Page 178 of Tangled Like Us
I’ve compartmentalized so much of my fucking life in order to push through. Built walls that I can’t even break down.
But I think compassion deserves compassion, and I want to be deserving of her.
Even if I can’t have her in the end.
She puts the bottle to her lips. Taking a small sip, then inspecting the label. “Tastes like burnt chocolate and oranges. Though I’m more of a whiskey novice, so I wouldn’t know if it’s any good other than I think I like it.”
I grab the bottle as she passes it. Our fingers accidentally touching. And lingering too long in the exchange.
Neither of us mentions it. The garage blisters, and I wipe sweat off my forehead with my bicep, the one without the numbed, stitched cut.
Tell her.
I’m looking at Jane more than the Dalmore. “I had an older brother growing up.” My voice is even-keeled.
Her brows jump. “Skylar?”
I watch her eyes soften on me. “Yeah.” I swallow a rock in my throat. “I’ve wanted to tell you about him. But it’s not something I usually talk about.” I swig from the bottle. Liquor sliding down smoothly, and my thumb brushes over the label, then I hand it back to Jane. “Skylar probably would’ve gotten a kick out of me drinking whiskey with a girl.”
She swishes the liquid. “Did he like whiskey?”
I breathe deeper for a second. I recognize that I want her curiosity. And intrigue. Full-force.
It makes this easier for me.
“More than he should’ve,” I answer. “He broke every rule my dad ever made.” I watch her sip the whiskey. “Banks and I were thegoodsons. Obedient. But I looked up to Sky, asked him a lot.”
She hands me the bottle, listening intently.
“I think he told me a lot of horseshit. But it was loving horseshit.” I rest the bottle on my knee. Staring at the blue Beetle for a second.
If she looks at you a lot, it means she likes you.His advice. He’d ruffle my hair with his hand and grin. Teasing me, and I thought he was a badass. Some kind of invincible warrior.
I tell this to Jane. Succinctly. Probably too stoically. Some walls will never break down. I don’t think I could ever cry about it, but I can at least try to share this, finally.
My gaze tightens, brows drawn together, and I take another swig. “It was a long time ago. We were kids, and then we weren’t.”
I tell her how Skylar was three years older. He died at fifteen. Banks and I were twelve at the time. “His death caused a lot of friction in my family.”
I notice her lips slowly parting in realization. She’s adding up pieces. “You weretwelvewhen your parents divorced, weren’t you?”
I nod.
Same age as my brother’s passing.
More dawns on her. How I was aroundtwelve, thirteenwhen I was adamant I’d join the military.
I’ve also told Jane that I’m not close to my dad. Not since the divorce. We only really talk about football.
I pass back the whiskey. “When my brother died, my dad said a lot of things. Things that he thought he could never take back. To my mom. To Banks. To me.”
“To you?” She draws nearer, her knees almost knocking into my legs. “You were only twelve.”
I’ll never forget the blackout rage on my dad’s face. “He probably would’ve lashed out at a fucking garden gnome that night.”
Jane hugs the bottle to her chest. “Has he ever mentioned it? That night and what he said to you?”
“Hell no.” I shake my head a couple times. “He’s too ashamed.”
