Page 75 of Tru Blue
“Quincy, you can’t believe it was better to be in prison than to—”
“Can’t I?” Quincy stormed across the room, his shoulders rounding forward. “Was it better to be thirteen fucking years old and handed a crack pipe?”
“You could have—”
Quincy turned, rounding on Truman fast. Truman took a step back. This was exactly what the counselor had said to avoid. He’d somehow managed to fuck his brother over again by riling him up.
“What? What could I do at thirteen? Call Social Services and go into the system after you spent years telling me why that wasn’t the way to go? You were my stronghold. My straight arrow to follow. You made sure I relied on you, man, and you did such a good fucking job that when you left, I was fucking lost. I would have followed Satan straight to hell.”
The air left Truman’s lungs. The room vibrated with the demons of their past, alive and clawing at them, pitting them against each other.
“I was trying to help,” he said sternly. “I wasn’t supposed to be convicted. You were there. You heard what the public defender said. I was supposed to get off and then take care of you, like I always had. You know she lied on the stand.” It killed Truman that he’d never know why she’d lied and sent him to prison, but that wasn’t Quincy’s cross to bear.
Quincy’s silent stare cut like a knife.
Truman lowered his voice. “You know the truth, man. You’re the only one on this fucking earth who knows the truth.”
“I had to kill him.” He shifted his eyes away. “He would have killed her.”
Maybe that would have been better. Truman felt his heart break right down the center, and guilt poured out for the hateful thought. And in the next breath he realized their mother’s death would have meant that Kennedy and Lincoln would never have been born. He uttered a curse, wishing he could take that initial thought back. He loved those kids.
Forcing those thoughts away, he focused on the brother standing before him.
“My only thought was that if you were there, you would have killed him.” Quincy’s words were laden with venom. “I did what I know you would have done to protect Mom despite everything she was. I did what you ingrained into my fucking head. Protect family.”
“You did what you had to.” I wish I had been the one to do it. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so fucked up. “I thought they’d try you as an adult. I couldn’t even stand the thought of you in juvie. You were just a kid, and you were a good kid, smarter than anyone I knew, and by the time I realized they wouldn’t have tried you as an adult, it was too late. But we don’t know that Mom wouldn’t have fucked you over like she did me, and I wouldn’t have been able to stand that. You have to know I’d never do a damn thing to hurt you. Not ever. I’ll take our secret to my grave to protect you.”
“I can’t escape the guilt, man. It’s always there. I look in the mirror and I hate the person I see. Your life is fucked because of me,” Quincy seethed.
Truman grabbed him by the arms, imploring him to hear the truth. “No, Quincy. My life was fucked because of her. But my life is no longer fucked.” Thinking of his record, and of the kids, he said, “I’ve got restrictions and responsibilities, but I’m not fucked. My life is actually pretty damn good right now. I’ve got the kids, and I’ve got Gemma, who I love so much it’s insane. And, Quincy, she loves me back, man. Despite the conviction, despite our fucked-up past, she loves me and the kids. I can’t imagine my life without her. And your life can be just as good. Just as normal. You’ve never had normal. It’s unfuckingbelievable. I’m telling you, bro, there’s a whole world waiting for you that has nothing to do with Mom or her effed-up life. All you have to do is make it through rehab, and I’ll be there to help you stay clean. I know you can do this.”
Quincy twisted out of his grasp, pushing both hands into his hair and fisting them with a tortured groan. “Just get out of here, man. Please. Get the hell out.”
“Quincy…” What could he say? Beg him to talk it out? That’s exactly what the counselor said not to do. He’d done enough damage. Hell, he’d done even more damage than he’d ever imagined.
