Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“For what?”
“About the whole thing with Bishop. I was wrong about him.”
And of course I burst into tears, because I really thought he was wrong and now I’m not so sure. To his credit, RJ doesn’t panic like most guys would. Maybe because he married a woman with an anxiety disorder, and sometimes that anxiety manifests in tears.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He reaches across the seat and gives the back of my neck a squeeze, which actually makes me cry harder because that’s exactly what Bishop would do, and I’m pretty sure I screwed that right the hell up.
I can’t answer that question because I’ve turned into a snot-sobbing mess, so I pull up the image that Joey showed me less than half an hour ago and thrust it at RJ. I wail, “I think he’s already over it.” I’m not sure I’m even remotely intelligible.
“This is what you’re upset about?” RJ asks.
“He’s posing! He never does that. Ever. He always looks like someone’s shit on his breakfast when people try to take pictures of him, but he actually looks not pissed off here, and I’ve been miserable for the past week!” I say all this between hiccups and sobs. It’s pretty extra, even for me.
“I don’t know if I would classify that as a smile, and that’s someone he knew from college. And she’s married.”
A tiny seed of hope forms, but I squash it down. “How do you know that?”
He enlarges the picture until I can see the rock on her ring finger. “Me and Bishop had it out right after this. Like immediately after that picture was taken, we basically threatened to kill each other.”
“You what?” I look my brother over. There are no signs of injury, but then all I can see is his body from the neck up and the biceps down. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. I mean, I punched him a few times, and he punched me, but we’re over it. I was wrong, Stevie, and I’m sorry.”
“So he’s not over me?”
“No. Not even a little. He’s pretty much the opposite of over you.” He pulls me into an awkward, uncomfortable hug, thanks to the center console between us. “I should’ve listened to you. I made it about me when it wasn’t, and I interfered when I shouldn’t have, but to be fair, you’d just had your heart ripped out, and I really didn’t want to see you go through that again.”
“I know, and I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but all it really accomplished was me doubting myself even more.” The past week has sucked so much. The not knowing and feeling paralyzed by uncertainty.
He releases me and settles back in his seat. “I’m sorry for that. I just . . . I have a lot of guilt for not being able to be there for you and Mom when Dad passed.”
“But you were there.”
“But I wasn’t really.” He shakes his head. “I came to the funeral and went through the motions, but I wasn’t there in a way that counted for anything. I dealt with it by putting my head down and playing hockey when I should’ve been reaching out more to make sure you were okay. I wanted to find a way to fill that empty space, and I guess I figured if I could fill it for you, then it might help me too.”
It’s amazing how a few words can completely alter one’s perception. “I don’t need you to be anything but my brother, RJ. And I realize I’ve made our relationship difficult by only accepting the version of you that’s easy to handle and doesn’t come with screaming fans.”
“I get why you don’t like it, though.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know I didn’t do a very good job of dealing with things when I first started out, and that made it hard for you.”
“It wasn’t a version of you I knew.” Or particularly liked. “But it’s different now. I haven’t been very fair to you, or Bishop. I haven’t really made an attempt to fit into all the parts of your life, just the ones I’m familiar and comfortable with, but it means I’m missing out on a lot.” I shift so I can sort of face him. “I kept thinking that if I stepped into your spotlight, I’d stop being me and all anyone would see is your little sister, because frankly, it felt like that a lot in high school. And then you went through that phase and, well . . . that was awkward.” Especially when girls would slip me their number and ask me to pass it to my brother. Or pretend to be my friend so they could get close to him.
“I’m really sorry my choices affected you like that. And it killed me when you wouldn’t talk to me back then.”