CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE #2
Dropping his eyes to the terrae, Thom struggled with the words again.
He felt like a little kid, unable to comprehend the emotions causing his stomach to twist with both awe and discontent.
“You were always the perfect big brother,” he muttered at last. “I thought . . . Well, I thought you were next to Allore when we were kids. You were so perfect, so good all the time. You always did everything right, and Mother and Father were always so pleased with you. I was always so pleased with you.”
He shrugged and kept going while the words were there. “It hurt, watching that. Wanting to be that and knowing I could never measure up.”
Deckard sighed, sadly this time, and took a step forward as if to comfort him.
Thom held up a hand. “Not yet,” he muttered. “I’m not done yet.”
With Deckard’s compliance, Thom took another breath. “I tried, you know? As a kid. I thought if I tried hard enough—if I really, really meant it . . .” He shook his head self-derisively. “I thought that maybe—just maybe—I could manage to make you proud of me. And then I’d be perfect too.”
Thom met his brother’s gaze, feeling the same awe he’d felt as a boy. “I don’t understand how you do it,” he confessed. “Being so perfect all the time.”
“I’m not perfect, Thom,” he said immediately.
“You are to me.”
Deckard blinked.
Thom scoffed. “You are to Evylin. To Mother and Father. Hell, our sister named her baby after you.”
“That’s because Meria is ridiculous.”
They shared a thin laugh.
“But Vaan thinks you’re incredible too,” Thom reminded him. “Everyone you’ve ever met loves you.”
“Hewitt didn’t like me,” Deckard offered.
“Which was why I liked him,” Thom admitted. “And now, he’s spending his afterlife with you.”
“Not by choice.”
Thom raised his brow. “You think Hewitt would waste time talking to you if he didn’t like you?”
Deckard didn’t bother arguing that point. “You forget General Rand. The man tried to have me killed.”
“That man doesn’t like his own mother.”
Deckard conceded that point as well.
Thom held up his hands again, imploring Deckard to understand. “No matter who it is, whether or not they like you as a person, no one can help but respect you. You can’t tell me you don’t see that.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Deckard asked, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“No. I’m trying to explain myself. It isn’t justification, but it’s . . . I don’t know—maybe a glimpse of why I . . . why I hate myself so much.”
“Thom—”
“No, I do,” he insisted, knowing deep down that it was the truth. “I hate myself. I always have.”
Deckard looked truly stricken. “You shouldn’t.”
Thom shrugged flippantly. “But I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not you.”
The admission hung heavily between them.
Thom sighed, the truth finally revealed. “Like I said, it’s not an excuse for my behavior, but . . . I just thought you should know. I was never mad at you. In the whole of our lives, my anger was never truly directed at you. It was directed at myself because I couldn’t be like you.”
Shaking his head, Thom wished he could turn back time and help his younger self through this understanding.
“I’d get so angry as a kid, so hurt that you stayed good and considerate through it all.
You apologized before me; you took the blame for me.
It was like you didn’t care that I was a brat, like you didn’t notice how hard I was trying. ”
“I did notice,” Deckard said, compassion in his eyes and voice. The same compassion that had once made Thom feel so frustrated. “That’s why I did those things. I could tell you were trying, and that’s why I didn’t blame you for any of it.”
Deckard took one step forward. “I was never perfect, Thom. I was just older. Perhaps I have a more levelheaded disposition, but that doesn’t make me a better man.
And it certainly didn’t make me naturally good at anything either.
I have five years of practice on you, five years to learn and grow.
You were never inferior to me. You were just younger. ”
“I understand that now,” Thom promised. “But as a child . . . I just felt incapable. And it wounded me, making me feel as though I could never be good enough for you and your grand ideals.”
Deckard drew in a sharp breath, and Thom couldn’t help his somber grin. “You always wanted the best, Jonn. From our earliest days, I remember how determined you were to do more, to be more. And when I couldn’t measure up, I feared that you wouldn’t want me.”
A long silence hung in the air, the feet separating them feeling like miles.
At last, Thom had voiced the insecurities that had plagued his heart for nearly three decades.
He felt lighter, emptied of the resentment and bitterness.
