herenow. But he wasn’t during the years when I needed him the most.

“Okay. Let’s get it all out.”

“What?” my eyebrows shoot up.

“You’re still pissed at me—understandably. I’m sure you have questions. Let’s talk.”

I’m sick of talking. Talking through everything that happened. Every fucking feeling. With every single person in my life.

He bumps my shoulder. “Come on. You know you want to yell at me. Let it out.”

“You’re way too relaxed about this.”

He stares at me for a moment, and when I don’t say anything else, says, “Fine. I’ll start.”

I don’t try to hide my eye roll.Here come the excuses.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m about to bare my soul.”

“Fine.” I gesture for him to get on with it.

“I know you’re mad at me for leaving, especially leaving like I did. And I want to be clear, I’m not… none of this is an excuse. It’s just where my head was at. Not saying any of it was right.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. “Maybe I’ll get a second word out of you at some point, but for now, just listen. You’re eighteen right now. You know how it feels being under Dad’s thumb. He’s not a bad dad, he just… whatever, you know. Anyway, I was angry and tired and I wanted to prove something. I wanted to set off on my own and succeed. I wanted to prove to him that I could be an upstanding human without him smothering me, giving me shit. So, I left. Initially, I didn’t plan to stay away, but I loved the freedom. I loved figuring out who I was. I was a freshman in college, and I got caught up in that life. It was amazing. I was just me. I wanted to keep living in that, so I didn’t come home. I didn’t even call much, and I settled into that life.”

“Right, I get that. But… it’s been seven years. And I tried reaching out, communicating with you. I wasn’t begging you to come home, but—”

“What?” he asks, eyes scanning me for answers. “Tell me. Please. Yell at me. I don’t care. Just tell me.”

I squint and try to keep the emotion I felt at the time from taking over now. “Do you have any idea how it felt to be thirteen and reach out to you and you didn’t bother to talk to me? I get that your relationship with Dad was strained and your phone calls were for Mom. But what about me? I wanted to tell you about making baseball playoffs and finally being with Maia. I wanted your advice, your praise, your ability to make me laugh. I missed you and just wanted short conversations, but you couldn’t even give me that.”

He looks down. “You’re right. I couldn’t. At first, it felt like a chip against the new life I’d built. A reminder that I had a different life I’d mostly walked away from. In time, it just led to me feeling guilty. I barely responded to your texts because they made me feel awful. Not responding felt worse, and it became a vicious cycle. There’s no good reason for it. Keeping you at a distance protected me. I was young and immature.” He gives me a knowing look. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”

Staring forward, I let out a sigh. I can’t completely fault him for that. Even if I want to. And I can handle that. It sucks. But suddenly, he’s here, and he’s showing up… what the hell changed? Was it really fear of losing me?

“I called you the night I found out Maia was pregnant. You were the one person I wanted to talk to about it. Just the icing on the cake of that shitty situation that you didn’t even call me back. You’re here now and want to make up for lost time or whatever, but what’s different now? What’s different from two years ago?”

“I remember that night. I remember ignoring your call. I was out with friends and decided I’d call you back later. Later was soaked with alcohol, so I planned to call you in the morning. Then there was work, late meetings, and I let it go. I didn’t make you a priority. I should’ve called when Mom told me Maia was pregnant. I almost did. Hell, I almost got in my car and drove home.”

“But you didn’t.”

His head slowly shakes. “No. I didn’t. The guilt I felt was so extreme by then that I avoided even thinking about home. I compartmentalized.”

My eyes flit closed, thinking back to the month spent at my uncle’s house. That’s what I did. Shut down the part of me feeling guilt about leaving Maia and especially Harper.

“I understand that. Not sure where we got it from, but we have that in common.”

---