Eighteen years old and drinking scotch like it's going to solve his problems.
The party continues around us, but I can't shake the image of Jake's face—the anger, yes, but underneath it something that looks dangerously close to desperation.I excuse myself from the group and go looking for him.
I find him on the terrace, leaning against the stone railing with his back to the party.The glass in his hand is nearly empty now, and there's a tension in his shoulders that I recognize.
"Jake."
He doesn't turn around."What do you want?"
"To talk."
"Well, I don't."He drains the glass and sets it on the railing with more force than necessary."I have nothing to say to you.Not now, not tomorrow, not next week."
I step closer, close enough to see the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw is clenched."Jake, please, give me?—"
"Let's just stay out of each other's way for the remainder of this summer," he continues, finally turning to face me.The anger in his voice is surface-level, but underneath it I can hear exhaustion."I'll go back to New York, you can go back to wherever it is you want to escape to next, and when Mom wants us together again for Thanksgiving or Christmas, we'll put on the same show."
The words are designed to hurt, and they kind of do.
But more than that, they worry me.Jake looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.There's a stress in his face that seems too heavy for him to carry, and he won't meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.
I recognize the signs because I've lived them—the internal beat-down that happens when someone you're supposed to trust uses your hopes against you.
"What's he got you doing?"I ask quietly.
His laugh is bitter.
"Don’t act like you fucking care."
"I do, actually.Because I've been where you are, Jake.I know what it feels like when he gets his hooks in you."
Jake lets out a sinister laugh.
“Of course.Of course you’d make it about you.”He closes the space between us to the point where I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"You don't know shit about where I am," he snaps, but there's a tremor in his voice that gives him away."You left.Now you don't get to come back and play concerned big brother now."
The accusation hits its mark, and I feel something crack open in my chest.
Because he's right.I did leave.
I ran away when things got too hard, too complicated, too painful to bear.And in doing so, I left him alone with Mom's fears and Scott's manipulation.
"You're right," I say, and the admission seems to surprise him."I did leave.I abandoned you both when you needed me most."
“I didn’t and don’t need you Nate.Get that through your fucking head.”
For a moment, his mask slips, and I see the hurt underneath the anger.The kid who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, who looked at me like I hung the moon and could fix anything that was broken.But then the walls go back up, and he's stepping away from me, putting distance between us like I'm something dangerous.
"I don't need your guilt or your apologies.I'm doing fine on my own.Better even."He says as he skulls the last drop of liquid in the glass he’s holding.
He's not fine, anyone with eyes can see that.But I also know that right now, at this moment, there's nothing I can say that will make him believe me.The trust between us is too broken, the hurt too fresh.
"Jake," I try once more, but he's already walking away.
I stand there on the terrace for a long time after he's gone, the sound of laughter and music drifting out from inside.The summer air is warm against my skin, but I feel cold in a way that has nothing to do with temperature.
I'm sorry I abandoned you too,I think, the words echoing in the space between us that feels wider than an ocean.I'm sorry I left you to figure it out alone.
