CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Gizmo
T he park is quiet when I get there, the early morning sun barely stretching over the tops of the trees. Nathaniel is already waiting on a bench, his hands folded, looking every bit the polished lawyer he is. It still feels strange seeing him this way—buttoned-up, controlled—when I remember the scrappy kid who used to chase me through the neighborhood.
He stands as I approach, offering a nod. “Jase.”
“Nate.” I use the name he hates, still very much like the little brother I am. After what I’ve gone through, is there any question that I continue to remind him of the animosity I carry like a shield?
We sit in silence for a moment, the tension settling in like a third person between us. Then he clears his throat. “I just wanted to give you a status update on things.”
“Please. The walking on eggshells for the past three months is getting a little old.”
“Are you really walking on them though?” Nathaniel asks with a look on his face that I can’t quite read.
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. I talk to Sammy too, seeing as I’m the one writing his checks for you.”
“Your point?”
“You’re with Hendrix. A lot.”
“She’s my wife, right? Isn’t this what we were trying to accomplish? That everyone, including her bodyguard, sees that.”
“Hmm.”
“Just fucking say whatever you’re not saying.”
“I don’t know. Maybe Judge Watkins is right.”
“Fuck that and fuck you.” I shove up out of the seat. What the fuck is this shit about?
“And he still acts out when he doesn’t want to face facts,” Nathaniel murmurs.
I whip around and glare at him. It’s too early for this shit, and the last thing I want to do is throw a punch at my brother. “And what facts do I not want to face?”
“That she’s a good match for you. That the urge to go out and get shitfaced in a club is different now because you’d rather stay home and laugh with her.”
“You don’t know the first thing about my life, Nathaniel.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I wasn’t allowed to. First, because Dad took me and then because you hate me because he did.”
“We’re not doing this right now. I came here to see if there was an update about my case, if you’d talked to the judge. Can we stick with that?”
Nathaniel studies me, the muscles pulsing in his jaw. But I can see when he decides to let the fight go. Thank fuck for that.
“I touched base with him yesterday. He made some more favorable remarks about you—noting you hadn’t been in the news. I told him how I thought Hendrix was bringing out another side of you that maybe you didn’t even know you had, and even I was impressed with how much you’ve changed.”
I nod, waiting for the relief to come. It doesn’t.
“You could have told me this over the phone.”
“And miss your temper? What fun is that?” he teases.
“This is way too fucking early to put up with this shit.”
He clears his throat. “In seven or eight weeks, this could all be over. You’ll be in the clear. Able to fully rehearse for the tour, knowing you’ll get to go. The charade will be over. You’ll be free to go about your normal life.”
Free.
The word tastes bitter on my tongue.
“I’ve requested to set a court date with the judge for his ruling. I’ll let you know when it is. Or he might just make his decision and let us know.”
“Great.”
Nathaniel watches me carefully. “That’s good news, right?”
My smile is strained. “Yeah. Awesome.”
He exhales, shifting on the bench. “The other reason I wanted to see you was to talk to you about—”
“What did I fuck up now, Nathaniel?” Isn’t that what this always comes down to?
“We have to clear the air at some point.”
“Over?”
He blows out a sigh that’s equal parts frustration and dread. I hate the sound of both.
“The past. Our parents.”
“Or we just let it go.”
He clears his throat. “That won’t fix anything.”
“Fixes it just fine for me,” I lie.
“Look. Dad was... Dad was a dick for what he did. I’ve told you that from day one.”
I snort. “You mean the few weekends I was allowed to come live in your fantasy world where food was cooked, clothes were washed, and you were the kid and not the caretaker trying to hold everything together?”
He meets my eyes and I hate that there are tears welling in them. “Yeah. Exactly that.” He hangs his head and draws in a long breath. Despite my annoyance, I begrudgingly sit back down.
“We’ve tried to do this before—to fix shit—and it never worked. Why dig it up again?”
And we have. On the rare weekends I’d get to live in his life, he’d try to talk to me, but I’d just act out. And then when he’d come to watch the first gigs we played, he’d buy the guys drinks and then try and talk to me, but I’d just down the drink and say it was time to go. Since then, it’s been easier to get lost in my job than to fix our relationship.
And for the longest time, I didn’t know that I wanted to.
Too much history.
Too much animosity.
