Page 85 of Chasing Smoke

He blinks several times, clearly surprised by my line of questioning. He sits up straighter in his chair.

Baylor’s mom took off when Baylor was still an infant, leaving Elliott to raise her on his own. Kate came back into the picture, like, six months ago, wanting to establish a relationship with her daughter again.

“I don’t know that I ever really forgave her. It would be impossible for me to tell the woman who left our child without a thought as to what that might do to Baylor that it’s okay that she took off.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and seeming to think for a moment. “I think that maybe by the time she came back, enough time had passed that I was able to understand why Kate did what she did. I don’t forgive her, but I can see it a little better from her perspective and understand why she thought it was the right choice—even if I know it wasn’t.”

I nod but don’t say anything, rolling over what he said in my mind.

Elliott picks up a pen beside his computer, taps it twice on the table, then sets it down. “Some of it is time, I think. Doesn’t fix it, but it does something. And once I saw how happy Baylor was to have Kate in her life, holding on to my anger started to cost me more than it was worth. Then there’s Emelia. When she came into my life, she showed me what life could be like if I wasn’t carrying all that animosity around all the time. How sweet it could be if I set it down.” He shrugs. “And it is. People are gonna do things you don’t agree with, Ansel, there’s no stopping that. They’re gonna make choices that will piss you off. Sometimes life will hand you a shit sandwich for no other reason than that’s life, but you owe it to yourself not to let it eat you alive—because it will. I watched it happen to Dad after Mom died. Hell, it tried to eat me alive for five years before I figured myself out.”

He rubs a hand over his jaw and looks at me for longer than I want him to, if only because my older brother has a knack for seeing the things I don’t want to tell him.

“But you’ve never been like me, Ansel. You’ve never been angry at the world because of what happened with Mom and Dad. In fact, you were the opposite. You always seemed to live life to the fullest. Whatever this is about, it’s got you sitting in my kitchen at eleven in the morning looking like you want to put your fist through the wall. That’s not you. So I know it must be something big. You’re gonna have to figure out how to do something with it before it does something to you.” He watches me for a beat. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s not my business to tell.”

Elliott holds my gaze, then gives me a slow nod. “Okay. Just answer me one thing.” He picks up the pen again, tapping it on the table. “You in any trouble?”

I shake my head. “No, not the kind you’re thinking.”

He watches me for another beat, then gives me a single sharp nod, and I can tell that he’s going to let the topic go. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here. And if it’s not me, make sure it’s Hollis or Uncle Roy. Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.”

All I can do is nod because suddenly there’s a large lump in my throat preventing me from speaking.

Elliott opens his computer back up. “I gotta finish what I’m doing. You’re welcome to hang around if you want, though.”

I thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I turn to leave the kitchen.

“Ansel.”

I spin around.

“Whatever it is you need to do, don’t do it mad. Never do it mad. Nothing good ever comes of that.”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and nod, then turn around and leave.

We may not be kids anymore, but one thing hasn’t changed—I still look up to my big brother.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Collins

There’s a soft knock on the door of the treatment room as I finish preparing the room for my next client. I glance at the clock on the wall and frown. They’re early.

“Come in.”

Carly pokes her head in. “There’s someone here to see you. He says he just needs a minute of your time.”

It’s not my client because my next client is a woman.

“Who is it?”

“Ansel Mercer,” she whispers, which says she probably already suspects something is going on. I hope she didn’t hear us the last time he was here and his hand was down my pants.

I wonder what’s going on. “Tell him to come back here. He knows where the room is.”

She nods and disappears behind the half-open door.

A minute later, Ansel walks into the room and shuts the door. “Sorry to just pop up like this.”