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“Knock what off?”
“Acting like a pissed-off toddler.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?”
“I’m really not sure, but I was trying to appease you so you’d stop lecturing me and get on with the point of the phone call. Unless that was the point. Like father, like son, after all. At least Stan’s superiority complex skipped Liz and me.”
“Superiority complex? Are you serious right now?”
“No, Thomas. If you remember correctly, I’m the happy-go-lucky brother who’s never been serious about anything. Have you forgotten that?”
“No wonder Father hates talking to you,” he mutters but still loud enough for me to hear.
It shouldn’t sting. I should be above his digs and the knowledge that our father prefers him over me. But after being rejected by Bell, having my lifelong paternal rejection thrown in my face cuts deeper than I thought it could.
“Yes, well, we all know how much I’m hated, Thomas. So nice of you to point out the obvious.”
“I didn’t… Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I start, barely registering his apology. “Did you just say fuck?”
A deep, rough chuckle, one I’ve never heard before, trickles through the line, making me smile. Who knew my brother could sound so human?
Shaking my head, I refocus on the conversation. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Just what is it that you want to talk about?”
“Liz’s shares.”
And just like that, the smile is gone, and every word of my father’s threat replays in my head.
“I should’ve fucking known.” I stand, automatically shifting my weight like I’m about to throw a punch. Because I want to. I want to punch my brother’s perfect face so badly, my blood is hot with it. “You walked away, Thomas. You don’t get to play around with shares, and you sure as shit aren’t taking them away from Liz.”
He’s trying to talk, but all I hear is Stan’s voice, and all I see is Liz’s face. Everything else is lost. “Did Stan put you up to this? Reissuing his threat against me? What, you report back to him that you saw me with Bell and now the old man wants to strip our sister of her inheritance?”
“No! What I’m trying to say—”
“Fuck you, Thomas. This is why I dodge your calls. This and a lifetime of your sick, superior attitude and subtle digs at those around you.”
“Jesus, Chase.” He sounds exasperated. “I’m not fucking superior.”
But unlike my conversations with Stan, I don’t get any satisfaction ruffling up Thomas’s perfect feathers. Instead, I just feel tired. So fucking tired of this shit. “You’re right. You’re not, Thomas. Not by a long shot.” Sitting down, I take a deep breath. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have our family’s company to save. Don’t call me again.”
“Wait. Chase—”
Whatever Thomas had been about to say is lost when I hang up.
The death grip on my phone loosens when I catch a glimpse of my screen saver. It’s the photo I took of Bell after she fell asleep on the couch. I’m not sure what possessed me to make it my screen saver, seeing as she already snuck out on me last Monday morning.
Looking at Bell, my shoulders relax, my blood pressure drops, and—even more improbable after the conversation I just had with my brother—a smile tugs at my lips. In the photo, Bell’s head is tilted back, her hair draped over the cushions. Her wide, pouty mouth is slightly open. I remember the sound of her deep, even breathing. Not snoring, exactly, but a peaceful rumble. The sound of sleepy contentment.
It wasn’t just her, either. I felt that. Especially in the moment after I took this picture, when I picked her up in my arms, her weight settled against me, her hair tickling my nose. The feeling of rightness as I carried her to my bedroom.
For two days, I had something I never thought I would. For two days, I didn’t feel like an outcast, underserving or unwanted. For two days, I finally felt like I measured up.
And then she left.
Fuck this.
