“My brother,” I murmured, and his eyes widened.
He made a gesture to answer the call, but I shook my head.
“… keep thinking about you when you were a baby… you were so small. You used to grab my finger, and I’d sit on the floor holding you like that for hours because you were so sweet. Fuck, Jesse…” He sounded high, and then there was a soft sob. What the fuck? “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m so fucking sorry… Jesse, shit, I had to sell my horse. Adobe. My red roan. I didn’t want to, but I had to… and it broke me. I cried like an idiot. Everything’s going wrong now. One thing after another, and I can’t keep up…” There was a pause. “… you don’t needto hear that. Not your problem. I never wanted to be your problem; you know that, right? I wanted you to have a good life, and I had to go. Dad… fuck. There was so much hate in him. He kept saying I’d hurt you. That I was bad for you. But you have to know that wasn’t true. I would never hurt you. Never. You were my little brother. I was supposed to protect you.”
Lucas gripped my arm, and I reached for a towel and wiped my hands dry. I should answer, right? This was Hoyt; this was my brother who was on the edge, somewhere out there?
“… these drugs are good. Too good. My knee doesn’t even hurt right now… which feels wrong… should I be scared it doesn’t hurt? Life is shit. It’s hard work and shit, and I’m so tired…” He exhaled roughly, as if he was holding back all the emotion. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I believed I was bad for too fucking long. I know you chose Dad… Hell, I know you had no choice… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I just needed you to know I never stopped caring. Not once. Shit… I need to delete…”
He stopped talking, then more beeps, then nothing but dead air, and the machine flicked off, the message-received light flashing.
“Are you okay?” Lucas asked as soon as the message ended.
“Yeah,” I murmured. He leaned back against the counter, giving me space without stepping away. “Yeah,” I added again, and for a second the kitchen fell away, replaced by the sound of Hoyt’s boots on the porch and his laugh carrying in after him, dust and leather and sun clinging to him as heruffled my hair. “His name’s Hoyt.” Saying his name out loud always did strange things to my head.
“You’re not close?”
“Nope.”
“Are you okay?” Lucas asked and god, his beautiful eyes were bright with emotion. I loved that in him, the way he could feel everything so deeply.
“I wish I knewhowto feel.”
“How old is your brother?” Lucas asked, but he didn’t sound pissed or hurt; he sounded curious.
“Half-brother,” I corrected, “He’s fourteen years older than me, and he left me a long time ago. The way Dad says it, when I was born, Hoyt was apparently already halfway out the door, but he never had a choice of staying, being queer, and with all the shit Dad spewed.” I glanced up at Lucas. “Still spews.”
“How old were you when he left?”
“The first time? Two, maybe, I don’t know.”
“The first time?”
“He came back a couple of times, but Dad… fuck, they got into it and… it’s a long story.” The emotional baggage and memories of that last day were too heavy right now. “He left, and I don’t blame him. Dad used to take a whip to him, never once touched me like that, but then, he never knew my secrets, because him knowing scared the hell out of me.”
“Jeez—”
“Hoyt started bull riding, made it big enough to stay away, and the last time he came back, I was ten.”
“You haven’t seen him in that long?”
I shook my head. “We weren’t close; there was no reasonfor him to come back.” The words came out clipped, defensive. God, what was I doing, making excuses as if it was all about why Hoyt didn’t keep in touch? As if I’d done any better. I hadn’t written. I found a number through the rodeo and texted once when Walter died, but I hadn’t called. Most days, I didn’t think about Hoyt at all. That was the lie I’d built my life around. Easier to keep it that way. Don’t mention Hoyt, and it meant I didn’t give Dad another excuse to go off on one of his bitter tirades. “I followed his career some, and saw pictures of him.” I stopped again, self-derision flooding me. “He was stronger than I ever was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he actually managed to get away.”
“Fuck, Jesse, it’s sometimes braver to stay.”
“So you say.” I stared into the coffee, as if it might give me answers. “I don’t get why he called, when it just messes with things.”
“You mean it messes with you,” Lucas said.
“He sounded high!”
“He mentioned a knee. Do you think he’s injured?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care…”Liar. I met Lucas’s steady gaze, then turned away again. I didn’t need to see his compassion or understanding, because it made things feel heavier than they had any right to be. This wasn’t us having sex and keeping it uncomplicated. This was… something else, and I didn’t want to poke at it. “Why would he call me? Why now? I don’t need any more shit. But I want to see Hoyt, I think. Fuck, why would he want to see me?”
