Page 83 of Tru Blue
“Yeah,” Truman said, wiping his own tears—tears of anger for what their fucking mother had put Quincy and the kids, and him, through. He reached for Quincy, and his brother leaned willingly into his arms, crying openly.
“I’m sorry, Tru. I shoulda…You never would’ve…”
Truman grabbed his face and made him look into his eyes, as he’d done so many times when Quincy was a boy. “Don’t. Not for a second. The past is the past, and nothing we do or say can change it. Your life starts now. Here. Your past will not define your future, little brother. You got that?”
Quincy grabbed his wrists, tears streaming down his cheeks. “How can you look at me after the way I ruined your life?”
It was all Truman could do to touch his forehead to Quincy’s and close his eyes, when he wanted to shake him until he believed him when he said it wasn’t his fault.
“Goddamn it.” He pulled back, staring at the heartrending guilt looking back at him. “She did this. Not you. Not me. She did it. She brought that fucker and a hundred others like him into the house, and she put our lives in danger. Do you get that, Quin? Do you understand that is where the blame belongs?”
He nodded, gritting his teeth and sucking in one ragged breath after another. “Yeah. But I still feel guilty as fuck.”
Truman pressed a kiss to Quincy’s forehead, then released him.
Quincy laughed and shook his head. He swiped his forearm over his tears and blew out a breath. “Man, we’re a couple of pussies.”
They both laughed, and boy did it feel good. His brother was coming back. He’d come out from under the cloud of drugs and he was right there within reach. Truman hoped what he had to ask would motivate him to keep moving in the right direction. It had to. For all of their sakes.
“Want to relieve your guilt?”
Quincy cocked a brow. “Fuck, yes.”
“Then do me and the kids a favor. Get clean and stay clean. I need your help, man.”
“You’ve never needed anyone’s help.”
Truman sat back and crossed his arms. “I have. When I got the kids I needed help. A lot of it. The Whiskeys stepped in, but Gemma saved us. She’s been right there the whole time, and I love her, Quin. I love her so damn much, and if I don’t figure this out, I’m going to lose her.”
He told Quincy about his dilemma with the birth certificates. “I need you to get clean, get a job, and make a stable life so you can apply for guardianship of the kids. I’ll still take full responsibility for them, but at least they’d have legal paperwork and remain in the family. They won’t have to live a life built on lies, like we have.”
“Man, bro. No pressure there, huh?” Quincy blew out a breath.
Truman’s heart sank. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But Gemma loves me despite what she believes I did. She believes in me, Quin, and I want to do right by her. I want to do right by the kids.”
Quincy swallowed hard. “This would be so easy if I had fessed up to killing that prick in the first place.”
“We can’t go back, and I wouldn’t even if we could. I’m not throwing you under the bus, Quincy. Not now, not ever. She’ll never know the truth, no matter how much I love her.”
“That’s gotta be killing you.”
A chill ran down Truman’s spine with his brother’s challenging stare. “If leaving you with Mom didn’t kill me, nothing will.”
Quincy was quiet for a long moment, his eyes moving over the table, the floor, everywhere except meeting Truman’s gaze. When he finally did, it was with worry etched into his expression. “What if I fuck up? I can’t make any promises. You of all people know that.”
Truman had been over the possible outcomes so many times since last night he had them memorized. “I’m not going to fill your head with bullshit. I believe in you, and I want to believe that you have faith in yourself, but we both know it’s a crapshoot. It’s going to be a daily battle of willpower, and I’ll be right there to help you through. I’ll get a bigger place so you can move in until you’re on your feet or feel strong enough that you won’t need me there. Whatever it takes, Quin. I’ll be there for you.”
