So his tone and voice are grating me the wrong way.
A soft hand touches my arm before Nicole stares up at me with enough brightness to light a whole fucking room. “You can sit down anywhere.”
“You did this.” It’s not a question, because I’m sure it was all her idea.
The fact that she was stalling for time, made dinner for an army, and prepared the table for four.
“You can’t possibly ignore your family forever.”
“Watch me.” I glare at them. “Have the food and get the fuck out. Better yet, leave without eating.”
“Daniel.” Nicole gasps, watching me as if I grew a few more horns than what a devil is allowed.
Well, surprise, baby. I’m still the jerk who made your and everyone else’s life hell.
“Dan…please.” Mother’s voice is brittle, which means she’s probably about to cry. That’s what she used to do every day, every night.
It’s her side gig. Aside from giving us prophets’ names in a vain attempt to save our arses from hell.
“Too late for begging, don’t you think, Mother? Here’s a thought, how about you do us both a favor and leave?”
Zach interlinks his fingers on the table. “Since we’re all here and there’s food, we might as well eat.”
“No thanks,” I say.
I’m about to leave when Mother blurts, “Zach had an accident.”
“Nice try, Mother. Next time you’ll tell me his arm is artificial and he’s surviving on Viagra to shag. Can’t you hear how desperate you are?”
I expect Zach to spar with me, verbally or physically. He was always the number one defender and the founder of Nora Sterling’s fan club. Even when she neglected us both for her husband-related issues.
However, my brother is sipping from his soup, his expression unchanged. “I like the chef. I’m moving him to my estate.”
“Like fuck you will.” I wrap an arm around Nicole’s waist, a blinding sense of possessiveness gripping me by the throat.
“We’ll see about that.”
My urge to punch him snaps my shoulder blades together. And why the hell is he saying that with a perfectly straight face? Is this a joke?
“Get out of my fucking house, Zach. Take Mother with you.”
“I decline. I made a dent in my schedule to accept Nicole’s invitation to dine here and I’ll only leave when that’s done.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin, staring at me with soulless eyes. “And I’m taking the cook with me.”
I lunge at him then, grabbing the collar of his shirt and the stupid fucking napkin.
A long time ago, we used to wrestle for sport. It was also our way to get our parents’ nonexistent attention. Zach never, and I mean never, allowed me to win, or take a punch at him.
He was the sort of older brother who made sure I knew who held the power and frustrated me beyond belief.
But right now, he doesn’t even attempt to fight as I hit him. “You’re taking no one!”
Blood explodes in his nose, but he doesn’t even touch it. Or me. His hands are still on the table with the spoon in his fingers.
“Oh my God, Zach!” Mother runs toward us like a shotgun, getting a napkin and wiping his nose.
Nicole grasps my wrist and pulls me back, but she doesn’t need force for it. I was already letting go of him.
I saw something in his eyes just now.
Or more like…nothing.
There was no trace of the Zach I’ve known most of my life. It’s like a ghost exists on his behalf.
Tears glisten in my mother’s eyes as she dabs away the blood from his face. He seems more pressed to go back to eating as if that’s his sole purpose for being here.
“Can you please hear me out?” Mother asks, fawning over him like the doting mother she rarely was.
I remain silent, but I take a seat to Zach’s right.
“Alone?” Mother gives Nicole an apologetic glance. “This is a delicate matter.”
“Yes, sure.” Nicole starts to leave, but I grab her hand and force her to sit beside me.
“If you want to talk to me, she’ll be here.”
Mother twists her lips like a child having a tantrum, then she releases a deep sigh and retakes her seat, then neatly places the napkin on her lap. “The thing is…I never thought you’d come back, Daniel.”
“We actually agree on something. Shocker.” I pick up the spoon to keep at least one of my hands from fisting. The other is at my thigh, slightly curling.
The reason why I’m estranged from the two only family members I have left isn’t only because of my father’s fiasco.
But mostly because they remind me of a weak version of me. Of the young Daniel who was desperate enough to cause trouble so his own parents, the people who should’ve been forced by nature to nurture him, would finally see him over all their shit.
Spoiler alert. They never did.
Mother pours herself a glass of wine, then drinks half of it before meeting my gaze. “Zach was in a crash seven years ago and suffered from a traumatic brain injury. I tried to call you, but you told me, “Wrong number,” and hung up.”
“Sounds legit.”
Nicole gives me a side-eye.
“What? I told them to forget about me. Not my fault they have trouble moving on.”
And Astrid did mention that Zach had an accident, but I ignored her once I knew he was alive.
“A mother can’t forget about her own child.” Her eyes fill with tears again. She likes to paint herself as the victim, to be completely and utterly pitied.
“Oh, so now I’m your child? Sorry, kind of lost sight of that during all the years of emotional neglect.” A small hand wraps around mine, and I force myself not to look at Nicole, not to get trapped into her again.
It’s because of her that I’m even in this predicament, facing a part of me I wished to keep buried until I was six feet under.
The woman who gave birth to me swallows thickly. “Daniel, please…”
“Save it, Mother. Tell me about Zach. Why is he barely even blinking?”
“I don’t know how to say it…”
“I’m over here and can tell you about myself.” My brother’s eyes meets mine, and once again, I’m caught in their ghostly quality and the black hollowness inside them. “Due to the head injury, I have Alexithymia. That means I don’t recognize emotions anymore and I’m considered a heartless bastard, or that’s what I’ve been told by the incompetent executive directors I fired.”
Mother starts weeping, always, without doubt, turning the attention to her. Nicole releases my hand and goes to comfort her as if she’s a baby.
Zach—who’s the cause of all the distress—continues sipping his soup with no care in the world.
And for the first time since I left England, I think maybe I made a mistake.
Maybe if I stayed, if he didn’t have to take care of Mother’s dramatics and Father’s death on his own, he wouldn’t have had that crash. He wouldn’t be a ghost of his previous self.
I would still have the Zach who laughed more than necessary and taught me how to touch a girl right and bring both of us pleasure.
The Zach who stayed by my side whenever I got sick because my mother was too busy throwing a self-pity party to take care of me.