One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(72)
Remorse consumes me whole as I shoot off a text that says it all—that I miss him. That I have regrets about the way things are between us. That I’m trying. That no matter what he’s doing or how far apart our current paths are, one thing forever remains the same.
Always brothers.
My phone instantly buzzes with his reply—a reply that has my throat burning.
B: Miss you too, little brother.
He’ll never forgive you.
“It is much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge others. If you succeed in judging yourself rightly, then you are indeed a man of true wisdom.”—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
I’m somewhere between consciousness and restless sleep when my phone rumbles on my nightstand, and my eyes pop open. Premonition strikes hard as I check it to confirm what I already know.
Dressed in seconds, duffle bag in hand, I pause at the foot of the stairs before backtracking to Sean’s room. Opening the cracked door, I spot Cecelia sleeping peacefully. Chest aching, I soak in the look of her where she lays on her stomach—hair fanned over her pillow, expression serene, lips slightly parted, the sheet resting just below the small of her naked back. Burning the image of her into memory, guilt threatens because the last time I saw her, I’d been in such a fucked-up state that when she popped her head into my room, I slammed the door in her face. As cruel as that act was, I refused to let her glimpse what was festering inside me. Aching with regret, I rip my eyes away and make a beeline for my Camaro.
Fifteen minutes later, I finish screwing the temporary tag onto the old Buick before taking the driver’s seat. Adrenaline pumping, I fix the rearview and pull my solid black ballcap down. Though I’m thankful for the early morning blanket of cloud cover, I curse when rain begins to accumulate on the windshield.
Trying my luck with the wipers—the one aspect I overlooked while restoring the eighties model sedan—I send up a thank you when the rusted blades power to life. Pulling down the ancient gear shift at the steering wheel, I roll through the debris of the junkyard, following the narrow path I cleared in preparation. Narrowly maneuvering the Buick between the crushed, stacked sedans on my left and the side of the garage to the right, I’m feet from King’s parking lot when Sean steps directly in my path.
He doesn’t so much as glance up as he takes painstaking time to produce his Zippo before lighting the cigarette dangling from his lips.
Exhaling a steady plume of smoke, Sean remains idle, a foot from the hood of the Buick as I roll down the driver’s window. Rain dings from the hallowed cars stacked next to me when he finally looks up and pins me where I sit in the driver’s seat. “Where you off to, brother?”
With zero time for his theatrics and knowing there’s no way he’s moving without an answer, I exit the car and stalk over to him, anxiety ramping. “Get the fuck out of the way, Sean. Now is not the time.”
“So, I’m guessing you don’t want me riding shotgun?” He scrutinizes the Buick before turning back to me, tilting his head with his question. “What the fuck is this, Dom?”
“What this is, is time sensitive,” I grit out, “in a way you can’t fucking fathom, and I don’t have time to satiate your curiosity or talk feelings.”
“Tell me,” he snaps in demand.
“Tell you what? That I’m just as guilty as you are now, and that he’ll fucking never forgive us both! That’s what you wanted, right? To have someone to share the blame with? You win. I fucked her, have been fucking her.”
“Yeah, well, narcissists blame everyone but themselves,” he drawls out, “but never perceived you as one of those.” He takes another long drag, brows drawn in confusion. “Is this you spinning out?” He asks. “Is this what this is, Dom? I get that what’s going on is heavy—”
“You have no fucking idea what’s going on and haven’t since she got here. That’s on you.” My anxiety ramps as I dart my gaze back to the Buick, shoving him back while using the one piece of mental leverage I’ve got to keep him distracted. “Since day one, you betrayed your ink and brothers and made it look easy—that’s also on you. I’m done. So, stay the hell away from me, and while you’re at it, keep her away from me too.”
Hurt leaks in his voice with his next question. “Do you want me to give up on you?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
His eyes dim before he flicks his lit cigarette at the Buick and turns to stalk off. I’m back at the driver’s door when I’m turned and pinned, neck snapping to the side after Sean delivers a punishing right hook. “You didn’t mean that. Any of it.”
My jaw thumps as his expression hardens to one of resolution when my mask temporarily slips, and he realizes he’s right. “Stop protecting me and tell me how to fucking help!”
“Get the fuck out of the way!” I roar. “Goddamnit, Sean, let me go!”
“Then tell me you can come back from this,” his eyes desperately search mine, and I give him a slow nod.
“Words, Dom.”
“If this goes wrong because you held me up, I’ll never fucking forgive you!” I already fucked up and narrowly missed this window because I got distracted by Cecelia. A window that’s rapidly closing as Sean steals precious seconds from me. The thought that I might miss it entirely triggers a fear I’ve never felt before. Posturing up, I leer at Sean as I speak. “Please don’t make me hurt you.”