My breathing picked up, going a little ragged around the edges. Eight hours in the dark with no way out. “How old were you?”
“I was nine. Michael was seven.”
It seemed impossible that a seven-year-old boy was capable of something so insensitive and cruel. That he could simply walk away in the face of his sister’s terror. “What did your parents do?”
What sounded like a washcloth plopped into the water. “That was the first time they sent him to a treatment program. He’d been hospitalized before, but he’d never been to a residential treatment program. Michael was gone for six months. It was the best six months of my childhood. I could finally breathe. I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder. I wasn’t worried that something I did or didn’t do might set him off. But then I felt guilty for being relieved.”
“It makes sense that you’d feel both.” But I wondered why Michael had only been at the facility for six months. Why not a long-term placement somewhere that was equipped for his issues? “Why did he come back after six months?”
Shay sighed. “The issues my brother has, a conduct disorder with callous and unemotional traits, is complicated to treat. And even harder to measure rehabilitation. Michael has always been good at mimicking appropriate behavior, at biding his time before he gets his revenge. Every time my mom and dad went to visit him, he’d cry and beg to come home. That destroys a parent, Brody. Even as young as I was, I saw it eating them up inside.”
I couldn’t imagine the stress they had been under. But I also couldn’t understand putting the defenseless little girl they had at home at risk.
“You’re wondering why they let him come home,” Shay deduced.
“I’m trying to see all the angles. There’s no easy answer, that’s for sure.”
Water droplets fell into the bath as if Shay were wringing out her washcloth. “There wasn’t. For anyone. Not Michael, either.”
Shay blew me away. Her ability to hold onto empathy despite her terror and pain, amidst the betrayal she surely felt made me want to lean in to those relationships in my life that were imperfect but present. My parents sprang to mind most of all. They didn’t understand me. But they loved me. Maybe it was time I tried a little harder. Had them out to the island for a week this spring or summer.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“About how you make me want to be a better man.”
There was nothing for a long moment, then she spoke. “You’re already one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
I swallowed against the emotions crowding my throat. My hands itched to pull back the curtain. I wanted to see her face as Shay said the words. Needed a clue as to what she might be hiding below that calm and collected exterior. Was desire clawing at her insides as much as mine? Was she battling this thing like I was? I could only hope.
20
Shay
The sound of wood cracking and a series of creative curses had me stopping in my tracks in the kitchen. They were coming from the sunporch. Hunter and his crew had made amazing progress on the art studio, but Brody was still at least a month—maybe two—away from using the space.
I set the full basket of my latest greenhouse haul on the counter and started towards the room that ran along the side of the house. I stopped just outside, listening to Brody’s barely audible mutterings. I itched to cross the threshold, to try and soothe whatever ragged edges I could. It had become habit over the past couple of weeks. Brody and I both leaned on each other, maybe more than we should.
We ate breakfast and dinner together each day. Filled every evening with Yahtzee, cards, or a movie. We talked about everything and nothing. He’d shared that his relationship with his parents was awkward. And at times, painful. I’d watched as his mastery of two dishes in the kitchen had turned to four. I shared stories about my parents. Mostly the good memories that I hadn’t shared with anyone. Brody had grown partial to feeding the chickens and even kept me company when I had to spend a couple of hours tweaking our generator.
Without me thinking much about it, we’d become a unit. We knew each other’s moves before either of us made them. Evergreen had taken to calling us an old married couple. And I tried to ignore the warmth that took root in my chest each time she typed that tease.
I did my best to keep that one final boundary in place, though. The one that didn’t allow for our lips to meet the way I wanted them to, or for Brody’s body to curl around mine in sleep. But I’d let him inside in every other way. And I couldn’t find it in me to scold or chastise myself for it. He’d become too important.
I took another step forward and knocked on the open door. Brody whirled, his eyes a touch wild. I kept moving into his space. Nothing about Brody scared me or gave me a second’s pause. I eyed the broken canvas on the floor. “Testing out those new boots of yours?”
He scowled. “No.”
I arched a brow. “Throwing a temper tantrum?”
“Maybe,” he muttered.
“Talk to me.”
Brody picked up the canvas and tossed it into a mounting pile in the corner. “Nothing feels right. Every time I start a new piece, something’s…off. Like I’m pushing somehow.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe I need a break. Or a new career path.”
“Or you need to paint with no set destination in mind.”
“No free passes from you, huh?”
My mouth curved. “Not if it means you stop creating.” I moved in closer, the smell of Brody’s soap and a hint of cedar filling my senses. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
He tipped his head down, his eyes searching my face. “Sit for me.”
I stiffened for a moment and then forced myself to relax. No more managers were stopping by to possibly abscond with my likeness. Lara was back in New York and several hundred thousand dollars lighter after settling out of court with Brody’s lawyer. She’d had to issue a public retraction of her statement, as well. “Okay.”
“One more thing.”
My lips pursed. “You’re very demanding today.”
Brody shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to play for me while you do.”
My fingers tugged at the cuffs of my sleeves, the movement sending a trickle of agony down my right arm. I instantly released my hold on the fabric, not wanting the pain to trigger a memory. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had an audience.”
“It’ll be good for you.”
I huffed. “And who are you? The expert on all things musical?”
Brody grinned, the movement socking me right in the gut. “I am an expert on getting out of your way. Art is meant to be shared, Shay. Trust me with yours.”
God, when he said it like that, how could I say no? “All right. Give me a minute to grab my violin.”
Brody nodded and immediately got to work setting up a new station. I cursed him and myself all the way to my guest house and back. I forced myself to keep a light hold on the instrument case or I surely would’ve snapped the handle in two. My mind wound through possible pieces to play. But nothing seemed right. Too predictable or too modern.