Bradley drains his beer, sets the bottle down, and clears his throat. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Daniels. Don’t act like you don’t know what love is. You’ve been brought up with it your whole life. You give it to your son every damn day.”
I shake my head. “That’s different, Mitchell. Loving my kid’s easy. He depends on me. It’s black and white. Loving a woman…” I rub the back of my neck. “That’sdifferent. How do I balance both? I’ve never had this much responsibility in my life, apart from our job. Half the time, I feel like I’m winging it. I wouldn’t even know the first thing about loving a woman properly.”
He stares at me for a long second, then says flatly, “You’re an idiot.”
I blink at him in disbelief. “How?”
“Because you’re overthinking it. Where’s the guy I used to know? The one who couldn’t stop annoying me every chance he got? That guy wouldn’t have hesitated at this. Wouldn’t have fucked it up.” His voice stays even, but there’s steel behind it. “Look, I’m not gonna drag up all the shit you’ve done or said. I’m trying to push that aside for the sake of the idea of you being with my sister.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you lied to me, you wanker.” His tone doesn’t change. “I’m just giving you the benefit of the doubt. For now. For her.”
There’s a trace of something close to respect beneath the warning, and I nod once. I get it. He’s the protective older sibling. Sandra’s the same. Always has been. But how many times haveIbeen the one people called when shit hit the fan? When the car broke down. When the washing machine flooded the kitchen. When someone needed a lift, a hand, a fix. It wasalwaysCall Sebastian.I was the one who patched things up, held it together, made sure everyone else stayed standing. And now? The only ones left to hold are my kid… and her—if I can get my shit together long enough not to lose her.
“You can’t keep punishing yourself for your past and expect someone to wait around while you figure it out.”
A low, humourless laugh slips out before I can stop it—at how his words slice deep. Not because they’re cruel, but because they’re fucking true. At the fact that they’re also coming from Bradley, who barely says two sentences unless they count. I exhale slowly. “You and your sister sure know how to hit a bloke where it hurts.”
He smirks, finishing off the last of his beer. “Grovelling looks good on you. Knew your dumb decisions would catch up eventually.”
I know he’s not talking about the mistakes that used to define me. He’s talking abouther. I take another swig, eyes drifting toward the open window.
“Yeah. Guess I’ve got some fixing to do.”
Bradley stands, stretches, and gives me that older-brother look I’ve seen him throw at Xavier a dozen times. “Good luck, Daniels.” Before he leaves, he pauses in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “One last thing. You can’t half-love my sister. Either tell her, andmeanit, or stay the hell away for good.”
The sound of the door clicking shut behind him is jarring. I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to move. Grabbing two plates from the cupboard, I call Teddy over for dinner. He barrels in, chatter spilling out about Lego towers andBlueyepisodes as I dish up the pasta. I let him talk. It’s the only thing that can attempt to soften the edges of my riled, tight mind, because deep inside, Bradley’s words keep echoing.
You can’t half-love my sister.
Love.
A week ago, Sandra said almost the same damn thing. Now Bradley’s driven the nail straight in. I’ll lose the part of myself that remembered what it felt like to actually live when she walked into my world. I grab my phone, thumb hovering over the screen. A message starts to form, then I delete it. Fuck it. No more pointless one-sided messages. It’s time toshowher.
I know for a fact she’s going to make this hard, but maybe that’s exactly what I need.
A kick up the ass big enough to finally pull my head out of it.
39
Sebastian
Rewrite The Stars - Zac Efron, Zendaya
It’s Not Over - Daughtry
The florist smells like sugar, water, and pollen. Too sweet, too floral, the kind of smell that sticks to your clothes and makes you feel like you’ve walked through a bloody greenhouse. Teddy wrinkles his nose, his small hand gripping mine as his eyes dart between buckets of colour, lined up like soldiers. The kid’s fascinated, and fair enough. The place is a goddamn rainbow.
“Why’re we here, Dad?” he asks, his voice muffled behind his sleeve.
I crouch beside him, brushing a hand over his head. “We’re grabbing some flowers, buddy.”
“For Olivia?” His eyes light up when he says her name.
“Yeah, champ. For Liv.”
The florist behind the counter looks up from trimming stems, her lipstick too red, her smile too knowing. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
