Page 58 of Fighting for You
Before, he’d let it roll off his back while I sat in my room wondering if we witnessed the same thing, felt the same disappointment from our father. Neither of us wanted what he wanted for us. Neither of us wanted to work at the family restaurant. Cary wanted to be a chef; same industry, sure, but he said time and time again his dreams were bigger than the diner.
Feelinghas always been one of my issues and felt like one of my biggest downfalls. While Cary seemed to never feel anything at all, I felt everything—deeply. Sometimes it was so overwhelming I thought it might actually kill me.
I realize I haven’t answered his question, and he’s staring at me like I have two heads. “Yeah, sure. Uh, I’ve been fine. Just working on the house.”
He starts to mop up the bourbon, and I shove my hands into my pockets, for once feeling like I’m the one who doesn’t want to talk. “I can’t wait to see what you do to the place. It definitely needs some upgrades.”
A noncommittal hum falls from my mouth as he rolls the mop bucket back. I walk over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of RED and two lowball glasses. As I’m pouring, Cary walks back into the tasting room.
He takes a seat at the bar as I place both our drinks then the bottle in front of him. “So, you want to answer for real this time?” he asks as I walk around to sit beside him.
“Is ‘not really’ an acceptable answer?” I’m half-kidding. I’m not sure Cary is the person I should talk to about my internal issues with dating Margot, what to do with the house, my whole fucking life. He may have—by some miracle—gotten Thea to take him back, but he still lost her—twice.
“Why not?” he pries.
“So, no, then? Cool. Look, I just have some shit going on. I don’t need to have a therapy session about it.” The second the words come out of my mouth, I want to stuff them back in. Cary has been in therapy for years now. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Shit, I wish I had the balls to go myself, maybe a shrink could fix me. But it sounds like I meant it as a low blow. “I didn’t—” I start, but he cuts me off before I can attempt an apology.
“Right. It’s fine. We can talk about something else.” He downs the rest of his glass, reaching for the bottle to pouranother. I follow suit, feeling like I’ll need three more to get through this.
I take the out he gives me though, using it to deflect from any conversation regarding my life. “So you and Thea are back full force?”
He stares into his glass, taking a moment before answering. “No thanks to you, but yeah.” He laughs a little, so I’m not sure if he’s actually pissed or just being a dick.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, I guess. You kind of had it coming though.”
He puts his elbows on the bartop, intertwining his fingers. “I deserved it, you aren’t wrong. I fucked up with Iris. I should have ended it with her a long time ago. And I feel like a piece of shit for it. But selfishly, I know I would have done that and more for another shot with Thea. I’m so thankful she took me back. I plan to focus on her and not the mistakes I made along the way.”
I want to say, “How? How do you do that? How do you focus on the good and not all the ways you’ve fucked up and will continue to fuck up?”But I don’t because I’m sure the answer is therapy. “Don’t fuck it up again,” is what comes out instead.
His laugh is a full belly one this time, and I feel it in my soul; it almost brings a smile to my face. Despite everything, I do like seeing him happy. I’ve always wanted the best for my little brother. I never wished ill will on him, I just never shied away from calling him out on his shit either.
“Yeah, I won’t. I can promise you that,” he responds, his laughter still dying off. We sit in silence for a bit then he says, “So Lydia’s nurse, huh?”
“For fuck’s sake, can you suddenly not take no for an answer?”
He throws his hands up in surrender. “Look, Thea told me there may be something going on. She asked me to talk to you about it.”
And now I’m pissed. “Why would you need to fucking talk to me about it?”
His face turns to one of pity, like I’m a child who doesn’t understand something simple. “Brooks…” He stares, waiting on who the fuck knows what. “She’s just concerned,” he finishes.
I pop my knuckles on instinct, feeling the flames inside me rising. There’s no dousing them once they get to the surface. “Concerned about what, Cary?”
His face twists like my question hurts him somehow. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh,” I grit out, “I think you fucking should.”
He chugs the rest of his bourbon, slamming the glass down with more force than necessary. “Margot is Lydia’s nurse. She’s twenty-three years old. And from what Thea tells me, she’s a fucking saint, just don’t fuck it up. Thea and I don’t want to have to clean up that kind of mess.”
And just like that, the blaze inside of me pushes right past the surface, overflowing like a volcano. Even the revelation of her age isn’t enough to distract me from my anger. “You have to be fucking kidding me. You, of all people, are lecturing me on making messes of women? This is a joke, right?”
I’m pushing up from my stool, throwing it off to the side. It clamors to the ground, and Cary’s gaze shoots down to it with a this-is-exactly-what-I-was-talking-about expression on his face.
“It’s not a joke. Margot isn’t the kind of girl you should be messing around with.”
I’m seething now, but in the midst of everything, I realize something. “Oh my God, is this why you invited me out for a drink? This is why we’re here? Not because you missed me or wanted to wish me a happy birthday in person but because you needed to talk to me about where I’m putting my dick?”
He pushes up from his stool, calmer than I did. “That’s not what I said, Brooks.”
