I sink back into the sofa, the truth of it hitting me harder than I want to admit.
“You created the distance,” he says, “because you thought I wasn’t strong enough.You decided everything for me.You carried everything alone—and then got angry that no one helped you.But I was there, Nate.I was right fucking there.”
His voice cracks.And suddenly he’s just a little kid again, hurt and small and trying to be brave but no one would tell him what was happening.
“I don’t want another adult in my life making decisions for me.I just wanted my brother.”
The silence that follows is brutal.
And he’s right.
Fuck, he’s right.
I became everything I hated about Scott—controlling, secretive, thinking I knew best.I pushed Jake so far away that he ran straight to the one person I swore I’d protect him from and it makes me sick.
Ollie gently takes the controller from Jake and hands it to me.
“Nate.Your turn.”
I stare at it then at Jake.
He looks young, hurt and tired.And I realize I’ve been looking at him wrong for years—seeing him as a problem to manage instead of a person to trust.
“I never asked the right questions,” I start quietly.“I?—”
I stop, because I need to mean this.
Really mean it.
“I became exactly what I swore I wouldn’t.And you’re right.I just became another person deciding shit for you without asking what you wanted.Another adult instead of your brother.”
I swallow hard.“I’m sorry, Jake.I’m so fucking sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me.”
Jake looks stunned like the idea of me apologizing wasn’t even on the table.
Ollie beams—the smug, satisfied “my dumb brothers are communicating” grin he’s had since we were kids.
“Good.I’m leaving now.I’m gonna find my girlfriend and actually enjoy my mom’s wedding.”
He heads for the door, then pauses and when he turns back, something heavy sits in his eyes.
“One day,” he says softly, “you’ll lose each other for real.No second chances.No time for ‘I’m sorry.’And that shit stays with you forever.Trust me.”
He leaves and the room feels smaller without him.
“He’s right,” I say after a beat.
“He usually is,” Jake mutters.
We both laugh—a tired, familiar sound.
“I know FIFA’s not gonna magically fix everything,” I tell him.“But I want to try.I want to fix us.”
Jake swallows.There’s hope in his eyes—a fragile kind.
“You really think we can?”he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit.“But I think we have to try.”
