Austin gets in my way when I try to leave. The gall of this motherfucker. I haven’t fought anyone in over three years, but I’ll happily break that streak if he doesn’t move.
Austin holds up his hands in front of him in a sign of supplication. “I didn’t come out here to fight. I wanted to look you in the eye and apologize.”
The words stop me cold because it’s the furthest thing from what I expected. He sounds and looks like he means it. But that doesn’t make any goddamn sense.
A dry, humorless chuckle escapes. “You think apologizing for what your brother did is going to erase all the pain he inflicted? You think a fucking sorry is going to make the scar on my brother’s leg disappear or make Elijah forget every black eye or beatdown he got from that bigoted asshole? He—” My throat tightens, rage mixing with something uglier, and I take a menacing step closer. “He tried to kill Liz. I was there. I saw everything.”
Austin flinches, not some small shift but a full-body reaction, like every word I hurl at him hits him like a physical blow.
“I know what he did,” he replies unsteadily, his voice cracking at the edges. “There is no forgiveness for any of it.”
Laughter drifts from the backyard along with the scent of charcoal and sizzling meat on the grill, but out here on the porch, it’s just me, Austin, and the weight of the past that neither of us can flee.
“You’re damn straight about that,” I reply, trying hard to keep my voice down.
Austin’s jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that isn’t just guilt. It’s pain. The kind that festers and doesn’t heal right. He drags a hand through his hair, eyes burning ominously with something dangerously close to the fury simmering under my skin. “You think having him as a brother was a privilege? You think I like beingcomparedto him every goddamn day? I spent my entire life trying to prove I wasn’thim.I couldn’t stop him. I was a kid. And by the time I was old enough to stand up to him, it was too late. Julien, Elijah, and Elizabethweren’t the only people he victimized. Try living under the same roof. I got it daily.”
Austin stares me down, imploring me to see the truth. To see him and not his brother. He offers me his hand again. I think about Liz, about how her heart always forgives, and all the times she’s given me a second chance. How our past shouldn’t define who we are now.
The wind shifts, cool air sweeping in, making the porch swing chains clink like wind chimes. And then, against every instinct screaming at me to hold onto my hatred, I take Austin’s hand.
“I just wanted—Ineedyou to know thatI’msorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” The porch light accentuates every fracture in his haunted expression, but the emotion that shows the loudest is regret.
Austin shouldn’t have to carry the stigma his brother left behind.
“Thank you,” I tell him. Our handshake is brief but meaningful.
“Other way around,” he replies.
The front door swings open. “There you are. I was wondering where you—” Trevor sees me and immediately steps in front of Austin.
This night just keeps getting better. Of course, Trevor would be here. I have a feeling tonight is going to be an endless merry-go-round of people who hate my guts.
“Jayson.” He doesn’t offer me his hand like Austin did.
“Trevor.” So this must be the Trev who Austin was referring to.
Austin breaks the tension when he hooks Trevor around the waist and hauls him in for a quick kiss. “Chill, babe. All’s good.”
At that moment I see the rings on their left hands.
Austin notices me looking and beams a smile at Trevor. “Recently engaged. We were going to announce it to everyonetonight. It’s been torture hiding my hands in my pockets. Makes giving hugs awkward as hell.”
“Congratulations.” And I mean it.
The ice on Trevor’s face thaws. “Everyone’s out back.” His not-so-subtle way of telling me to get my ass into gear and join the party.
Entering the house, my head rotates on an axis as I look around. It’s exactly how I pictured it. Warm, homey, and welcoming. I smile when I count all the bowls of magnolia flowers Liz has placed on various surfaces. It’s so like her.
When we get to the kitchen, the overlapping sounds of conversation spill inside when Trevor and Austin head out the back door, just as Marcus comes in. The other day when he and I talked, we left things in a good place…I hope.
“Point me to where Liz keeps her mason jars.”
Marcus gives me a quizzical eyebrow arch. “How did you know Mom collects mason jars?”
She did it when we were kids. She would collect things she would find in the forest. I filled a jar full of paper stars for her on Valentine’s Day. I wonder if she still has it.
I hold up the bouquet of flowers from Mom. “Compliments of Freda. They’re starting to wilt.”
