Page 13 of Conail

She felt the guilt churning inside her. "You had to stay, and I left."

He slid her a glance -- an impatient look on his face. "This is not about you."

She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the rising tension. "It feels like everything is different now. You changed too, Colin. It's not just me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "I didn't have a choice. Life forced me to adapt, to become someone else. You know that."

She nodded slowly, acknowledging his words but unable to shake the sadness that gripped her. "I just wish we could go back to the way things were."

Colin's eyes softened slightly. "We can't go back, but we can move forward. It's all we can do." He reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We're still family, no matter what."

She smiled faintly, feeling the warmth of his touch. "Yeah, we are."

She wanted to go back to the topic of Maddy, but decided now was not the time. She had heard the hurt and pain in her friend's voice when she spoke about him and realized that she still loved him. But her brother was stubborn and not really the forgiving type. Biting off a sigh, she picked up her beer and took another sip.

*****

It took her a few minutes to fall asleep. It had been so long since she slept in her old room. A period of adjustment was expected. They had returned just as their parents were getting ready for bed.

Her mother had embraced her and pressed a cup of tea in her hand to take to her room. Her dad had merely grunted as he bid her goodnight. Colin had made his way to his suite and closed his door.

Stripping off the clothing she had worn for the ride, she put on an old college t-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. She had spent so much time in this room, either reading or painting. She had always liked to draw, and her teachers had recognized her talent from an early age. She recalled pestering her mother for drawing pads and pencils.

As she sat there, memories flooded back like a tidal wave, bringing with them the scents and sounds of her childhood. The gentle hum of the ceiling fan, the faint smell of lavender from her mother's garden, and the gentle tapping of a tree branch against her window -- each detail felt like a fragment of her past, pieced together to form a mosaic of nostalgia.

She opened the drawer of her nightstand and found a stack of old sketches, yellowed with age but still vibrant with the passion she once poured into them. Faces of friends, scenes from their travels, and abstract shapes that reflected her moods -- they were all there, silent witnesses to her growth and change.

With a sigh, she picked up a sketchbook and flipped through the pages, marveling at how much her style had evolved. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of her old room, she felt a surge of inspiration. Perhaps it was the familiarity, the comfort of being surrounded by the tangible remnants of her past, that reignited the spark within her.

Determined to make the most of this rare moment of peace, she fetched her drawing pad and pencils from her bag. Setting up by the window, where the moonlight spilled over the sill, she began to sketch, her strokes gentle at first but gaining confidence as she immersed herself in the world she was creating.

As the hours slipped by, she lost herself in the rhythm of her art, each line and shadow bringing her a step closer to reclaiming a piece of herself. In the stillness of the night, she found solace in the act of creation, a reminder that no matter how far she had come, her true self was always waiting just beneath the surface.

*****

Inside his room, Colin had switched to brandy. His suite was his area of comfort and solitude. Over the years, he had changed thedécor and made it his own. He was not a man given to frivolity and had stuck with the basics.

Whereas his sister had sprung for bold colors, he had chosen a neutral décor. Tan and a deep forest green were echoed throughout the rooms. His suite consisted of two bedrooms, one of which he had converted into an office. There was his bathroom, a tiny kitchenette for when he did not feel like going down for a meal, and a gym.

He did not have time to deal with all these emotions tumbling all around inside him. He was yearning for her -- damn her to hell and back! Shoving from his desk, he marched over to the bedside drawer and yanked it open. The stack of photos was still there.

He worked hard and figured he was entitled to a little comfort. His bed had been sourced at an antique store in Virginia. It was king-sized and not for the first time, felt too big and too lonely. Her coming back was making him want again.

Photos of them together at the local fair, sharing cotton candy and frozen lemonades. Of her hugging the silly elephant he had won for her. Of her sitting under the tree on the blanket, head thrown back, with laughter on her sexy lips. Of her graduatingfrom high school -- of them at the prom. There were tons of pictures depicting memories. She had been his high school sweetheart and instead of them growing out of the affection they held for each other, it had only grown stronger.

They were supposed to be married with kids. She was not supposed to have gone off and shattered his heart into tiny pieces. His breath panted through his lips as he stared at her photo. She was not supposed to have allowed another man to touch her. They belonged to each other. And for that, he could not forgive her.

Dumping the photos back, he slammed the drawer shut. He really should burn the lot of them, he thought viciously. Just burn them and try to tear her from his heart. He was done, or so he liked to tell himself.

The room, once filled with the warmth of shared memories, now felt cold and desolate. He poured himself another glass of brandy, the amber liquid swirling in the glass like the turbulent emotions within his heart. He knew he couldn't escape the past, no matter how hard he tried to drown it in alcohol or bury it in work.

Returning to his desk, he stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, willing himself to focus. But the memories were relentless, each photograph a ghost of a time when love had seemed eternal. He sighed, his fingers clenching around the pen, the ink refusing to flow as easily as his thoughts.

The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow on the room's neutral palette, reminding him of the nights they had spent dreaming of their future together. He had succumbed to the illusion that their love was indestructible, only to be shattered by the reality of her departure. His heart ached with the weight of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams.

Determined to reclaim some semblance of control, Colin stood and walked to the window. With the liquor swirling in the glass, he stared broodingly at the shine of the moonlight on the dilapidated barn. And deliberately turned his thoughts to his sister.

She was in for a rude awakening. He thought grimly of the saying -- be careful what you wish for. She had expressed the desire to help and was going to discover that it was required of her sooner rather than later. And the cost would be tremendous.

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