Page 51 of Licks

We stared at each other. We glanced at our drinks. There were no answers in the amber liquid, no easy way to broach this conversation we’d danced around for nine years.

Finch chose avoidance. “So—you and Gwen, huh?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.” I winced at the edge to my voice. Always challenging with him. Always waiting for him to snark back.

He kept his tone even. “She being her usual cagey self?”

“She is.” Finch understood Gwen’s history, how hard it was for her to trust and let go. It was nice not having to explain it, but it wasn’t the reason we were standing here, making eye contact and glancing away, drinking instead of saying what mattered. I swallowed a measure of Scotch, let the heat of it mellow in my chest, and finally found my voice. “I’m tired of being pissed off at you.”

His shoulders lowered as a heavy breath pushed through his nose. “I’m tired of being pissed at myself, too. I’ve spent a lot of time hating myself, looking for relief here.” He swirled his glass. A sad, defeated movement. “But I can’t change what I did. Can’t give you those years back with Gwen. All I can do is apologize and hope it’s enough. But it never has been, has it? Which I get, in a way. Then I see you with Gwen tonight, that you’ve forgiven her, and…” The pain on his face cut me down at my knees. “Why can’t you forgive me?”

“But that’s the thing. You and me”—I gestured aggressively between us, my voice still biting, always biting—“what you did wasn’t simple. It was calculated. I was desperate back then, worried about Gwen. You saw my weakness and pounced. You used me to get into college, something I still regret to this day. You used me to get close to Gwen, knowing how I felt about her. So I guess I need to know why. If I’m going to move on, I need to understand.”

Hip resting on his messy desk, he stared into his tumbler again. Dark paneled walls accentuated our tension, the expanse broken up by pictures of Finch with famous musicians. The one of him arm-and-arm with Eric Clapton caught my eye. Warmth pressed against my ribs. There was that pride again, hovering below my frustration. Subtle, but still there.

Finch swigged the rest of his Scotch and grimaced. “I’d like to tell you I had some kind of altruistic motivation. I thought I liked Gwen. I actually thought I loved her. In reality, I wanted something you couldn’t have, to come first in something for once.”

Drink clutched in one hand, I found my guitar pick with my other, deep in my pocket. I pressed the edge into my thumb and waited for him to go on.

“Thing is, I was always one step behind you. Not as strong on the soccer field. You aced high school without even trying. You were a freak of nature with your guitar. And there I was, always known as August’s brother. The other twin. You don’t know what that was like, but it’s a shitty reason to do what I did. I knew how brutal taking my SATs would be for you. I knew you’d lose your mind over me and Gwen. And hurting her in the process destroyed me. It made me realize I needed to grow up and own who I was. I can’t change what I did. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for a thousand things, but I miss my brother and I’d like to have him back.”

I couldn’t deny missing him. Our innate connection couldn’t be duplicated—laughing at the same jokes, trading a look without having to speak, the comfort of him being in my corner. I’d also been jerked around by promoters over the years, had had issues with my record label. Finch was in the business, knew the ropes. I’d needed someone to talk to, someone I could trust.

I’d needed him.

Still, I’d held back from reaching out, nursed my grudge instead. He was right, though. There was no going back. Only forward. What he did had sucked. Holding onto my anger sucked more. “You know what’s really messed up?” I said.

“Aside from the fact that the girl you wrote hate songs about was looking at you downstairs like you were a blue jelly bean?”

Her favorite candy as kids. I rubbed my overheating neck. “She looked at me like that?”

He chuckled. “Dude, you’ve always been blind where Gwen’s concerned.”

The buzz that filled me burned hotter than my next sip of Scotch. “Trust me, I know. What I don’t get is both you and Gwen resented me on some level as teens. She felt like I made her my charity case, and you obviously had it in for me. I just don’t remember being overly cocky about soccer, music. Any of it. Enough to make you guys feel like shit.”

“You think the sun notices when it outshines the moon?”

“Are you writing lyrics now?”

“You can fuck off. But think about it. Life was good to you. You never struggled. It taints your perception, makes you less aware of what others are going through.”

I slammed my glass on his filing cabinet, harder than necessary. “I was nothing but aware of Gwen’s situation. I did everything I could to help her through it.”

He swayed his head side to side, unruffled by my aggressive stance. “Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You offered her your quick fixes—the things that made you happy, because you excelled at them. You taught her guitar, but played better than her. You let her win at soccer, and she knew it. You helped her study, because she learned slower than you. Of course she felt like your charity case.”

“So I was supposed to suck at things?”

“For a smart guy, August, you’re pretty dense.”

I bit down on my molars. “Then dumb it down for me, Einstein.”

“Gwen had to find her answers, the things that made her happy. Like I needed to step out of your shadow and be my own man. It’s not your fault. We were kids. We had to grow up and figure out who we were.”

“And that makes it okay to steal the girl I loved?”