Page 81 of Where She Belongs

Tate shook his head. “Well, get in line. You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

Jason let the quiet sit for a while. He was good at that. He picked a splinter off the railing, looked out at the trees, and then, without any particular emphasis, said, “You didn’t cheat on Rylee.”

It wasn’t a question, so Tate didn’t answer it.

“Lydia heard it from Hallie. The whole town’s probably got a version by now.” Jason turned his head and looked at him. “None of them are true. So what’s the real one?”

“Leave it, Jase.”

“No.”

The word came out flat and final, the way everything Jason said came out. He wasn’t going to repeat it and he wasn’t going to argue about it. He’d just planted it in the middle of the porch like a fence post.

Tate dragged both hands down his face. And maybe it was the week of carrying the thing alone, or maybe it was that Jason had never once in his life gone and told anybody anything—but the truth came up out of him like water finding a crack.

The research. The drive out before dawn. The front desk, and the woman with the tired eyes who turned out to be the developer’s own daughter, and the long drive home with Rylee’s voice riding along in the cab. The photograph he hadn’t known existed until Alexander put it in his hands in front of half the people he loved.

Jason listened to every word, just like he always did. When Tate finished, his brother was quiet for a moment.

“That’s it?”

Tate blinked. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

“You drove out there. Got told no. Came home.” Jason shrugged. “That’s the secret you’re letting her leave over.”

“It’s not—” Tate shoved off the railing and paced the length of the porch. “You don’t get it. The morning after she begged me to stop putting this town ahead of everything, I got up before sunrise and chased the developer to his hotel. If I explain that photo, I prove she was right about me. In front of everybody, Jase. Roxy. Faith. That King fella standing there grinning.”

“So instead you proved you’re a cheater.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“That’s what she thinks.” Jason didn’t raise his voice. He never raised his voice. He just took the ground out from under yours. “You had a choice between looking scared and looking guilty, and you picked guilty. You’ve been picking it every day since he put that picture in your hands.”

Tate stopped pacing.

“You shouldn’t have done that. You were wrong.” Jason straightened off the railing and faced him, and there was nothing soft in it. “You’re always doing this. You’re always making choices and taking the brunt of the consequences because you think you’re stronger or smarter—because being the villain is easier for you than being embarrassed. You’d rather Rylee hate you for something you didn’t do than forgive you for something you did. Hating you doesn’t cost you anything. It’s the forgiving you can’t stand still for.”

The porch was very quiet.

“When I told you about the business,” Jason went on, “you said it takes courage to go after something. You said you were proud of me.” He tilted his chin up a fraction. “It was a good speech. You should hear it sometime.”

Tate huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. It cracked in the middle.

“Tell her,” Jason said quietly.

“Who?”

“Rylee.” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a breath. “Even if nothing comes of it. Tell her all about the lodge and the reason you kept quiet. The second part matters more.”

Tate shook his head. “It’s too late. This is Rylee we’re talking about. I already pushed my luck when I gave her space after…” He swallowed hard. After telling her she’d never understand what it was like for people who belonged here. His voice broke. “It’s just too late.”

“If you really believe that, then you’re dumber than I gave you credit for,” his twin tossed back. “If you honestly care about Rylee like I know you do, you won’t let embarrassed be the thing that decides this. Scared’s not a reason. You told me that one, too.”

Tate studied his brother, wondering when exactly Jason had gotten this good at being right out loud. But he hadn’t changed. He’d always been this way. Quiet had never once meant having nothing to say. It had just taken Tate a long time, and one photograph, to need him to say it out loud.

“Okay,” Tate said.

Jason nodded once, curt as a gate latch, and pushed off toward the door. Apparently the conversation was over. As far as his brother was concerned, everything worth saying had been said.