He shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t particularly care.”
I glance around the music room. He’s hidden away in the corner, and he waves his hand as I look down at him. “Don’t mind me. Play away.”
I press my lips together. “We all have a share of the blame here, Rafe.”
He laughs, sarcastic and cold. “Do we? You always believed in her. Silas… she loves him. It’s plain as day to see. Me, I just keep on getting her hurt. Every fucking step I take ends with herhurting, Kit.”
I take a seat next to him. “The decisions belong to all of us.”
He looks down, moody and obstinate. “I made it so much fucking worse for her. When she came. Everything I did was designed to hurt her.”
“So, apologize,” I say. “Make it up to her, Rafe.”
He stares across the room. “I wouldn’t even know where to fucking start. I’ve put a damn wall between us and I can’t fuckingclimbit.”
“One step at a time,” I suggest quietly. “Brick by brick. The wall will fall eventually, Rafe. But it doesn’t happen overnight.”
He doesn’t respond. I know my twin well enough to understand when he needs to work through things at his own pace, so I leave him there, sliding onto my piano stool. I play quietly, enjoying the music, until a soft pair of hands land on my shoulders.
Stasi slips in next to me. Her hair is wet, and she fiddles with it. “I think I’m going to need more conditioner. And another hairbrush. I seem to have lost half of the one you gave me trying to tackle the nest.”
She sounds apologetic.
“You can have anything you want,” I say softly. “We’ll look tomorrow, get it ordered.”
A cough behind us makes her jump. She nearly flies from her seat, twisting with her hand over her heart. “Shit, Rafe. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” His voice sounds scratchy. “I’ll be back.”
We both watch as he disappears out of the door. Stasi’s shoulders drop a little.
“One of Rafe’s faults is his temper,” I say quietly, tracing my finger along the keys. “He’s rash to anger, and he makes decisions. He’s worried that some of those decisions make him… irredeemable. To you.”
Stasi sucks in a breath. “I’m not sure he cares very much about what I think of him.”
I hold her gaze. “Then you would be wrong.”
Her eyes soften. “Do your brothers know how much you fight for them?”
My lips twitch up. “No more than they do for me.”
“You’re a good man, Christopher Tate.”
I wince, and she laughs. “Still hate being called Christopher?”
“Yep.” I play a light, quick melody. “Although I suppose I could get over it, if you have a preference.”
Maybe.
Her hand closes over mine. “I like Kit.”
When I turn to her, her face is close to mine.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s so easy to love you, Kit Tate.”
And my heart stutters inside my chest. Stasi brushes her lips over mine. Once. Twice. And I sink into her, my fingers dropping from the keys and sliding into her hair as she moans, opening up for me, even as I try to be gentle, to mind the corner of her lip.
I’ve kissed her before. And yet there is more between us now. More honesty. More emotion. As if the people we were then are catching up to the people we are now.
