He pats my back.
"I wish I could go back," I whisper. "Undo it. All of it."
"Don't," he says, finally.
I look at him.
He shakes his head. "Don't apologize for something that isn't yours."
"But it feels like it is," I say. "Because I have his name. His blood. His house. And you—"
I stop.
Because saying the rest out loud hurts. And because he's looking at me with something I haven't seen before.
Ache.
"That's also one of the reasons why I used to mess with you."
He still doesn't look.
"You were always so... perfect. Quiet. Smart. You had this family that looked like they have it all together. You had him."
I swallow. He lets out a small, bitter laugh.
"And I had just lost mine."
Silence. But not empty.
He adds, softer now, "I looked at you and saw what I lost. What he should've been. What we should've been."
His voice cracks. "So I kinda took it out on you."
The world around me goes quiet. Everything in my head is white noise. All those years. All those jokes, offensive comments.
They weren't just him being a jerk.
They were a boy falling apart.
A boy in pain.
And I didn't know.
He tips the bottle to his lips again slowly. His throat moves as he swallows, and I catch myself staring too long.
"So..." he says. "How'd your old man take the news that his golden boy got tragically seduced by my filthy mouth?" he asks, and he actually laughs.
The sound is so out of place after what he just told me that I can't help it, I start laughing too.
I laugh because I can hear the shift.
The way he's trying to drag us out of that heavy place and throw us back into something lighter that doesn't involve death.
I'm not about to press him back into that wound.
"Oh, you should've seen it," I say, settling into the rhythm he'd set.
"He looked at me like I set fire to the family crest. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend."
