Page 154 of My Unfinished Heart

I take a short, quick breath. “You’re different.”

He huffs. “Well, I literally like—saw the light this time, so…”

Jesus.

Responding to whatever trauma response makes it onto my face, Connor presses his lips together. “Sorry. Too soon. I know. Forget I said that. Technically, I’m bipolar as fuck, and I’m on a lot of medication, and I’ve never not had a dark sense of humor. So, wrestle with that as you will, but this is me without all the sound and fury.”

Sound and fury. If you can get past all his sound and fury.

Think of us like twins.

“I imagine you’ve earned it,” I say as memories of Tristan threaten to overwhelm.

Some lights go off in the lobby, and I turn to see a young nurse approaching. “Hey, Connor?” she says. “Time for your visitor to go.”

Connor’s head jerks around, and he scowls. “We’re in the middle of a session.”

“Rules are rules. Sorry.”

He gives her a tight smile. “Then will you please call my doctor? I’d like to sign myself out.”

I sit there with my mouth shut as the two of them enter a sort of silent standoff.

The nurse sighs heavily. “You can have a few more minutes.”

“Thanks so much,” Connor says to her before turning back to me. “You want to go outside?”

“Yeah.” Fresh air is always a good idea, but what I really need is a drink. I have a precarious hold on my guard.

On the large patio, we sit across from each other in some cheap excuses for chairs. I light his cigarette for him, taking one for myself. I don’t smoke much at all these days, but this feels like the right kind of occasion.

It’s a nice night. A cool front is blowing through, and with it comes the scent of pinion wood being burned in chimineas by over-eager lovers of fall. The smoke from his cigarette trails off behind him, and that’s what I train my eyes on, thinking about how I would paint it.

His next question pulls me back to the present. “Was she ever kind to you?”

I make myself look at my brother. Make myself think. I still believe he’s not ready to hear the truth, so I sidestep the question. Carefully, I say, “I considered it a kindness that they sent me to prep school in another state. And that I got to come back and finish high school with West. But I don’t know why they decided that, other than it was the first step of them cutting me off. At the time, it wasn’t what I wanted, and I was pretty pissed.” Focusing on my hands, I avert my eyes, overloaded by the weight of all the guilt I bear for not being strong enough or smart enough to do anything to get him away from her, too.

After a heavy breath, he goes on. “I should have let you know how important it was for me that you came back after the accident. I treated you like it was your fault, and it wasn’t. I couldn't see the silver lining. What happened—as awful as it was—it brought you home. There wasn’t anything else in the world that would have. And that makes me grateful for it. But I guess…you know. Be careful what you wish for.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat. I have disappointed my brother on such a massive scale, it’s impossible to calculate the damage done, and I’ve ruined myself in the process.

“Our mother was really sick,” I say. “It took me a long time—it took West and Helen…Tristan even, for me to understand that what she did had nothing to do with me. I mean I’ve always known it in my head, but in my heart sometimes… If your mom can’t love you, then who the fuck can?”

“Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes. “Who doesn’t love you? I’m the impossible one.”

“You’re not. You’ve been through it, too.”

“I guess. Can I ask you something?”

Why stop now? I blow out a lungful of smoke. “Sure.”

“Am I the reason you broke up with Tristan?”

My head rears back. The Tristan blindsides need to stop if we’re going to achieve anything close to a relationship. And yet, my answer just sort of…slips out. “Yes.”

The word lands like a grenade for him. The tears he managed to hold in when I got here return with a vengeance. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He can’t wipe his face fast enough to catch them all, though he tries.

I look at my lap because it’s too hard to watch him like this when there’s nothing I can do to change anything. Part of me wishes I hadn’t said that, but while he’s in this safe place, he needs to understand where I’m at—what he and I are really dealing with. Maybe it would have been better if there were a counselor here to mediate, but I think he and I can do this. We’re nothing if not battle-tested.