Yet, he felt isolated as well. Confessing his sins didn’t change the distance, time, and actions that had placed a chasm between him and his brother.
Things were not fixed. Not yet, after everything he’d done.
At last, Deckard sighed. “Oh, Thom,” he muttered. He crossed the divide then and set his hand on Thom’s shoulder. “This is my fault.”
“Jonn, no—”
“It’s my turn now,” he insisted. “You listen to what I have to say, all right?”
Thom pressed his lips together but nodded.
“Good.” Deckard held his stare, steady and sure.
That look expressed everything Thom had always hoped to see in his brother’s gaze—the regard of an equal.
“Throughout our lives, I’ve always known—I knew that you wanted to prove yourself by becoming like me.
And I should have told you years ago: I never wanted nor expected that of you.
I rather liked the brother I got. He was braver than I and was more willing to take risks and live without fear of the consequences.
He had more passion than I did, feeling everything deeply and loving more fiercely.
I was never very good at that. I can make people feel seen and heard; I can care for them.
But to truly feel something for them? That was hard.
Yet, you never had a problem with it. You either love someone, or you don’t.
And by Allore, do you love the people whom you love. ”
Something in Thom broke at those words. His whole life, he’d attempted to earn Deckard’s respect by becoming like him, imitating him in his excellence.
Now, he learned that had he just been himself, he would have had his brother’s respect all along.
The knowledge brought the greatest relief and pain all at once.
Deckard squeezed his shoulder more tightly. “I forgive you, Thom, forever,” he said, words thick and impassioned. “Not to be the better person or because it’s the right thing to do. I’m forgiving you because after Evylin . . .”
A small, tender smile filled Deckard’s face, and Thom could honestly say he’d never felt so cherished in his entire life.
“After Evylin,” Deckard concluded, “you’re the person I love most in this world.”
Thom’s heart and breath stuttered. And for once, he realized he actually believed it when his brother said he loved him. Him. Not the idea of him, not his efforts, and not out of duty either. Deckard genuinely loved and valued Thom as he was.
And that meant Thom could be enough.
Still, there was the sting of the guilt that lingered for all he’d done and all he’d said.
“Did I—” Thom broke off, voice scratchy with emotion. “Did I ruin it? With Evie. Is she—she told me she didn’t want to come between us. Is she going to leave you because . . . because of me?”
An amused grin slipped over Deckard’s face. He released Thom and stepped back. “No,” he said simply.
Thom’s brow ached from how long he’d kept it furrowed. “No, she’s not leaving you, or no, it’s not because of me?”
“She’s not leaving me.”
Immediately, a sigh flew out of Thom’s lungs. “Thank Allore! I thought I’d ruined everything. And she’s staying with you, as in, for good?”
Deckard nodded, a strange expression on his face.
Recognizing the subtext in his brother’s averted gaze and reluctant expression, Thom gaped. “Oh,” he muttered, then his brow rose. “Oh!”
Deckard gave him a look that said he didn’t care to discuss the solidification of his union with Evylin.
Thom didn’t particularly care to discuss it himself. “Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “About time.”
After a deep breath, he tried to move forward.
“I know this didn’t fix everything,” he promised.
“I know I’ll have to regain your trust—or gain it in the first place, I suppose.
And . . . I am going to try, Jonn. I want to be a better man, and now I know that simply means being a better version of myself. But I think I’ll need your help.”
Deckard met his gaze, a strong, caring smile on his face. “You’ll always have it.”
Heart full of burgeoning hope, Thom slapped Deckard’s arm. “You’re the worst,” he said good-naturedly. “Always so good and forgiving. You put the rest of us to shame.”
“I didn’t feel so forgiving at first,” Deckard remarked slyly. “I felt like beating you senseless.”
Thom laughed. “You could have tried. You haven’t beaten me in a fistfight since we were teens.”
“We haven’t fought since we were teens,” Deckard said, then lifted his brow slyly. “And I’ve been training with Rafferty.”
In mock worry, Thom eyed him. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally learned to fight dirty.”
He lifted his shoulder. “I’ve come to find fair play to be overrated.”
“Aha . . .” Thom let out a whistle. “Seems we’re both changed men.”