73. A Talent Of Mine
A Talent Of Mine
Kiri
Rithy is already halfway down the corridor by the time I get through the door.
“Rith.”
He keeps going, coat hanging open and one arm still not properly inside the sleeve.
“Rithy, slow the fuck down.”
“Leave me alone.”
His voice cracks across the corridor. A woman sitting outside another room looks up.
“Keep it down,” I tell him. “Ma’s room is twenty feet away.”
He wheels around without stopping.
“Yeah, I’m aware. I just got thrown out of it.”
He shoves through the stairwell door before I reach him. I follow him down three flights, his footsteps slamming against concrete hard enough to echo. He doesn’t stop until he’s outside and across the hospital grounds, past the signs declaring the entire place smoke-free.
By the time I catch up, he’s found a bench near the sidewalk and a crushed pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. His hands are shaking too badly to work the lighter. It clicks once, twice, then slips against his thumb.
“Give it to me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fine.”
On the fourth try, the flame catches. He cups it against the wind and draws in until the end of the cigarette glows. Then he sinks onto the bench, elbows resting on his knees, and blows the smoke high into the darkening sky.
I stand in front of him but he doesn’t look at me.
Neither of us speaks while he smokes. The sky above the hospital has turned deep blue, dusk settling over Seattle in cold layers.
The April air bites through my shirt, and I realize I came outside without a coat.
Rithy takes another drag, watches the smoke unwind above us, then deliberately flicks ash onto my shoe.
I stare down at it.
“What the fuck, Rith?”
He smirks up at me. A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I knock the ash away with the side of my other foot.
“Why are you like this?”
He exhales smoke through his nose. “I think half the answer is inside sobbing over her potential murderer, and the other half is finally rotting somewhere.”
I nod because there’s nothing to argue with in that. Rithy crosses one leg over the other and takes another slow drag.
“I don’t take it back.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He rolls his eyes. “Well, most of it.”
I crouch in front of him until we’re eye level. He immediately turns his face toward the sky.
“You know I agree with you,” I say. “You know I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Do I?” He studies the burning end of the cigarette. “You’re famously stoic and rarely voice the dreaded feelings, brother.”
I scoff, but he isn’t wrong. Keeping everything locked inside has always felt easier than trusting what might happen if I let any of it out.
“It’s part of the job when I’m busy looking after a baby brother loud enough for both of us.”
He straightens and tosses his hair back from his face. “It’s a talent of mine. I get paid a lot of money for it.”
My knees start complaining, so I give up and sit beside him.
“Yeah, and I get paid to pluck strings in your shadow.”
He turns toward me looking genuinely horrified.
“You did not just say that.”
“What?”
“That might be the most insecure bullshit I’ve ever heard leave your mouth.”
He flicks more ash onto the pavement between us. The wind immediately lifts it and carries it across my shoe.
Rithy laughs. So do I.
“Even the wind is on my side,” he says.
His laughter fades first. He takes another drag and looks out across the road, where headlights slide through the evening traffic. He still doesn’t look at me when he speaks.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
“I don’t know. I think spite and tequila did a pretty good—”
“I’m serious, Kiri.”
Something in his voice stops me. When he finally looks over, there are tears in his eyes. Not the furious ones from Ma’s room. These are quieter and more frightening.
“I had a whole plan of how to do it,” he says. “For years.”
My stomach turns cold. He looks away again, jaw tightening.
“I love Ma, but she did exactly what she’s doing in there.
She made excuses. She clung to the person hurting us and acted like surviving him was the same as being loved by him.
” He rubs his thumb against the cigarette filter.
“You were the only person who tried to protect me. The only one who made me feel like I wasn’t insane for wanting out. ”
“Rith—”
“You and Rafe, then Ronan. I know I talk a lot of flowery bullshit, but that’s the truth.” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard. “You’re the reason any of this exists. The reason I’m still here or ever picked up a guitar. You aren’t just one part of it, Kiri. You’re the whole fucking thing.”
My throat closes. I stare at him, trying to find some way around what he’s just handed me.
“Shut up before I get them to stick you in a room with a pair of grippy socks.”
A laugh bursts out of him, raspy and startled.
“I could use a vacation.”
“Same. Think they offer a family package?”
“I bet we could convince Marisol.”
“She’s already looking for an excuse to sedate you.”
“She’d miss me.”
We’re both laughing now, tears caught in it, neither one of us making any real effort to hide them.
Even with his swollen eyes and the remains of a cigarette between his fingers, Rithy somehow looks like he’s posing for some high fashion Vogue spread.
My famous little brother makes every stage his playground and tears sounds out of a guitar I’ve never heard anyone else come close to.
It’s like every piece of his heart, all the pain, trauma, joy, and talent, found a way to bleed through the strings.
And he thinks I’m the reason any of it exists?
I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
I reach over and pull him into me and he comes without fighting.
For a while, neither of us pretends. His face presses into my shoulder, my hand locks around the back of his neck, and we let ourselves cry for every version of us that had to survive long enough to reach this bench.
Then I shove him away before we turn into complete assholes.
“Put that out.”
“You’re not my real dad.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
He crushes the cigarette beneath his shoe. I hold up my right hand and extend my pinky.
Rithy looks at it.
The old promise sits between us. The one we made when we finally left that house behind. Never going back. Never letting him own us again.
“We did it,” I say. “For good this time.”
His pinky hooks around mine.
“We did.”
I pull him into another hug, tighter and shorter this time.
“Now let’s go save her like we always said we would,” I murmur against his neck. “She needs us.”
Rithy nods against my shoulder. When we separate, his eyes are still red, but some of the rage has drained out of them. He stands and brushes ash from his coat.
“I look too good to be this sad.”
I roll my eyes. “There's plenty of sad supermodels.”
“Yeah, but they’re sad because they can’t eat.”
“Fuck, I’m starving, actually.”
“See? Now you’re sad too.”
With laughter still caught in our throats, we turn back toward the hospital, together.