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I’m sorting through my things—what to pack, what to donate, and what to keep here while I’m away in Boston. The piles are starting to confuse me because now that I’m looking at the donation pile, I’m seeing things that I want to wear, or think I do. And the stay-here pile has items that may be needed to survive a New England winter, which isn’t really that much different than a New York winter, according to Jaz and Darcy.

Now I’m confused and don’t know what to pack, so I start over. A knock stops me before I mix all the clothes up again.

“Enter!” I holler, staring down at my piles. I definitely have way too many clothes. I blame my mother.

When the door eases open and no one speaks, I turn to find Gavin standing in the doorway. I haven’t seen him since he stormed out on Christmas dinner nearly five months ago. It’s the only time we spoke in over a year. Neither of us attempted to make amends, despite my parents’ efforts.

I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t know how to forgive him. Especially not after I heard his office is formally investigating Jonathan for the arson and murder of his entire family—despite the inconclusive report from the fire investigator.

My broth—ADA Gavin Prescott’s deranged brain drew an imaginary line to another inconclusive fire from four years earlier. He’s determined to tie both fires to Jonathan. It’s his personal vendetta for some asinine reason.

I turn my back on him and start folding random items into my suitcase, not caring which pile I’m selecting from.

“Can we talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” I continue my horrible packing job. Everything’s going to be wrinkled, but I can’t concentrate.

“Then can I talk?”

“You’ve never needed my permission to voice your opinions and accusations before.”

He huffs. But proceeds to enter my room. Gavin removes a pile of clothes from my desk chair and sits down. What was that pile?

I keep my back to him when he begins speaking. “When you were little, you’d play in the woods and then proceed to get lost in the woods. And I’d have to come find you. You’d swear you knew your way back, but you were always walking the wrong way.”

I continue rolling up my clothes into messy balls and stuffing them into the suitcase. Soon, I’ll need another.

“When you started inviting friends over, they’d talk about you after you left the room. About how strange you were, but they wanted to see the inside of our house. And they only came over for the treats Magda made, and to borrow things from you they never intended to return.”

That stung. But I know he’s telling the truth.

“It’s why I was always mean to your friends and would scare them away. Better you be mad at me than know they were only using you.”

I stop fold-rolling but keep my back to him.

“When you’d invite Collin and Jonathan over, I admit I was jealous. They were real friends to you. Protective and funny. And the three of you always came up with the craziest games. I kept waiting for you to invite me to join you, but you didn’t. I’d already screwed that up.”

I sit on my bed without looking at him, letting him know I’m listening.

“I wasn’t nice to Danika. She annoyed me, to be honest. Always wanting me to tell her how pretty she was, or how nice her outfit was. I was angry that she didn’t invite me to the parties or gatherings you and the guys went to. Because she was too busy trying to be like the girls from my school. And well… I was a dick. She was already hurting because her parents never paid any attention to her, no matter what color her hair was or what she wore, and I helped her hate herself even more.

“I regret it. Hurting her. I apologized last year. I’m not sure if she told you.”

She didn’t. But their relationship was always between them. Although it didn’t stop me from holding his behavior against him. I glance over my shoulder. Gavin’s examining the mirror with all my memories attached to it. The smaller, high school version of the wall Jonathan and I created in the studio.

“When you and Jonathan started dating, I wanted to do everything I could to break you up. But Dad knew what I was up to and stood in my way. Even threatened to cut me off if I interfered.” Gavin flicks his eyes to me. When he realizes I’m looking at him, he spins the chair around to face me. “I knew about his father. About the abuse. I saw the pictures Dad hid away. I even confronted him about it. But he gave me some excuse about misguided loyalty. And more bullshit claiming he believed he was helping. He’s a brilliant man; no fricken way he’s that gullible.”

I narrow my eyes. Our father told me something similar, but I believed him. It took many conversations before I got it all out of him. And many more months until there was any semblance of forgiveness. Maybe I’m the gullible one.

Still, Gavin isn’t my father. And I don’t know how much forgiveness I have in me right now.

“Jonathan’s temper and inherent violence scared the shit out of me. I was afraid for you. That he would end up just like his father.”

I remain silent, letting him do all the talking, suppressing my innate instinct to defend Jonathan. I feel like I was born with that as my default mode.

“Every time I’d come home, I’d scan you for bruises.”

I can’t hide my stunned reaction.