It slipped out. Seb hadn’t meant to say it. Not now. Not to Ollie. To his dad maybe, if Philip tried to make another righteous stand in the family home, but not to his brother.
Oliver’s face turned sad. His chin and shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Whether he was apologizing for his outburst, or the years he’d spent treating his brother like some kind of a traitor when they were all crushed under their father’s unyielding thumb, Seb wasn’t sure. “I only ever wanted to be like you.”
“Yeah.” Oliver’s voice was rough at the edges. “I know.”
Seb smiled at him. “And instead you get to be a loser outcast like me!”
“You’re not a loser.”
“Never have been. But I don’t know. Wellness consulting sounds like a one-way ticket to Loserland if you ask me.”
Oliver shook his head and laughed, then pulled Seb into a hug, squeezing until Seb chuckled and returned it.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said into his shoulder. “About back then. With Dad. I should have said something.”
“You should have.” Seb slapped him on the back. “Don’t think I’m not reserving the right to kick your ass at some undetermined time in the future.”
“Understood.”
“Can I go back to my date now? You interrupted something good there.”
Oliver laughed. “You’re sure you’re not sleeping with him?”
“Not yet.”
“That elusive artist charm?”
“He’s a good guy.”
“He looks like a scarecrow.”
“You should see him in a suit.” Seb turned, but Oliver squeezed his shoulder.
“There’s one more thing.”
Seb rolled his eyes. “Yes, Columbo?”
“I’m moving to Seacroft.”
