That Ancient Relic. There was always some element of danger he’d had to battle, some unexpected riddle he had to solve before the booby trap would kill him. He made it all up, but to my mind, it seemed real. I was just a little kid, so it made his absences feel important somehow. And when he’d come back, to celebrate, we’d have ice cream sundaes.”
Caleb whispers, “Sprinkles and fudge.”
They disappear into the past together for a split second as I can see their shared history playing out in their eyes. All the excitement, all the pain, all the disappointment, all the anger.
“So ice cream sundaes tonight?” I venture.
Nathan thinks for a moment before he finally shakes his head. “It feels dirty to do that without him. Besides, by the time we were teens, his stories were like Santa Claus . . . tarnished with the adult understanding of everything he gave up to find those treasures.”
Caleb walks over to the bar and pours himself a drink. “I haven’t had fucking ice cream in ten years, and I’m not starting now.”
He sits down on the long bench that takes up half of one side of the small cabin, pulling the shade and staring at the twinkling lights thousands of miles below. I can see him shutting off the emotions, doing his best to deal with his past.
Chapter 39
Nathan
I watch my brother for a few minutes, not sure if I should go over and sit with him, let him drag me down into whatever pit he’s spiraling into. Emma would give us the privacy, I’m sure . . . or at least as much privacy as this jet allows.
But I can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way his body’s stiff as a board and the clench of his jaw, that he wants to take this journey alone, at least for now. I can respect that.
Dad fucked us both over, but it landed on us in different ways. I tried to buffer things for Caleb as the older brother, but in some ways, I think I did him a disservice. He didn’t catch onto Dad’s bullshit until much later, and so the betrayal hit him that much harder.
So if he needs to fortify his shields and lock that moment of memory away a little more securely, I’ll give him time to do so.
Instead, I turn to Emma, who’s watching me watch Caleb. Her eyes are perceptive, blue and deep, no judgement or pity, just interest.
And love.
She said she loves me, and though I heard her, I guess I sort of always thought it was just words. But this doesn’t feel like lip service. It feels . . . real.
I take her hand, pulling her up and into the back of the plane.
The sleeping quarters aren’t much, a full-sized bed wedged into a tiny space behind the refreshment station, barely large enough to stand up in.
But the bed isn’t why I brought her here. I dragged her back here because I have a lot I need to say and I wanted what little privacy can be found. Somehow, the small space helps to corral the wild emotions running through me, letting me express what I need to.
“I’m sorry, Emma. So fucking sorry,” I murmur as I sit on the bed, the words tied in emotions as they float into the air between us. She sits next to me, and I want to say more, but first I have to let her understand.
I chase my apology, leaning into her and stealing a kiss and her breath as I press my lips to hers.
She’s soft for a moment, pushing back into me, and I swallow her little sounds, but then she pulls away and stands up. The small distance between us feels symbolic of what I’ve done to us, a situation I created.
“No, wait. I need to know . . . sorry for what? For leaving me? For lying about it? For not trusting me? What exactly are you sorry for?”
I wince at the pain I can hear laced through her words, and I know I have to turn away from the path I’ve been on. I won’t hide from her. I won’t be my father.
“All of it.”
“More,” she demands, and I look at her in confusion. Emma’s mouth pinches and she explains. “I fucked up, majorly. But when I apologized, I laid it all on the line, bared my fucking soul. I expect nothing less from you.”