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Conor already had an office there, right next to his brothers’ on the top floor, but he’d never used it. Suddenly, the idea of being closer to them day in and day out didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”
Matt looked slightly astonished by his quick agreement, then forged on. “That was the easy one. I’m going to give you the number of my therapist. I think you’ll like her.”
“You have a therapist?” Conor was surprised.
“I took your suggestion,” Matt replied, making it clear he’d like to see Conor follow his lead. “I think you should discuss your concerns about the medications with her. If you still don’t want to take them, fine, but listen to what she has to say with an open mind first. Put your damn Russo stubbornness aside.”
Conor nodded. “Okay. I will.”
“Can I have your therapist’s number too?” Gage asked.
Neither Matt nor Conor knew how to respond to that because Gage—of the three of them—seemed like the one who had his shit together.
“Of course,” Matt said slowly. “Can I ask why you need it?”
Gage looked away, the reaction unusual in his say-anything brother. “Penny’s pregnant.”
Conor snorted. “Not sure there’s anyone in the state who doesn’t know that by now.”
Gage faced them, smirking briefly before the smile faded away. “I’m going to be a father. I don’t…” He clenched his fists. “I don’t know how to do that. I just know I don’t want to be like ours.”
Matt nodded. “I get that, Gage. Of course, I’ll give you the number. I’ve talked to my therapist a lot about my childhood and about us. How would you guys feel about trying family counseling as well? It might help us sort some things out if we’re all three together, sharing our memories.”
Gage grinned. “I’d like that.”
“Me too,” Conor agreed.
Gage rose, looking around the room then back at Conor. “I don’t know if this helps, Conor. But I can’t stop thinking about that thing Mom used to say to us. What was it?” he asked. “Something like, you can’t change what you are, just what you do.”
Conor snorted. “You know she got that from a book, right? The Golden Compass.”
Gage groaned. “Oh shit. I stepped into that one, didn’t I? I know, I know,” he said, waving his hand to ward off what he anticipated was coming next. “I’m really missing out by not reading it. You told me that a million times when we were back in high school.”
“I did say that, and I stand by it.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I was going to ask to borrow your copy,” Gage grumbled. “Only made that mistake once.”
Conor narrowed his eyes. “You dog-eared the pages. What kind of monster does that?”
Gage shrugged, completely unrepentant.
Conor recalled that quote sticking with Mom enough that she repeated it whenever they were having trouble in college. He hadn’t thought about those words in years.
Now, however…
He thought he’d been doing the right things since he couldn’t change who he was, but considering last night’s breakdown and after listening to his brothers, everything he’d done suddenly felt very, very wrong.
He should have kept going to therapy.
He should have talked to his brothers a long time ago.
He should have let Harper and Luca in, should have opened a vein—just like the two of them had done, countless times as they spoke of their pasts—and he should have truly shared himself with them.
The silence lingered as those hard truths sank in. When he looked up, he could still see the concern in his brothers’ eyes, and he hated that he’d put it there.
“You know, I was the one who loaned Mom the book. Unlike you, Gage, she wanted to read it so we could talk about it.” Conor rose and weaved his way around the stacks of books until he reached one of the shelves. He hadn’t taken The Golden Compass off the shelf because he knew he was keeping that book, even though it was tatty as shit, the spine creased a million times over. He’d bought it at a used bookstore with his allowance when he was sixteen. It had been one of his favorite stories to escape into when things were rough.
“I haven’t read this since high school.” Pulling it off the shelf, he flipped through the pages, stopping when his eyes caught sight of something. Paging back, he stopped when he realized something had been underlined. “There’s…”
