Chapter 50 Bastian #2
Bishop saunters off to his office. I go wait by the exit as Sage and Lilah talk. She hands him something, then he wheels over to me. “Vámonos, amigo.”
We head out to the car and get settled in. He looks up at me when I don’t start the engine immediately, though. “What’s the hold-up, bro? I’ve got homework to do.”
I think for a second before I look at him. “What if I said fuck your homework?”
Sage frowns once again. “Well, firstly, I’d tell you to watch your fucking language. Secondly, I’d say, who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“I’m right here,” I assure him.
“Physically, yes, but the curmudgeonly asshole I know would never tell me not to go home and do my homework.”
I crank up the engine. “I was thinking we’d go to Taqueria El Fuego instead.”
Sage’s head spins toward me so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He gawks at me. “Okay, seriously, what’s wrong? Are you dying? Is Eliana dying? Am I dying?”
“Jesus Christ, Sage. No, no one’s dying.”
“Then why are you voluntarily taking me to a place you once described as ‘Satan’s asshole with cilantro on top’?”
“Because you like it. And because…” I pause. “Because I want to.”
That shuts him up for a moment. Then, quieter: “You’re being weird, Bash.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it. Things might be changing for the better around here.”
The tacos arrive steaming and fragrant, and Sage tears into his with the enthusiasm of a sixteen-year-old who burns calories just by existing, which is exactly what he is.
I take a more measured bite of mine. Honestly, it’s not as bad as I remember.
Maybe this place isn’t quite Satan’s asshole after all.
But after I chew and swallow, I set down my taco and clear my throat. “I want to talk about the accident,” I say.
Sage freezes mid-bite. He sets down his taco slowly, carefully, like it might explode if he mishandles it. “Bas—”
“I need to say this.” I meet his eyes. “I’ve spent eight years carrying this shit around.
The guilt. The what-ifs. I’ve let it dictate every decision I’ve made and every relationship I’ve had.
Ours, included. I’ve used it as an excuse to keep everyone at arm’s length because I was terrified of failing someone again the way I failed you. ”
“You didn’t fail me,” Sage insists.
“Yes, I did. I was driving too fast. I should’ve been more careful. If I’d—”
“There was black ice, Bastian. You couldn’t have known.”
“But I should have protected you.”
I swallow. This is the hard part. The shit I just said came easily, because it’s been true and unchanging for eight long years now. This next bit, though…
“I’m always going to feel the guilt of that failure and the burden of the responsibility I have to you.
You don’t remember, of course, because you were just a baby, but when you first came to me, you had nothing and no one.
I swore I’d be your something and your someone.
So when I fucked up and I saw you hurt… That killed something in me, Sage. ”
He’s choked up, jaw clamped tight to hold back tears. So am I.
“So yeah. Those things aren’t going anywhere.
But I’ve been learning lately that they don’t have to define me.
And they sure as hell don’t have to define you.
So I’m not going to let them do that anymore.
You’re a man, Sage. I don’t know when it happened and I don’t know how, but you are.
What’s more is that I’m so fucking proud of the man you’ve become.
You didn’t ask for the life you were given, but you’ve dealt with it better than anyone else on the planet would have.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you, brother. Always have. Always will.”
Sage doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just sits there, staring down at his taco. Then he looks up at me, and his eyes are shiny with tears.
“I love you, too, Bash,” he says quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’ve never, ever thought you failed me. You saved me. You’ve been saving me my whole life.”
My throat tightens. I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up a hand.
“But if you ever make me have this conversation again,” he continues, “I’m telling Eliana about the time you cried during The Notebook.”
I cough out a surprised laugh. “I had something in my eye, you little shit.”
“Sure you did.” He grins and picks up his taco again.
“A big ol’ tear-shaped something.” Still laughing, he takes an enormous bite and speaks around it.
“So does this mean we’re gonna share our feelings more often now?
Because I gotta warn you, I charge by the hour for emotional labor. And my rate is steep.”
“Shut up and eat your taco.”
“Aye-aye, captain.” But he’s smiling. We both are.
I’m stuffed, but he’s still going, so I sit back and watch him for a while. This sarcastic, shaggy-haired burden of mine.
Something occurs to me as I watch him plow through his third and fourth tacos with aplomb. “Back in the clinic,” I say, “when we were leaving, what did Lilah give you?”
Sage freezes, cheeks full of taco like a chipmunk. His eyes dart to me, then away. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was just—” He shifts in his wheelchair, suddenly very interested in the salsa verde. “She gave me her number. And her Snapchat.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He’s blushing now, a deep, cherry-red hue creeping up his neck. “We might hang out this weekend or something. I dunno. Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal,” I correct. “Good for you, man.”
He looks up at me quizzically, then shrugs and says, “Alright. Yeah. Maybe it is.”
He goes back to his taco. I go back to mine.
Behind us, cars pass. Between us, something has changed.
We don’t talk about it, though. We don’t need to.
I can recognize this moment for what it is: not an ending or a beginning, but simply a Tuesday in May when I took my brother for tacos and everything felt, for once, uncomplicated.