I nearly tell him about this tree. About the promise I made her. The words scream inside, wanting to tear their way up my throat so he’ll know. I want him to know exactly what he took from me. But if a single word comes out, I know I’ll lose it. More than that, I know I’m the one to blame.
“Thanks for signing over the approval for everything,” Brody says and I stare at him. The longer I stare, the more I see Bridget and my gaze falls.
“Why are you here?” is the question I settle on after a moment passes.
Anger bristles inside of me, but he doesn’t share the sentiment.
“I thought we should have a,” he takes in a breath, waving his hand in the air like he’s searching for the right word, “a second chance at meeting one another.”
Fuck you. The words are right on my tongue, but I bite them back. If I have any chance at staying in their lives, I know I’m going to have to deal with him.
“I was going to pressure you. I was going to deny every form you ever submitted.” The confession slips out honestly. I didn’t even mean it to. The pain of why I didn’t is just too much to hold in.
“Well, that would have been awful dickish of you,” Brody comments and his elbow hits my arm. When I look back at him, he motions to the bottle. My gaze narrows and he says, “Come on, man.”
A second passes before I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig. He hisses out after taking a gulp of it. Holding it out in front of him he comments, “You couldn’t get anything better?” His eyes are wide and an honest chuckle leaves me.
“Burn too much for you?” I question while taking the bottle back. This bottle is meant to hurt on the way down. If he really loved Magnolia, he’d know that.
“I know you’re pissed, but damn … you don’t need to pile on the misery.”
“It’s not—” I start to tell him, then shake my head, feeling an emptiness deep inside that swallows up the words.
“What?”
“You won’t understand,” I say and then untwist the cap, but he takes the bottle from me.
“Tell me,” he asserts. “I want to know. Tell me.”
The sincerity of it is what breaks me. He wants to know?
“You don’t know the hell we went through,” I barely speak the words and then breathe out. The agony of it all swarms inside of me and I expect to see hate, disgust, or a holier-than-thou expression staring back at me, but all I see is him nodding. “I have a lot to catch up on,” he tells me.
“It’s not for you to know.”
“Well, if you want to tell someone, I’m here.” He swirls the whiskey and then stares down the neck of the bottle like he might take another swig, or he might not.
It’s the knowledge that I’m at his mercy that leads me to tell him. “I don’t want to drag Magnolia into anything. I just want to be there.” The idea of not being able to talk to her, especially now, with my mother, with Bridget growing up … I just can’t comprehend what it would do to me. I don’t think Magnolia would choose to go that route. “She’s always been my best friend,” I tell him and then feel like a prick, pinching the bridge of my nose. There’s got to be a better word for it. Best friend isn’t good enough.
“You might hate me, but I don’t hate you.” Again, Brody’s voice is easygoing. I don’t trust him.
“Why is that?”
“You took care of my daughter,” he says simply and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t hurt all over again. My throat’s dry as I rip my gaze away and stare at the waves that rush against the shore.
“Fuck, dude,” Brody murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
“They are my family,” I comment and reach for the bottle, only to find it empty.
“You dumped it?” My accusation is met with a blank gaze.
He looks me dead in the eye and lies, “Nah, I’m a manly man and I chugged it.”
I can’t help the crack of a laugh that leaves me.
“Liar,” I say and he only laughs.
After a second, I laugh with him. He’s got a good sense of humor. I see why Magnolia likes him. At that thought, the glimmer of a smile fades from my lips. A manly man. I stare down at the empty bottle in my hand. I don’t feel like much of a man at all right now.
He clears his throat and says, “You need good shit. Not … this.”
I can only murmur a noncommittal response.
“I just wanted to come down here and tell you, thank you.”
“I don’t fucking like this. It feels like the end and it can’t be.” I repeat to him, emphasizing the plea in my tone, “They’re my family.”