I look out over the backyard at the weathered tire swing hanging from the massive old oak in the far corner and the now hoop-less and cracked backboard over the detached garage, where I used to play basketball until well after dark most evenings. The year Dad died, I threw myself into the sport. Obsessed about it, really, because it had been something we’d done together. Aidan was still little, but I remember he used to sit out on the back steps after dinner, watching me shoot hoops until Mom called him in for bed.
“You’re not the only one I need to make amends with, though,” I say. “This is only the start.”
She nods, nibbling on her lip, but refrains from looking at me. She’s staring out over the yard just as I had been. Is she seeing two young boys too, bonding by the basketball hoop under the rising moon?
“Your brother’s going to be a hard nut to crack.”
Don’t I know it.
“You really never told him anything?”
“He was too angry,” she replies sadly, shaking her head. “Still is, I’m sorry to say.”
I blow out a harsh breath. “Yeah, I kinda got that last night.”
We’re silent again for a long moment as I contemplate my relationship—or lack thereof—with my brother. I don’t know how I’m going to fix things with Aidan, but I’m determined to. I’ve missed too much already.
“But you don’t just mean him, do you?” my mom asks.
“No.”
“I saw the way you were looking at her last night, Riles.” She turns to meet my eyes. “Steph’s been through a lot. You need to tread very carefully there, son.”
I tip my head to the side in acknowledgment. “But she’s single, isn’t she?”
My mom nods. “Her husband left her some years back,” she says, and my stomach clenches at the thought of Steph ever having been married to someone else. Anyone else.
I’d known, though.
Even with the occasional internet access in prison, I hadn’t had the guts to look her up on social media until I was out. Things were still too fresh. And then, when I finally did, I was reminded of exactly why I’d resisted for so long. The word had frozen the blood in my veins and reverberated around my skull for a good long while.
Married.
I think I’d always known that’s what I’d find. Steph was too good. Too sweet, and bright, and beautiful for some dude not to snatch her up the first chance he got. I’d just hoped she was happy. At least, that’s what I’d told myself repeatedly in those days. I’dwantedto wish her well. I’dtried. It was the least I could do after breaking her heart, right? But the truth is that resentment and anger burned in my chest at the thought of someone else holding her in the night. Someone who’d never love her the way I did.
Do.
Always will.
And now?
Divorced. And I can’t deny I’m relieved to hear it.
Do I feel shitty about it? Yeah.
Am I going to take full fucking advantage of the situation?
Hell, yeah.
I grit my teeth as my mom continues. “She’s got two boys. Both teenagers now. You might have seen them at the wedding …?”
Uhhh, nope. I was apparently too distracted staring at their mother.
“They’re good kids. But the three of them have had a real rough go of things.”
Fuck. I hate to hear she’s struggled. She didn’t deserve any of this, and I can’t help but feel a twinge—more than a twinge—of guilt at the thought that all her troublesbegan with me.
And … two boys? Again, there’s a tightening in my gut and a familiar yet fresh stab of pain in my chest when I consider the life I could have had—should have had—with Steph.
