Page 17 of Courageous Hearts

“He loves you very much.”

“I know that,” I reply.

“But he goes too far sometimes,” she says, correctly pinpointing the issue.

“Yes,” I agree.

Grant knew what he wanted to do with his life from the time he was in high school, but that doesn’t mean everyone is like him. Sometimes it takes people longer to find the right fit. Myself, included.

My mom hums, getting out of her seat to check the oven. “Lunch will be ready in five,” she says as Grant and Sophia re-enter the room. “Why don’t you boys go out back for a minute? I have something to talk to Sophia about.”

“Subtle, Mom,” Grant grumbles, but he waves for me to follow him.

Our mom has always pushed Grant and me to resolve our conflicts in a timely manner. Even when we were young, she’d stage discussion time when she knew we were fighting about something. It’s a habit that’s stuck, even when Mom isn’t around. Grant and I argue, but it’s never for long.

Stepping out into our mom’s small, fenced-in yard, I draw my face up toward the sun, letting the rays soak me for a moment. It’s a warm day, and the sun is bright, but fall will be closing in soon. I can feel it in the slight nip accompanying the breeze.

“I’m sorry,” Grant says with a sigh, his presence heavy beside me. “I meant to say that first when we arrived. To apologize for the last time we spoke. And instead, I added to my transgressions.”

I huff a laugh, turning my head to take in Grant’s rueful expression. “How many strikes is that, Teach?”

“Too many. Sophia reminded me I was being an ass,” he says, eyes downcast.

“She’s a good person.”

“She is. James, I don’t like when we fight. And I know it’s my fault. I can’t help it sometimes. I just…”

“You feel like you need to course-correct me,” I fill in, and Grant looks my way. “You see me going down a path that’s different from your own, and that stresses you out. Because you think your way is better.”

Grant grimaces, but he doesn’t refute it.

“Look, I get it. You forget I know you, too,” I say, thumping his chest lightly. “I don’t blame you for wanting to see me succeed. You just have to understand that my measure of success is different from your own.”

“I know,” he says solemnly.

“I like my life, Grant,” I tell him. “I’m happy with it.”

“I know that,” he says again, sighing.

“So maybe ease back a little. I’m not your student. Or your child.”

“Thank God for that,” he says. “If my kids are as difficult as you, I’ll be in trouble.”

I snort, knowing he’s joking. “Speaking of. Any news on that front?”

Grant’s mouth turns down slightly, and he shakes his head. “We have an appointment with a fertility specialist next week.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll be thinking good thoughts.”

“Thanks,” he mutters before drawing me close. Grant crushes me in his arms, and I squeeze back. His heart beats steadily against my chest, and I briefly wonder if I can truly feel it or if the sensation is only in my head. Either way, I relish that feeling of closeness—of reconciliation—with my twin.

With an uncomfortable pinch to my gut, I recall Bo crying in the storage room at work, upset over whatever words they had with their brother.

“All right?” Grant asks, stepping back with a frown on his face.

I give a little nod, dismissing his concern—and wondering at my own—as my sister-in-law interrupts.

“Lunch is ready,” Sophia says, sticking her head out the door, a wide smile on her face.

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