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After a few moments of silence, he realizes I’m still staring at him. Expecting more from him. He sighs. “My parents are fucked up. The only reason we all aren’t like them is because of Xan. He said that it wasn’t always like that.”
He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, and I’m still absorbing the information when he continues. “Xan and Jet grew up with Mom as a loving mother and with Dad as an asshole—but not nearly like he is now. Then Pris and Del came along. By the time Tabby and I were born, Mom had wasted away. She resented us. Dad was jealous of all the attention and money and time that went into having six kids.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, touching his arm, and he flinches.
“He disappeared into a bottle. I spent the first years of my life in a very different home than my brothers. But he took off before I was old enough to drive. So here we are.” The whole confession ends with a shrug. Like no big deal. But the swimming emotion in his eyes and his inability to look at me tells me it’s a big deal.
I bite my lip as he talks, my heart breaking and emotion surging through me. It is primarily hormonal since everything makes me want to cry now. But I’m sure he’d hate it if he knew I pity him, so I force myself to stay neutral.
“That’s awful.” I reach over and cup the back of his neck, pulling my nails through the short hair at the base of his neck and massaging the muscle.
“We’re all a mess. Every one of us.” His voice softens, and he stretches his neck with a slight groan.
“We are,” I repeat, and he looks at me, maybe hoping I’ll continue. I can’t get into my family. I can’t get into how my parents used me in their divorce to get back at each other. Because then I’ll have to tell him everything else.
Everything else his mother seems to know already.
