Page 16 of Everything But Mine

So I went. For his mom. For him.

I should have stayed gone. It was easy to disappear for all those months, to bury what could have been under foreign cities and new routines. But back in those same woods, in these same damn cottages, every step dragged open a wound I thought had scarred over.

In the freezing cold, by the bonfire, Eric was the flame, and I was the moth. Fire and shadows highlighted his profile. To anybody, he’d have been fine. But I was not anybody. Never mind the weight he’d lost. Eric carried relentless defiance, carved into his posture. Especially around Keith, his half brother from hell.

This time, Keith was spewing bullshit, and Eric was just standing there. Taking it. Whiskey in hand, flames lighting his amber gaze, hazier with every sip. Not caring about anything Keith was dissing at him.

Hell no.

I wanted to step in. I had a comment about Keith passing out with his pants down the night before. Then I met Daray. Keith’s arm draped around my shoulders as he introduced me to his bulky friend in a sweater a size too small.

I let Daray pull me toward a log, away from Eric’s gaze and gulps of whiskey, which had doubled in speed. Conversation with Daray was easy. He was funny, not smart, but I didn’t need a distraction to be witty. It wasn’t long before his breath ghosted against my cheek, his nose skimming the edge of my jaw, whispering something smooth in my ear. It was easier than meeting the weight of Eric’s stare across the fire.

I would have let him kiss me. Instead, the absence of Eric’s gaze on me was suffocating. I almost let it be. Eric had made his choice, and so had I. But, from the corner of my eye, there was a burst of flames as he tossed his now-empty bottle into the fire. He tripped twice before leaving the clearing, a brand-new bottle already uncapped in his grip.

The unease settled deep in my ribs morphed into a need to follow him. Because I knew all of Eric’s tells—tipping the bottle just a little too long, clenching fists against his thighs, blank, empty gaze. I didn’t bother excusing myself beyond, “I’ll see you later,” and follow the path I knew by heart.

The trees closed in around me, the cold biting sharper the deeper I went. My boots crunched against the snow as the distant rush of water told me exactly where he’d gone.

The waterfall. The same one from our childhood. Where once, I had his back. And he had mine. But now… There were no dares, no laughter, no reckless leaps into the water below.

Only Eric. Sitting at the edge, a bottle of tequila dangling from his fingers, gaze locked on the rushing water. I wouldn’t have thought twice about the sight on a good day. Today wasn’t a good day. A lump rose in my throat.

“Eric.”

He turned his head sluggishly, as if the small movement took effort. There was hurt written all over his features. And also anger. So much anger.

“You’re drunk.”

“No shit,” he muttered, taking another swig.

“Get up and let’s go.”

He took another chug, liquid sloshing inside the bottle. “Why are you even here?”

“You asked me here.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been asking for long as you’ve been gone.”

I took a few tentative steps toward him.

“You had to right disappear like that.” The anger in his irises shone brighter than the hurt.

“I had every right.”

His gaze dropped, the water below rippling with movement. His fingers twitched around the bottle, gripping it tighter. “For seventeen months you didn’t even bother to text back.” His breath sped up, visible in the vapor leaving his body. Short, rushed breaths. “You abandoned me. I didn’t think you ever would.”

It was a whisper. I shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the whistling wind.

“You abandoned us, Eric. What did you expect?”

I didn’t say it to hurt him. He probably hadn’t meant to hurt me. Yet, we hurt each other anyway. In seconds, he was up, facing me. The frigid air made his every breath visible. Large steps until he towered over a foot over me. His face was red, the veins in his neck bulging. Livid.

“Not this!” He screamed at me, waving his bottle of tequila wildly. First at me, then at himself. “You just left. If only you’d talked to me. I could have⁠—”

“Absolutely not, Eric.” I made a dismissive gesture with my hand, slicing the conversation before it began. No good could come out of that topic. “We’re not talking about that. Ever.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”