The Lost Ship of the Tucker Rebellion - Marie Sexton Page 0,27
Laramie settled Denver on the bed, then brought him a glass of water and the stim pill that would ease his withdrawals. Once Denver had swallowed them both, Laramie perched on the edge of Denver’s bunk.
“Why do you hate her so much?”
“I don’t.”
Laramie raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it, and Denver shut his eyes, wishing they could put this conversation off until morning. Suddenly, the pain of their argument felt as acute as it had when he’d left the ship.
“I think you could do better. That’s all.”
Laramie sighed. “I know she isn’t perfect, Denver. But Ginn’s the only girl who’s ever really seen me. She’s the only girl who kept seeing me, even after meeting you.”
Denver shook his head. “No, she isn’t. You’ve had other girlfriends—”
“Jesus, Denver. You don’t see it, because you’re you. And because for some reason, you’re oblivious. You could have any girl out there, and yet you don’t care. But it isn’t like that for me. And you never seem to notice how, whether a girl likes me or not, I always fall by the wayside the minute you walk into the room.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. And I know it isn’t your fault. I know you never mean for it to happen. But it’s the truth. I’ve always been the lesser brother.”
“Not to me.”
“That’s different.”
“It isn’t.” Denver wasn’t sure why he felt the need to whisper. “You are half of me.” He half expected Laramie to get angry at him again, but he didn’t have the strength for anything but the truth.
Laramie only leaned closer. “I shouldn’t be, though. Don’t you see? You deserve to have somebody better sharing your life.”
Somebody better? “Better” had nothing to do with it. “I can’t.” But he couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that nobody could ever fill that space that was left empty when Laramie withdrew. No woman—hell, no man, either—could make him feel whole the way he did when he was with his brother.
“Oh my god, Denver. Is that it?” Laramie asked, his voice gentle.
“It’s nothing,” Denver said, wishing he didn’t feel like crying. “Forget it, okay? I’m just tired.”
“Do you think you’re the only one, you stupid fool? Do you think that when I’m with her, I just transfer this psychic bond to her instead?”
“What?”
“You think I can share this with anybody? That when I pull away, it’s because I want to go have that intimacy with somebody else? I uninstall ‘brother’ and boot up ‘girlfriend’ and never even notice the difference?”
Denver blinked, stunned and confused and unsure what to say. Jesus, that was what he thought. Maybe not consciously, but on some level, Laramie had it right. Whenever he left, Denver imagined him filling the spot that should have been Denver’s with somebody else. And yet…
Was he really so shallow and so stupid?
“Oh, Denver.” Laramie put a hand on the back of Denver’s neck and pulled him close so they were forehead to forehead.
And there he was, that warm presence suddenly filling that aching hole in Denver’s mind. Denver gasped, gripping Laramie’s arms, just glad to have his brother back. And glad they didn’t have to fight again. “Then why?” he asked, not bothering to fight the tears now. He could blame it on the Rave. Crashing always made him emotional. “Why do you hate me for it so much?”
“You aren’t—”
Did Laramie make him blind? Maybe, but he didn’t care one bit. “Maybe I like being blind. Maybe I’m tired of having you try to force me to see things your way.”
He heard Laramie’s laughter in some deep part of his mind.
“So be it.”
For a minute they stayed like that, locked together the way they must have been in the womb.
God, he was tired.
“We can agree on that, at least.”
“I promise.”
He did, and Laramie settled next to him, so close their shoulders touched, in a way they hadn’t done since they were boys at the orphanage. Denver took Laramie’s hand and squeezed his thin fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’ll get you to that planet or die trying.”
Laramie sighed. “But don’t you see, Denver? That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”