“I love her, Lance,” I whispered.
Lance shook his head. “Please stop talking. You’re in a fucking hospital bed with a gunshot wound. Your mother is downstairs drinking vodka from a coffee cup.”
“I love her, Lance,” I said again, this time more confidently. Lance ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He was still avoiding the truth.
“You’ve had three surgeries over the last week,” he added, his resolve crumbling.
“I love your sister, Lance. I love Blakely.” My words were like a whip against his expression, turning his sadness into anger.
Lance paused in his pacing to turn and look at me. I felt every fear. I felt his determination. I felt the secret between us burst wide open in a split decision.
Lance stalked over to me and grabbed my cheeks. At first, I thought he was going to admit the fear I’d been harboring, but instead, his rough lips connected with mine. Shock hit my senses, making it impossible to move. A part of me knew this needed to happen. I knew we’d never work through our issues unless I gave him this moment. He didn’t seem to care about my morning breath or my lack of enthusiasm against his sweeping tongue. He kissed me like it was a long exhale he’d been holding in his chest.
But it felt wrong, so wrong. He was my brother. My soulmate—but not my lover.
His teeth sunk into my bottom lip, tugging at mine in desperation. He licked at the seam of my mouth, his tears saturating my skin. I shoved at his chest, pushing him away. I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t lead him on. This was never going to happen. “I fell in love with Bl—”
“Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t finish that sentence,” Lance begged.
“I love her, Lance,” I whispered, though the various instruments I was hooked up to beeped violently. “I love her. I fell into a deep, irreversible, demanding love with your sister, and there’s no going back. I love her brain. Her heart. Her soul. I love how she speaks. I love how she makes me a better man. I loved saving her, and I’d do it again. Even if it landed me in the hospital. Even if it killed me. I love Blakely Stewart, Lance.”
Lance fell in love with me a long while ago. It was why I couldn’t tell him about Blakely. It was why this entire thing was more fucked up than I could ever admit to. I was my best friend’s darkest secret, and I entertained the limbo between us because, in a way, I loved him too. But I could never love him the way he wanted me to. “It’s always been you, Decker,” he sobbed. “I’ve always loved you.”
I reached up to tenderly wipe the tears from his face. “Lance,” I began as moisture began to fill my own eyes. This was what I feared most. This was why I couldn’t say anything and why I turned away relationships. It was why I was so hellbent on keeping Blakely a secret. It killed me to destroy Lance, and I knew that after this, we would never be the same. I just hoped we could find a new normal in all the pain.
“I’m so sorry. You’ve always been in my life. You’ve always been like a brother to me, but I’ve known. I’ve always known. I just never wanted to talk about it because you’ve never brought it up. I was scared that things would change if I admitted I could never love you the way you want me to love you—the way you deserve to be loved. You’re family, Lance. We have a bond that is more precious to me than anything in this world, but it will never be the romantic love you crave, and I’m so sorry about that.”
Lance grabbed a tissue and blew his nose, his eyes squinting in pain as more tears fell. “I know. It’s not fair,” he croaked. “I’m putting you in this impossible situation, but I tried. I tried not to love you. You made it so damn hard,” he added with a light chuckle. “Even with your fucking morning breath and greasy hair, I’ll probably think of that kiss for the rest of my life.”
I chuckled. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”
“Probably a mixture of both,” Lance replied with a shrug.
We sat in silence for a while, holding each other’s hands and staring at one another. I took in the curve of his nose, his high cheekbones, and the way his eyes appraised me back. I treasured Lance. He was bright and beautiful, and his optimism tore me from some of the darkest moments of my life. “You have to let me go, Lance. I can’t stand the idea of not having you in my life, but if you need space to work through this, I’ll understand.”
“I don’t know what I need, but maybe you’re right. I need time to process it all. I’ve never had the chance to properly let go because you’ve always been there. No one ever compared. No one else ever mattered. Sean and I broke up because he wanted me to end my friendship with you. He was jealous.” I nodded, already knowing that was the case. It’s what happened with most of his relationships. “I just kept hoping, and when you got hurt, it nearly killed me.”
“I’m so sorry, Lance. I can’t say it enough,” I replied. Each tear that slipped from his eyes felt like another bullet to the gut. My heart hurt for him. For us. For Blakely.
“I knew I loved you the day I tackled that woman with the gun. I knew that I’d rather die than imagine a world without you,” Lance observed. “And now look at us. You’re diving in front of bullets for someone else.”
The power of his words settled between us. I loved Blakely like he loved me. It was a painful realization that would change us forever. I wanted to ask about Blakely, demand he tell me where she was. But my friend needed me, so for now, I’d swallow my burning desire to be near her. For now, I’d love my best friend.
For now, we’d heal.
35
Blakely
I buried my father on a Thursday. It was hot for fall in Texas, and the sun shined brightly for such a gloomy occasion. It was the second funeral I’d ever attended in my life. My fourth-grade teacher showed up for the service and asked how living in Memphis was. I lied and told her it was wonderful, though I was currently staying in a seedy motel outside of town.
I wore a white sundress. Dad would have loved it.
Frank Stewart must have taken my lungs with him to heaven, because I found it was impossible to breathe. Unlike at Mama’s funeral, I sobbed uncontrollably and without internal conflict. I let my mourning slip from my eyes as they lowered him into the ground. The preacher didn’t know Dad but spouted universal truths. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Death. It all revolved around death.
It wasn’t until the preacher was walking toward his Honda that I realized it was over. I sat in the grass and ate the sandwich I packed, chatting with Dad like this was a regular occurrence. I buried him on the opposite side of the cemetery from Mama, but I felt her presence there too. “I’m mad at you, old man. We were supposed to get our fresh start,” I said before taking a bite of my sandwich and swallowing. I’d never felt so alone in my life, but sitting here, talking to a cheap tombstone seemed to soften the blow to my heart.
“I tried. I really did,” I whispered. “I know you did too. I hate that it happened like this. I hate that I couldn’t save you. I hate that you needed saving, but I’m going to be okay, Dad.” I didn’t actually know if I was going to be okay. I had no home. No plan. No car. The money Decker sent me sat stagnant in my account. I used some of it for Dad’s funeral while telling myself I’d pay him back. I felt cheap and like the leech he’d accused me of being the first day we met, but I didn’t have many options.