us, and I pointed at the margarita and motioned for one more. I definitely needed it now.
Jazz slid into his seat next to mine and poked disinterestedly at his tacos. “I really was stupid, though.”
The bartender dropped off two more margaritas. She cast a look at Jazz’s swollen jaw, pursed her lips, and drifted back to the other side of the bar. I couldn’t find it in me to care.
“Yeah,” I said. “You were.”
Jazz winced like I’d struck him again. “I never should’ve believed Rob and Trey. You were right about them.”
“I tried to tell you.” I’d known those guys were snakes the moment I’d laid eyes on them. But Jazz had always been gullible and eager to please. He couldn’t stand being disliked—he’d always wanted so badly to belong somewhere. As if he didn’t already belong with me.
“I know.” Jazz took a drink of his own margarita and grimaced at the strength. “Did a lot of therapy in the joint, you know. Funny how much poking around it took to figure out some really obvious shit. Like, how I wanted to be liked so badly because no one had ever wanted me around growing up. Except you, obviously.”
Obviously. My stomach twisted uncomfortably. We’d only ever had each other—it’d always been us against the world, until we’d joined Hell’s Ankhor. But back when we were alone, I’d reacted to our lot in life by lashing out at the world. Jazz, though, had always wanted to be accepted, even when he tried to pretend he didn’t care, and even after we found Hell’s Ankhor.
“And like how you’re such a control freak,” Jazz continued. “Since we couldn’t control anything in the foster system.”
“You get your psych degree in the joint?” I asked, but my voice sounded tired even to my own ears. “I could do without the head-shrinking.”
“Am I wrong, though?”
“Were you therapizing me in the joint?”
“No,” Jazz said with a shrug, “but you came up a lot.”
Something pulled hard in my chest, but I couldn’t quite place what it was. He’d talked about me in therapy? How much? And for what reason? Did he think it was my fault somehow that he’d fucked up? Did he blame me? I wanted to grill him for details—but at the same time, I was afraid of what he’d say.
Jazz cleared his throat. “Point is. I wasn’t just biding my time doing push-ups in prison. I was trying to—trying to become a better person, I guess. A little smarter. Or at least better at decision-making. More grown-up, I guess. But I know I can’t just say that and expect you to believe that, not after all these years.” He sighed and took another small sip of his drink. “I’ll show you, though. Somehow. I know I let you down.”
His voice sounded so small.
It made me feel like shit. Of course I wanted him to own up to his mistakes, but then as soon as I saw how much the regret weighed him down, I was ready to do anything to alleviate it. “It’s not that,” I said.
Jazz looked up. The dim string lights hung along the outdoor bar’s railings caught the yellow in his eyes, made them shine almost golden. I forcefully pulled my gaze away before I could stare too long.
“I was disappointed in you,” I said. “And sad. And pissed. But only because I loved you, and I didn’t want you locked up. You didn’t deserve that.”
Jazz started slightly. His grip tightened on his glass, whitening his knuckles.
“You’re my brother,” I added, a little awkwardly. Even now, the word felt wrong in my mouth. And why did I suddenly feel the need to clarify my love for him? It’d never felt weird before—I’d always told Jazz I loved him, easily and openly. We’d always considered each other family… right?
But something about it just felt different now, and it shook me down to my bones.
“I know,” Jazz said. “But it’s not enough for me just to say I’m sorry and that I’m different now, you know? So I’m going to prove it. To you, and to everyone in the club.” That new determined edge was back into his voice.
“All right,” I said. “I believe you.”
Something akin to surprise bloomed on Jazz’s face.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I asked.
Jazz shrugged. “I don’t know what I thought.” He laughed. “I didn’t really think this part through.”
I raised my margarita glass. “Cheers.”
“To what now?” Jazz asked.
I paused, searching his face—for what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I just