Page 30 of Watch Over Me

The words rushed out of Eddie after that.

"My brother wouldn't have taken me seriously," he whispered, lowering his head to stare at the glass in his hand. "That's the real reason why I didn't argue for being the one to tell him. I wanted to, I still do, but it's not… It wouldn't have worked."

"Because you're younger?"

Eddie snorted. "That, too. But mostly, I'm too different. I'm not military, or a politician, or any other of the few things that would be acceptable enough for my family to—"care"—respect my work. I have opinions they don't agree with, and I'm voicing them, whether they like it or not." He sighed. "There's a long list of reasons, I guess, and the short of it is, my family and I aren't on the best of terms. We don't hate each other or anything. We're just… too different. If we weren't connected by blood, we wouldn't give each other the time of day."

"But you are," James whispered, and Eddie nodded, lifting the glass as if in toast.

"But we are. I'm some kind of a weird twist in the family shakeup, but we are."

They sat in silence for a bit before James spoke up.

"Not fitting in at home, that sucks. It's like you're alone all the time."

"Yeah." Eddie met his gaze again. "Yes, exactly."

He opened his mouth to say something more, to ask if James felt it, too, since he'd hit the nail on the head, but he wasn't sure if he should.

"I know the feeling," James finally admitted, glancing down at his lap.

Eddie bit his lower lip. That was an opening, heknewitwas.

"You do?" he whispered, hoping not to spook James, because even after all the hours they'd spent hanging out at work, they'd never discussed their families before.

"Yeah." James sagged further into the cushions. "I was in foster care after my parents died, and I spent a few years bouncing between homes until settling into the one that stuck. Feeling like an odd one out was my everyday life, too."

For a moment, Eddie had no idea what to say.

"I'm sorry about your parents," he finally offered.

James ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. Anyway, none of the homes I stayed at were violent or anything, but I still didn't feel like I fit in. I was becoming a teenager, too, so that made things harder, but mostly, we were too different, I guess. They were all too set in their ways, and I was rebelling against the idea of forcing myself to think how others expected me to think."

"Sounds familiar," Eddie admitted, then grimaced, catching himself. "I mean, I know it's not the same—"

"Relax, I was the one who drew the comparison." James shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. "And itisfamiliar. Details differ, obviously, but the part about not being understood in the place you're meant to call home, that we have in common."

Eddie sucked his lower lip in for a moment before nodding.

"I guess. Did it get better for you?"

"Yeah, it did. At the last place, the one that stuck, we did feel differently about many things, but my foster parents didn't expect me to change my mind to fit theirs, which was refreshing. We argued from time to time, but generally they respected my right to have my own opinions, as long as I didn't disrespect them. It worked out fine."

James offered a real smile there at the end, definitely more genuine than the previous ones. More affectionate.

Eddie would have loved to ask more questions and learn more about James's family, whoever that entailed for him.

"Sounds nice," he said instead, not wanting to push. "Simple, really, when you think about it, right? Live and let live, how's that complicated?"

"Oh, boy." James snorted. "Apparently way more complicated than either of us thinks, judging by the world."

Eddie chuckled. "I guess so. Anyway, in my family, I definitely have to respect their choices and opinions, but it's not that obvious the other way around. We seem to have gotten stuck on them 'letting me' make my choices with as little complaining as they can stomach."

"Why do I get the feeling you wish they had better stomachs?"

"Because you are a smart man who can pick up on the right clues."

Eddie put the empty glass on the coffee table and immediately regretted it. He didn't have anything to do with his hands now, other than wringing his fingers, which he'd been trying to unlearn ever since he'd noticed the sound of his knuckles cracking made James grimace every time.

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