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Pure disdain is etched onto every angle of his face. That fierce, dark look he’s got locked on me was one of the secrets to his success on the soccer pitch. And now, I understand why. I’ve never backed down from a fight with him, but right now I’m thinking about making a run for it.
“I was there meeting your other brother. He’s been trying to reach you for months. When he couldn’t, he reached out to me, on fucking Instagram. He said he had something important to give you, and didn’t want to risk sending it to your agent’s office because it’s highly personal. So, I flew down to see him.”
“Why? You could have just given me the message?” I ask, genuinely puzzled. Jack hates to travel, especially by plane.
His lip curls again. “Because, ass wipe, I wanted the whole story and I didn’t trust you to give it to me. And boy was I right. He told me that fifteen months ago you found out that Beth was your fucking half-sister. That Loren Bosch isn’t your biological father. That’s a whole lot different than your whole it didn’t work out bullshit.” He makes air quotes around his caustic words.
The blood drains from my face as remorse, fear, and resentment coalesce to turn my gut into a churning sea of contradiction.
I’m sorry that he found out this way. But, my decision to keep my family in the dark wasn’t a whim taken in a moment of panic. It was deliberate. When I limped back home, I was hanging on to everything by a thread. And the truth, at the time, was too terrible to give voice to.
Now, though, I can see that the lies I told them were the real transgression, the truth was… just that.
He lets out a harsh, exhausted sigh and shakes his head. “I know I’m an asshole. I know I’m not warm and fuzzy. I call you on your crap and I’m not fucking sympathetic, but God dammit, you can’t keep shit like that to yourself, Carter.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you about Dad. I felt like, maybe you didn’t really need to know. It didn’t change who he was to you.”
“Fuck that. We should have been there with you while you were waiting to find out. Dammit, Carter.” He slams his hand down on the top of the piano, the crack of the contact sends a discordant reverb through the room
He shakes his head, his anger framed and muted by disappointment, now. “I’m your brother. I would lay down, right now, and let someone cut me open, take my heart out, and put it in your chest if it would save you.” His voice is nearly a growl, and his throat works as if he’s holding back tears.
“Jackson— I’m sorry.” To my own ears, the words are a feeble and insufficient sentiment. Judging by the unwavering anger in his eyes, he feels the same way . I’ve given him plenty of reasons to be disappointed over the course of my life. Right now, though the depth of his hurt is on full display and I’m sick with guilt knowing that I’m responsible for putting it there.
“You went through some really major shit all by yourself and kept it secret from your entire family. That’s not who we are as a family. We don’t go it alone. Not when we have each other,” he says angrily.
Full of regret, I drop my head into my hands. “I know. I know. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I barely know what to tell myself.” Again, my words fail to rise to the occasion, but I don’t know what else to say.
“You know why I drove here?” he asks.
“Because you hate planes?” I quip. It earns me a scowl.
“I knew I’d need the 21-hour drive to cool down enough to not want to kick your ass when I saw you. I was wrong, because that look on your face - you look like total shit by the way - makes me want to whale on you so bad. I know you think you have a temper. But, you’re not anyone’s big brother. You don’t know what it’s like to love someone the way I love you. And it’s just…shitty to know you didn’t think you could come to us.”
He takes a step back, putting distance between us and I’m hit with a pang of worry that he’s going to say he can’t forgive me.
He runs his hands through hair. The cap of curls is a total mess. The dark circles beneath his eyes testify to the sleepless nights, as do the thoroughly crumpled and stained dress shirt he’s wearing.
He sighs wearily and closes his eyes for a beat, rubs them like he’s trying to dislodge grit. The fatigue he’s feeling is secondary to everything else because when he opens them again, they are full of an angry blue fire that pins me in place while he digs in his jeans pocket and pulls out a key card.
“I’m staying at the Beverly Wilshire. I’m going there to take a nap. Be there for dinner at 7pm. If you don’t show, I’ll come back here and beat it out of you even if your cameras are rolling.”
He slams the keycard down on the piano. “I’m in the Beverly Suite. Let yourself up.”
He’s halfway to the door when he stops abruptly. I brace for whatever he’s planning for his encore.
“Here, your other brother asked me to give this to you.” Without turning around, he flings a piece of paper over his shoulder. It flutters to the floor, and when I look up, he’s gone. Dane ducks back into the room, his eyes wide with amused curiosity. Lucas and Heath, filter in, within seconds of him wearing the same expression and sit next to him on the sofa across from the piano.
“Dude, what the fuck did you do?” Dane asks. I stare blankly at them, as I grapple for what to say. I know I’ll I need to come clean. We’ve hitched our stars together and it’s on the rise. If what happened in Winsome - any of it, ever comes out, they’ll be dragged down by it, too. They deserve the truth.
“I’ll tell you everything, but give me a day.”
I pick up the envelope he threw from the floor and freeze when I see the handwriting on the outside.
“Carter.” Is scrawled neatly in bold, slanted script that I recognize right away.
It’s from Beth…I press it to my nose and smell all of the things she means to me. Home. Love. Freedom. Joy. Need. Want. Everything.
I finger the seal of the envelope and swallow the lump my heart has made in my throat before I turn back around to face them.
