Brody grimaced, and my hand fell away from his arm. I took in his expression again, the worry making itself at home. “Brody…tell me there’s no show.”
“There’s no show. But when Lara was here, she took some of my paintings of you. She wasn’t supposed to. I told her only landscapes, but she’s sneaky, and she loved the ones of you. She took them after you and I left. One of them was announced for auction today. A bunch of art sites have photos of it. I don’t think it has made it past that, but I can’t know for sure. I’m so sorry, Shay. You’ll never know how much. You gave me this gift, your friendship, your truth, and I…I betrayed that.”
I was silent, my body having gone numb. This was why I avoided people. Relationships. Every tether was a chance for exposure. Every string a greater risk of discovery. Yet as I stared at Brody, this man who was working his way deeper and deeper into my heart, I couldn’t wish him away. “You didn’t betray me. It’s not your fault.”
He moved in a flash, pulling me into his hold. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”
My arms encircled his waist. The strength of his embrace felt like armor against the coming storm. If I could just stay like this, I’d be safe. “I have to know how far the image of the painting has gotten.”
Brody nodded. “Come up to the house with me, and we’ll dig. I’m doing everything I can to get the photos taken down.”
“I know you are. And these are art sites, so it might not be as big of a deal.” I wanted that knowledge to calm me. Michael had gone to the same school for the arts as I had. He’d opted for cello instead of violin, wanting to chart a different path than his sister. But the path had been more challenging for him. Lots of broken bows and a handful of smashed instruments. I had to hope with what had happened, and how much time had passed, that he was no longer plugged in with any art school pals. That no one would casually mention seeing a photo of a painting that looked remarkably like his sister.
Brody took my hand. “Come on. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
I left my gardening tools abandoned in the greenhouse, mentally promising to deal with them tomorrow. Brody tugged me along the path to the main house. Not forcefully, but with gentle encouragement. Without it, I would’ve probably sunk to the ground where I was. The memories crowded in, the bite of fear still thrumming through me, feeding each and every one.
I did my best to battle them. Expel them from my brain. It didn’t do any good. The memories were like that arcade game of Whac-A-Mole. The moment I’d beat one back, another would pop up. Michael slamming me into a wall, his hand at my throat. Him threatening a little girl who wanted to come over for a sleepover. Throwing his plate at the wall when my mom said he had to finish his green beans.
But there was good mixed in, too. The fort we’d made in our backyard. The one that only the two of us were allowed in. The time we’d made pancakes for Mother’s Day and had nearly destroyed the kitchen. The good and the bad swung back and forth in my brain in a crazy-making staccato rhythm.
Strong hands gripped my arms. “Shay. Focus on me.”
I gave my head a little shake, blinking rapidly. As if that might clear it all away. Erase a past that I’d never been able to understand fully. “Sorry. I…” There was no way to finish that sentence, to explain what was going on in my mind.
Brody ushered me towards the couch. Deep and wide and the most comfortable piece of furniture I’d ever sunk into. But even that wasn’t a comfort, didn’t penetrate beyond a fleeting thought. He gripped my legs, his hands pinning them right above my knees as if he could secure me to this place. “Talk to me.”
That familiar burn crept up the back of my throat and into my eyes. “I don’t know how.”
“Tell me one thing. You always start with one true thing.”
I stared at the man in front of me. His eyes were so full of understanding and free of judgment. Begging for me to let him in. My hands fisted the sides of the couch cushion as I searched for the truest thing I could give him. “I love my brother.”
Brody’s hands flexed around my legs. “I’m going to be honest. I looked you up. I know the broad strokes of what happened. But those articles rarely give the full picture.”
“I know it seems insane. To love the person who murdered your parents. Who tried to kill you. And don’t get me wrong, I hate him, too. But it’s impossible to forget that he was my brother for eleven years before that happened. And I was his big sister. I was supposed to look out for him. I can’t erase that urge. Just like I can’t erase all of the good we had as a family.”
Brody traced absentminded circles on the inside of my thigh with his thumb. “But you ran from him.”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “I know that if given a chance, he’d kill me, too. And it’s not even his fault.”
Brody’s eyes flared. “It’s not his fault?”
“It’s not Michael’s choice. His brain betrayed him from the moment of his birth. I did a lot of reading, talked to a bunch of experts after he was arrested. Just trying to wrap my head around what happened. When Michael’s traits appear in someone so young, it means it’s hereditary. We had the same parents, Brody. The exact same upbringing. Yet his brain had these invisible mines that would go off at the slightest provocation. How is that fair?”
One tear and then another escaped my eyes, sliding down my cheeks. “My brain is perfectly fine. I don’t get joy from hurting people. I have empathy. But he just doesn’t. Can’t.”
“Maybe too much empathy,” Brody muttered.
It was impossible for others to understand. This tie to my brother that I refused to sever. “My aunt didn’t understand it either. It used to make her mad for days when I’d go visit him.”
“You visited Michael? After he tried to kill you…”
I had to look away, couldn’t take the shock on Brody’s face. I turned my focus to the window, the sea peeking through the wall of trees. “I didn’t go very many times. I thought maybe if he saw me while I was still recovering, it might get through to him. The damage he created might seem real.”
“But it didn’t,” Brody filled in.
“No, it didn’t. Michael didn’t care. He’s not equipped to. Don’t get me wrong. He’s able to mimic what care and concern look like. He’s even fooled the majority of the doctors at his facility. But it’s not real.” I glanced back at Brody. “I think that’s why your art pulls at me. You don’t shy away from reality. Even if it’s ugly.”
His hands tightened around my thighs, not painfully but with pressure, intensity. “But I’m starting to realize that the real isn’t all ugly either.”
“It’s not. Even with Michael. There’s good in him. There’s life. It just got twisted somehow. And that makes me feel even more guilty when the anger slips in. When I remember how terrified I was growing up, how my parents barely had time for me, how much I lost…I hate him.”
Brody released his hold on me. “Come here.”
“I’m here.”
In a flash, he’d lifted me so that I was cradled in his lap, my head pressed to his chest. The steady, strong beat of his heart reverberated against my cheek. His arms encircled me, holding on as if he’d never let go. “I can’t imagine going through what you did. I can’t imagine holding on to even a shred of that love.”