Page 17 of To Regret a Raven

“That’s not…” Fisher groaned at the poorly disguised hurt in her question, wondering if there would ever be a limit to his screw-ups. “I could never be embarrassed of you, Brea. How could I? You’ve always been the better twin.”

“Damn straight,” his sister agreed, both of them careful to ignore the sniffle she attempted to muffle. “Thenwhy?”

He sighed. “Does it matter? It’s over.”

Brea hummed again in that obnoxious way she did when she hadthoughts. “It does matter. I want to know, damn it. It’s been driving me crazy for months.”

“I didn’t love her.” He grunted, the words acidic on his tongue. “Not in the way she deserved. And so I avoided you all because you would’ve known, right off the bat. You would’ve called me out on it, and then she would’ve left me.”

“I don’t, uh—I don’t understand that,” she said after a beat, the words slow and stretched.

“What do you not understand?” Fisher asked as he dropped back down to sit on the bed, hanging his head as he waited.

“Why—Um, I don’t even know how to ask this. How…” She paused. “Okay, uh—why, then, are you upset?”

“What do you mean,whyam I upset? I just went through a breakup.”

“But you just said you didn’t love her…”

“And?”

“Well.” She huffed. “If you didn’t love her, dipshit, then why the hell do you care about losing her?”

“I—’Cause—” he stammered. “She’s my best friend!”

“Then apologize.”

“I tried.”

“Then tryharder. Love is to fight,” she said, repeating their dad’s favorite quote, handed down from his father before him. It had taken on a life of its own over the years, serving as a sort of motto for the family. But like all Bree things, it wasn’t applicable to his relationship. Fisher had tried to fight. He wanted to fight, but he didn’t knowhow.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Hmmm,” Brea hummed, making him clench his jaw in aggravation.

“And what about the dinner tomorrow?” She pivoted, nearly giving him whiplash.

“I’m still not coming.” Fisher cringed at the tangible disappointment he could very nearly taste over the line. “I’m—Brea, I’m sorry I haven’t been around more. I wasn’t avoiding you. And I promise I’ll visit soon. It’s just—it’s all really fresh, and I need a little time to get over this, alright? To get my head on straight.”

The silence lingered. “You’ll stay in touch, though? No more ghosting?”

“No more ghosting,” he promised. “Love you, Brea Bree.”

“Love you, too, Fish.”

9

ICEBERG

“What’s your problem, man?” Pat grunted, wrapping a hand around Fisher’s shoulder and pulling him to his feet, away from the useless new hire working the tire station.

“He’s my fucking problem,” Fisher stabbed a finger at the wide-eyed kid, standing beside the tray of tools. “He’s got no idea what he’s doing here. How do you get to be nineteen, and you don’t even know what a wrench looks like?”

“Fuck you, man,” Alec snapped back, his eyes darting to Pat nervously as he yanked the dirty cloth from his shoulder and flung it down upon the hood of the car beside them. “I told y’all that I didn’t know what I was doing. But I need this job, and I’m trying.”

“Fisher,” Pat hissed, his tone a warning. It wasn’t necessary, however, for the guilt had already taken root.

“Sorry, Alec,” he grunted, the anger draining from his veins as swiftly as it had come. “It’s not you. You’re doing fine.”