And yet . . . he keeps knocking.
Fuck. What am I supposed to do with that knowledge?
“I’ve always felt like this was my fault,” he says quietly.
My jaw tightens as his words slap me. “Yep. I’m the screwed-up brother because you were the perfect one. No wonder he picked you over me. Got it.” I start to stand and he yanks me back down to sit.
Can’t say I’m too thrilled with that.
“No, you’re not hearing me.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “This is why I became a lawyer. Because of you.”
“Sure you did. Used Daddy’s money to put you through college while I was busy busking on corners to get enough money to buy Mom her meds.”
Sadness fills his eyes and I hate that I want to believe it. This. That he understands an iota of the pain I went through.
I don’t think anyone ever could though.
“To fight for people who didn’t have a voice.”
I start to reply, but he holds up a hand. “No. Quit being a sarcastic fuck and let me finish, will you?” His voice is rough, honest in a way I don’t expect. It begs me to listen when otherwise I’d already be walking away. “I didn’t speak up that day, Jase. I didn’t fight for you like I should have. Like you did for me. I was so worried about having to stay and take care of Mom that I didn’t say a damn word and left you to deal with it all yourself.”
It’s hard to hear those words and believe them.
“Easy to say from your end of the deal, right?”
“Yeah. You’re right. It is. But Dad wasn’t all sunshine and fucking roses. He was a heavy-handed disciplinarian and a cold son of a bitch. So I got the clothes and the food and the education, but until I had kids of my own, I didn’t realize how much he didn’t provide. And I sure as shit didn’t understand how much you could have ever suffered.”
“They’re just words, Nate.”
“You’re right. They are. But having kids makes you see things differently. The world changes and for the life of me, I can’t understand how the fuck Dad did that to you. How he left you to pick up a mess that was his responsibility.”
“And yet you went to visit him weeks ago.”
“I went. You’re right. Just me. Because it was my turn to finally confront him. It was my turn to explain to him the lives he ruined and the people he hurt and you... God, how you deserved better by him.”
My chest tightens and a lump forms in my throat. I blink away the tears that burn. I will not let that motherfucker make me cry.
“He left you to fend for yourself in a world much crueler than I could ever have imagined.” His voice is quiet, shameful. Loaded with regret.
I don’t want to hear it but I can’t escape it.
“You were just a kid, Nathaniel.” I try to give him the same grace he’s given me over the years but fuck if that’s not a hard one to swallow.
“So were you,” he says quietly. “And I was your big brother. I was supposed to protect you, and I didn’t.” His voice cracks, and he pushes off the bench, needing to move, to shake off the weight of his words.
Much like I do when emotions become too much.
I watch him, my chest aching. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it eats at me every time I see you. Because I note your animosity toward me, and as much as I hate it, I think it should be a hundred times worse. You were just a kid stuck taking care of a severely mentally ill woman. That’s not right.”
“It is what it is.” I shrug but my usual go-to response feels hollow.
Nathaniel nods, his jaw tight. “Maybe next time you go to the shelter, you’ll tell me. I’d like to see her.”
Bitterness rises in my throat. I’ve put in the work. The hours. The pain. Why does he get to step in now?
“We’ll see,” I murmur.
“I understand,” he says quietly.
I hesitate, then murmur, “Thank you.”
“For?”
“You didn’t take care of me before, but you keep trying to now.”
He nods subtly. “It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”
Nathaniel exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “Yeah, well... don’t get all sentimental on me.”
I snort, shaking my head as I push to my feet. His words are ringing in my head, though.
“This is why I became a lawyer. Because of you. To fight for people who didn’t have a voice.”
It’s not the first time I’ve seen Nathaniel show his heart toward me. But maybe it’s the first time I didn’t walk away from it and ignore him. He’s tried over the years to help, to talk, to heal, and it never felt possible.
But today for some reason, I want to believe there could be the other side to this. The weight of our past isn’t gone, but maybe— just maybe— it’s lighter. I’d always felt so abandoned by my brother. I used to cry myself to sleep when I was younger. Not because my dad didn’t choose me—my anger was too deep for that—but because I lost my brother that day. And life became exponentially lonelier from that day on.
“And I was your big brother. I was supposed to protect you, and I didn’t.”
How do I let go of that hurt? Because, fuck, for the first time, I want to.