Page 122 of The Other Side

I lean back on my palms, and Brant’s knees bend up. His elbows are propped on each one as his hands dangle between his legs.

I slope my chin toward the charcoal sky; the twinkling stars scarcely spread across the dark umbrella. The acoustic guitars and fiddles vibrate from the distance, puncturing the silence.

“She’s gonna die, Callie.”

My head whips to Brant’s voice, my belly sinking.

I watch his stubbled jaw lock with grief. His hazel lenses glisten with pending tears, but his thumb catches a stray at the corner.

He lightly sniffles, masking it in front of me. I scoot myself closer to his side, palming his upper arm through the fabric of his shirt.

I pivot so my chest can lay against his bicep, but my throat clogs. I want to respond. I want to say something, but words are remiss right now.

They don’t mean anything.

I decide that he needs me to listen. Just like he listened my entire childhood. Maybe it’s time the roles reverse, and my eyes linger on his side profile.

Lending him an ear as I wait.

As long as I have to.

His eyes are glued to the barn when he speaks. “I spent most of my college years keeping my distance because I was so fucking angry with her.” His chest rumbles through an intake of breath. “I wanted to be far away from her, and now I can’t stop kicking myself for not being next to her sooner. If I had, maybe she wouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

I shake my head, sitting up straighter. “No. You’ve been there for her, and this is not your fault,” I breathe through tattered lungs. “Maybe you lost a few years, but you didn’t lose all of your time, Brant.”

He finally turns, suffering crocheted into his irises. “She missed all of my teenage years, Cal. Some of my childhood. All of it that matters,” he whispers. “It’s way more than a few years.”

My head barely nods in empathy.

I know he’s right.

He’s right.

“But the more you dwell, the more you punish her, Brant.” I tense, tears pooling in the lower lids of my eyes. “And the more you punish her, the more time you lose.” I keep my palm on his upper arm, kneading him there. My other hand slips behind his head, and my fingertips stroke his hair. “You understand?”

I pop my gaze around his face, praying that my words stick somewhere inside him.

He ingests a sharp breath through his nose, pivoting his attention away. “She’s fifty-five. She’s young, but at least if I had a memory to cherish, I could consider accepting it.” Then he wags his head, defeatedly shrugging. “But I don’t.” His head dips, his tongue licking his lips as he quips the next statement. “The first memory that comes to mind is her mouth around a glass of vodka. Not a hug or a laugh with her. A fucking bottle of alcohol. That’s what’s left.”

His thumb swiftly snatches another tear from his cheek. My hand dips from his hair to the hard planes of his back. “Then make new memories,” I say, hovering my lips above his ear. “She’s not gone yet. You’re in the driver’s seat now, Brant. You’re not a kid anymore. You have the power now.”

His arm crosses over so his large palm can land on the back of my head. My eyes close when his fingers curl into my wavy tendrils, and then he’s caressing my scalp.

He rattles under my touch, and my heart plummets through the ground beneath us.

I always needed him. There wasn’t a day I could survive without his existence. There wasn’t a scene I could’ve imagined where I’d see my hero crumble.

Until this very moment.

He sits up, sniffling his emotions while still stroking my hair. I press my cheek to his shoulder, my watery eyes skating over the barn.

We sit just like this for thirty minutes. No words. Just us and the stars.

I needed him back then, and he needs me now.

It turns out, Brant was right.

The heels of my weathered boots shuffle against the lawn as the blaring acoustic instruments tap my heart. It’s not often Brant and I sightsee, but when we walk into the main part of town, we always like to find the hidden gems stationed here. Mainly to soar low under everyone’s radar. But also because we like simple.