Grandpa tilts the cup towards me like a toast. “That’s my boy.”
I slide my chair closer to Grandpa.
I’m on the team that has the power to make Trent completely one-eighty like that. What a spin of the bottle.
Trent’s gaze flicks over mine and snags on the grin I’m biting.
I gesture lazily at the whiskey. “Can I try, Grandpa?”
“Go for it.”
I take the cup and swallow half before I can think better of it.
Grandpa watches me, his bushy brows arching slightly. Then he looks into the cup, sighs like a man burdened by misfortune, and turns to Trent, who’s already settling into the chair on his other side.
“Let me guess. You also want a try.”
Trent picks up the cup and finishes it off with a clean, easy tip of his wrist.
Grandpa’s bark of laughter fills the room.
Trent sinks deeper into his chair, his gaze gliding briefly over the postcards on the wall before landing on nothing.
This is a play they’ve done before.
And somehow, I moved into it seamlessly.
Like I’m not an outsider. Not a stranger trying to keep up.
And... itshouldhave felt staged. Awkward. Like an act I was still learning to perfect.
But it had been too easy.
Like my body remembered I’ve done this before. I’ve once been someone’s grandson. Someone’s younger brother.
Trent leans forwards, sharply, his gaze pinching on me. “It was a long flight. You’re tired. You need to rest.”
He saw my shiver.
He’s . . . covering for me. For Grandpa?
Or genuinely concerned?
My throat tightens. My jaw aches. “I’m fine, Trenty.”
Trent is already up, gesturing me out of the chair. Catching it when it tips.
Grandpa reshuffles his cards, chuckling.
I’m not sure what I was expecting.
But it wasn’t bunk beds.
I stop, my chest crushing. It feels like stepping into a space already so full it has to squeeze the last breath out of me just so I can fit.
I drag my gaze around, taking it in.
One half lived in. The other, frozen.
