I made my way down the steps with the camera in hand, then saw someone leaning against the side of the house.
I sighed and suddenly wished Bailey was out here with me. Sean was the one family member that always managed to ruffle my feathers. I wasn’t alone in that. He had a reputation of pissing off everyone within arm’s reach.
I looked at the camera in my hand and took a deep breath. Just go and ask him, I told myself. What’s the worst he can do? Say no?
“Hey, Sean?” I called out, then made my way toward him. When he looked at me, my feet faltered.
Dressed in flip-flops, shorts, and a Chicago Bulls t-shirt, he had a cap pulled down low over his face and his entire posture screamed, Get lost. Ugh, I had no idea why I was so intimidated by him. He was nineteen, only a year older than me. But there was something so intense about Sean, something that made me keep my guard up around him.
When I stopped in front of him, he took in a deep inhale of his cigarette and blew it right by my face. I fanned the smoke aside and frowned.
God, he was such a jerk.
“What do you need, Xander?”
Resisting the urge to go back inside and let Mrs. B deal with him, I held up the camera. “Your mom wants me to get a photo of you guys.”
Sean scoffed. “Why bother? Didn’t you hear? Dear old Dad just left.”
The sneer in Sean’s voice unnerved me, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
“She said just you, Bay, and Kieran.”
Sean took another inhale, and this time tipped his head back to blow the smoke into the sky. “I think I’m just gonna split.”
Typical Sean. Didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, and something about that really rankled me. Here he was all pissed because their father had cut and run, and he was about to do the same thing.
“Really?” I said, before I could think better of it. “It’s your brother’s birthday and you’re gonna just peace out? That’s nice.”
Sean shoved off the side of the house and took a step forward. Though my brain screamed to back the hell up, I stood my ground. I wasn’t about to let Sean Bailey intimidate me.
“Haven’t you heard?” he said in a whisper-low voice. “I’m never nice. Just ask my dad. If you want the good Bailey brother, stick with the one inside.”
Sean turned and began to walk away. I clenched my fingers around the camera strap and called out, “Leaving now just proves him right, you know.”
Sean stopped and looked over his shoulder. “So? What do you care if I stay or go?”
I had no idea. Of all the Baileys, Sean was my least favorite. But something about him tonight felt different. He seemed desperate and dejected, and something told me not to let him leave—at least not yet.
“I don’t. But Bay will, and I know you care about your brother.”
Sean narrowed his eyes then marched back over to me. “You trying to make me feel guilty?”
“Depends,” I said, and tilted my chin up. “Is it working?”
Sean’s jaw twitched as he glared me down, then, without another word, he brushed by me, our shoulders connecting hard.
“One photo and I’m out.”
AROUND TEN MINUTES after that conversation, I’d taken this photo. Bailey’s bright smile had beamed out at me after he’d finally beaten my game score. Kieran’s goofy grin had been carefree and full of braces. Then there was Sean, with his half smirk, an arrogant expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from stroking a finger down his cheek, wondering what he’d been thinking in that moment.
I hadn’t thought about that night in years, and from what I recalled, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant one for Sean. So why keep this photograph above all others? I had no idea.
“You get lost, anchorman?”
Caught red-handed, I turned around to see Sean leaning against the doorframe. I quickly set the photo down, feeling as though I’d stumbled on something intensely private.
“No. I came in here to open the window, and—”
“Took a stroll down memory lane instead?”
“Something like that.”
Sean nodded and shoved away from the door. “Do you remember that night?”
“I do.”
“What do you remember about it?”
“In relation to you? Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I remember you being a complete jerk.”
6
Sean
XANDER HAD BEEN gone awhile now for someone just opening windows. I’d heard him moving around earlier, but now the only thing I could hear in my house was the blasted ticking of my wall clock.
Funny that I’d never noticed it before. But after spending the last few weeks in someone else’s constant company, this sudden solitude was jarring.
I gingerly pushed to my feet, not wanting to pop a staple. As I made my way down the hallway, I looked at my home through fresh eyes and could see where Xander had been coming from that first night he’d stopped by.
Compared to his place, this was like living in a shoebox. But I didn’t think Xander’s comment was about the size so much as the lack of decor, because he’d never batted an eye at my childhood home growing up, and it wasn’t much bigger than this place.
As I walked by the main bathroom, I peered inside to see it was empty, and then kept going down the hall until I reached my study. That’s where I found him.
Xander was standing in front of my desk staring at the photo of me and my brothers, and I wondered if he remembered that night. I remembered it like it was yesterday, and I remembered him. But I was sure that if he had any recollection, it was vastly different to my memory.
Instead of alerting him to my presence, I decided to take a moment and drink in the sight of him. In designer jeans and a light blue button-up shirt, Xander looked as put together as always, compared to me and my sweatpants. But that was nothing new; he’d always dressed better than anyone else in the room, even as a teenager.
It was like Xander was in some kind of trance as he stood there, and when he ran his fingers over the image and sighed, I decided it was time to speak up.
“You get lost, anchorman?”
Xander jerked around as though I’d caught him looking at a secret porn stash, then quickly placed the photograph back on the desk.
“No. I came in here to open the window, and—”
“Took a stroll down memory lane instead?”
“Something like that.”
I nodded and walked across the room, wanting to get closer to him, wanting to touch him now that I could. When I stopped in front of him, I let my eyes fall to the photo. “Do you remember that night?”
“I do.”
“What do you remember about it?”
“In relation to you? Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I remember you being a complete jerk.”
Yeah, that was pretty much what I’d figured. I’d been in a particularly shitty mood that night, courtesy of yet another uplifting chat with my father.
Xander had been a convenient recipient for my teenager anger that night, something I wasn’t proud of. But one thing I bet he didn’t know was just how big of an impact he’d made on me through that one conversation.