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“How do you know about Gabriel?” he asks slowly, his voice pure ice.
“You mentioned him when you were sleeping.”
Begging him to stay.
I don’t say that last tidbit. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable if this is a sensitive subject which it most likely is. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have nightmares like the one he just had.
The room is so quiet I swear I can hear the sound of my own heart beating. I know I’ve crossed an invisible line, but there was no going back now. I just wasn’t sure what to expect at this point.
“Gabriel was my brother,” Prescott says softly, so softly at first I think I misheard him.
“He was…” my words trail off as I try to wrap my head around it.
Brother?
Prescott had a brother?
Out of every possibility, I’m not sure why I’m surprised by this revelation. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Prescott mention having a sibling. And I’d probably remember if Nixon said anything. And if somebody would know, it’s my brother.
He was my brother.
Wait… “Was?”
I tilt my head back, looking up at Prescott. He still hasn’t shaved off his stubble, and with his lips pressed together in a hard line, it makes him look even harsher.
“He… He died when we were thirteen.”
“Oh…”
I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry or, God forbid, my condolences don’t feel like enough. I despise those words. Hate them to my very core. Everybody kept saying them when Mom died. How sorry they were, and what a wonderful person she was, but it was all a load of bullshit because those people didn’t know her the way I did. They didn’t understand my pain. They couldn’t.
But Prescott does.
“Wewere?” I push up from his chest, so I can look at his face. “You were twins?”
“Irish twins. He was eleven months older.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a wistful smile. “Never let me live it down. Until…” His voice trails off, hollow. “Until he was no longer older.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the pain in his voice almost palpable. I lie back down on his chest, wrapping my arms tightly around him. It’s the best thing I can offer him. The only thing I knowhow.
“I’m so sorry, Prescott. I wouldn’t have pried if I knew.”
“It’s fine. You didn’t know.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Nobody knows.”
My eyes widen. “Nobody?”
“Not a single soul,” he confirms. “Back home, I was always that guy who lost his brother, so when I came here…” He shakes his head. “I just wanted a clean slate, you know? I just wanted to be me. Selfish, I kn—”
I push off his chest and glare at him. “You’re not selfish.”
Prescott just watches me for a moment, a pain I haven’t even seen until that moment reflected in his dark eyes. “Sometimes I feel selfish.”
“Well, you’re not. When Mom was sick…” I lick my lips, a little bit of that sadness that I keep safely stashed away slipping out of its confines and wrapping around my heart. “People look at you differently when they know somebody close to you is dying. Nobody can blame you for wanting to separate yourself from that part of your past. From wanting to dissociate from it. Least of all me.”
Not with the secret I’ve been keeping.
“I know.” Prescott’s hand falls over mine, giving it a firm squeeze. “Doesn’t make me feel less guilty, though. It’s like I’m ashamed of him or trying to hide him when it couldn’t be further away from the truth.”
I look down at our clasped hands. Slowly, I turn mine around, and his fingers intertwine with mine before meeting my gaze.
