Page 71 of The Art of Drowning

“He’s not exactly my favorite person. Hasn’t been since the night he caught us.”

“What happened after that, anyway? I mean, after I left for college. I just always assumed that Sam was still your friend, but that he was just keeping you away from the house. I didn’t want to cause problems for you, so I just… believed it.”

“What happened after that? A bunch of nothing. Sam basically ostracized me. I had no friends, and you know what my home life was like.” Parents who might have noticed that I was home more often but didn’t care enough to ask why. “I just kept my head down and got through the school year. Graduated and got the fuck out of there. I thought about going to the same school you’d gone to, but Sam…”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’d ruin your life if I went near you. He said… oh fuck. He said he knew how to turn everyone against you. He sounded so sure of himself. And he was so angry, Callum. So fucking angry.”

“Sam was an angry person. He was always jealous even when he had no reason to be. I always thought he acted like my very existence was a threat to him, and I guess it was. But at least now I know why.” Callum sighed and picked up the results again. “It makes sense for it to be true. I mean, he always did look more like them than I did. How could I not have guessed?”

“Callum, be real. Who sits around and thinks gee, maybe my parents aren’t my parents?”

“Every angry ten-year-old that ever lived?”

“You got me there. I used to wish that I was adopted so I could go find my real family. But then I started to be afraid that maybe I was adopted and all my parents sucked. And that was a bleak thought.”

The papers shook in Callum’s grasp. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Right now? Nothing.” I took the papers from him and set them back on the table. “Right now, you don’t have to do anything. Sam is dead and gone, and we don’t have to let him manipulate us anymore. He can take his passive aggressive note and shove it up his noncorporeal ass.”

“What does the rest of the letter say?” Callum fidgeted, like he wanted to reach for the letter so he could keep reading, but at the same time, couldn’t decide if he really wanted to know after all.

“Probably just more shit proving what a bastard your brother was.”

He barked out a laugh. “He’s not my brother, I guess. Which is kind of a relief because, wow, was he ever a fucking douche.”

Callum’s declaration sounded less like relief and more like a desperation to cling to anything that might keep him from cracking in half.

“Did you want me to read the rest of the letter?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Then the answer is no, at least for now.”

“No, for now. I can live with that,” Callum said after a minute or two had passed. The next breath he released was shakier than the last. “I fucking hate him, Damien. I hate him so much. And I’m just so fucking pissed at him, and now I’m sad and mad and just…” Callum’s voice broke off and he buried his face in his hands.

Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him into my lap and rearranged us so I could hold him for as long as possible. As long as he needed.

Callum didn’t cry, though. He kept his face covered for several minutes, and when he pulled his hands away, he seemed to have composed himself a little more.

“Tell me what you need.” I kissed the side of his head.

“I don’t know what I need.” He sounded dejected. Exhausted. Like it was an effort to keep breathing and thinking.

It would be easy to distract him with sex, but I didn’t think that’s what he actually needed in this moment.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“Not long ago. I’m not hungry.”

My stomach made a loud grumbling noise as if awakened from an eternal slumber by the mention of food. I had yet to eat today and hadn’t stopped on the way here.

“I’ll order something for myself and get some extra in case you change your mind. What’s good around here?”

“I have leftover Thai in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Perfect, I’ll eat that and then run you a bath.”