“I can’t undo it,” I say. “I would if I could, but I can’t give back the hours you spent on that floor. I’d take away all those fucked-up feelings if I could, too, but I can’t do that, either.”
His eyes are wet, but he doesn’t look away.
“I can only promise you this: From now on, I’m choosing differently.” I swallow hard. “You’re sixteen, Sage. You deserved better than a brother who disappears into the dark and expects you to just trust that he’ll come back.”
I despise how long the next moment lasts. Sage stares at my face and studies me forever, because he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. His whole life, he’s been trained to expect agotchamoment. How can you put your faith in anything good when it’s inevitably followed by disappointment? I’m the one to blame for that, I know. But it kills me nonetheless to see the suspicion that lives permanently in his eyes.
He could hate me forever. I knew a long time ago that that was one of many possible outcomes.
And yet I hold still anyway and let him look. I’ve got nothing to hide anymore. Everything is out in the light.
Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because his shoulders finally drop and some of the tension bleeds out of his posture. He exhales slowly. “I’m still pissed,” he warns. “And I’m not going to pretend everything is fine just because you gave a nice speech.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” I pause, then add, “It was a nice speech, though, right?”
He doesn’t laugh. “But—” He pauses, jaw grinding. “I’m willing to try. That’s all I can offer right now.”
My throat locks up. “That’s more than I deserve,” I finally say. “Thank you.”
The smoke alarm saves me from having to say anything else. I lunge for the stove and yank the pan off the burner, scraping the woodchips of charred bacon into the trash while Sage wheels over to fan a dish towel at the shrieking detector.
“Nice work, Chef Boyardee,” he deadpans once the beeping stops.
“Shut up and eat your eggs, smart-ass.”
I’m restarting with fresh bacon when Sage clears his throat. “One more question.” He pushes a piece of egg around his plate with studied nonchalance. “You and Eliana… that’s still, like, a thing, right?”
My hand stills on the spatula.
“I’m not blind, Bastian,” he adds. “I heard you two last night. The walls aren’tthatthick.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Sage?—”
“I’m just asking.” He shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. “Are you in love with her?”
I set down the spatula once more. “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
Sage absorbs this with a slow nod. Then he fixes me with a hard stare that seems far too wizened for the bratty teen I once knew. “She’s good, you know,” he says. “Like, actually a good person. In her soul. Not fake-good or trying-to-impress-you good.” He looks down at his hands. “She deserves someone who won’t keep screwing up.”
“I know.”
Sage leans forward with sudden intensity. “Then don’t mess it up again. Whatever it takes, Basti, whatever you have to do or become, do it. Don’t let her slip away.” He shakes his head and adds in a wry undertone, “Besides, I can’t take any more of you two moping around about each other. It’s fuckin’ depressing.”
Before I can figure out what to say to that, Zeke stumbles into the kitchen with a yawn so theatrical it borders on performance art. “Who the hell is ruining bacon? Do they not realize that there is a Michelin-starred chef in our midst?”
“That chef seems to forget who he works for,” I drawl dryly.
“Well, aren’t you just as charming as ever?” He slides onto a barstool and reaching for the plate of eggs I’ve just finished. The moment between Sage and me dissolves into the clinking of forks, Zeke’s stream-of-consciousness chatter, and the cough of the coffee maker kicking on.
Yasmin appears a minute later wearing one of Zeke’s shirts, her hair a disaster zone of tangles and pillow creases. She makes a beeline for the coffee without acknowledging any of us, which is a little strange. I wonder if there’s something new going on with them.
Across the counter, I catch Sage’s eye. He gives me a small nod. Almost imperceptible. As he does, something loosens in my chest. We’re not fixed. We might never be fully fixed. But broken isn’t such a bad place to restart from, I’m learning.
Just as long as we’re building each other back up.
49
ELIANA
