Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
The house smelled like apples, so I knew Mom was either making a crisp or a pie. She loved both.
“I’m fine,” Timothy said. “Is everything okay with you? Your mother is worried.” His gaze darted toward me, then back to Isaac.
“We’re good,” Isaac replied.
“Hey, Timothy. Having a good weekend?” I clapped my hand on his shoulder. He frowned slightly, and I figured it was because I’d been calling him by his name recently. That had to make him wonder.
“Yep. Good to be off work.”
“Are the boys here?” Mom came around the corner. “Oh, hi, you are.”
I gave her a hug and kissed her forehead.
“It smells good, Helena,” Isaac told her.
“Crisp or pie?” I asked.
“Pie,” Mom answered. “You know I bake when I’m nervous…well, I also bake for fun, but you get the gist. What’s going on? It sounded like something’s wrong when you called.”
Leave it to Mom to jump right in. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” My gaze caught on Isaac’s. “At least we hope it doesn’t feel that way to you. But why don’t you finish baking first. Let’s just spend some time together.”
“I pulled the pie out before I came into the living room, and we can spend time together afterward. You know me. I’ll drive myself crazy until I know.” She was already wringing her hands.
I watched as Dad—Timothy—stood. He looked back and forth between Isaac and me. “Helena, why don’t we let the boys talk to us when they’re ready?”
It hit me then that Timothy knew. Holy fuck, he knew. For how long, I didn’t know, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he did.
“Lane?” Mom asked, more concerned now. Timothy headed toward her.
I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t a big deal. We were making this out to be a life-and-death sort of conversation—
“I’m in love with Lane,” Isaac said simply. “I, um…I’ve loved him since he first moved into this house and he was all hair and gangly limbs, always drawing, watching the world, watching me, and seeing more than I thought I was showing.”
He was across the room from us, me beside Mom and Timothy, who’d reached her by then, but I couldn’t pull my stare away from Isaac. He was so fucking brave. So honest. I loved him even more in that moment.
“I’m in love with Isaac too.”
“But…but you’re brothers,” Mom said, confusion softening her voice.
“Why don’t the four of us sit down?” Timothy said.
“Not to us,” I told her. “I mean, we are, but we’re not.”
“Well, you’re brothers to us. We raised you that way.” Mom’s voice was a little stronger now, a little more set in its way. I’d expected it, we both had, but it was still like a knife to the heart. “How long has this been going on? Oh God, since you were teenagers? In our home?”
“No.” I shook my head. This was already unraveling.
“But Isaac said he’s loved you since we moved in. What were you boys doing? Did you…?” Her gaze snapped to Isaac.
“Did he what?” Timothy asked, suspicion in his voice, and clearly offended. “Are you accusing Isaac of doing something inappropriate with Lane?”
My stomach sank deeper, more rocks shoved down my throat. It was even worse than I’d thought. I’d assumed they would be confused, but more of a united front. The last thing I wanted was to get between Mom and Timothy.
“No, I wasn’t, but…he was always more experienced and worldly than Lane. And he said…” Mom’s eyes shot toward Isaac, watery, tears already spilling. “Oh God. I’m sorry, Isaac. I just… I’m trying to make sense of this. Of what was going on beneath our noses and we didn’t know. You’re brothers.”
“No, Mom, we’re not. We were raised as family, as brothers, yes, but only since we were fourteen, and we’re not really related. We’re in love, and as much as I love you, if you accuse Isaac of something, if you push this off on him as if he were at fault, I’ll walk out that door with him and won’t come back.”
“Lane,” Isaac said, warning in his voice, but I ignored him, didn’t even look at him, instead seeing the hurt that flashed in Mom’s eyes.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “You know I love you, Isaac. You’re my son.”
Just like I was her son, which was where the problem came in. She didn’t give birth to Isaac, but she’d raised him and loved him, she’d cared for him the way a mother does their child, and now we were telling her that we were in love with each other.
“I think we need to have that seat now,” Timothy said, going for the dining-room table without my mom. He was hurt from her accusation, and while I could understand it, he had to know Mom hadn’t meant it.
She turned and followed him. I waited for Isaac, whose face looked like stone.