Track 22 #2
When I find them, my face splits into an elated smile and my heart leaps in my chest, buzzing with warmth and love and hope. His smile is just as wide as he takes long strides toward me. I leap into his arms the second I reach him, holding him as tight as humanly possible as he spins me around.
It’s been almost six years since I’ve hugged my brother and almost three since I’ve heard his voice. He used to call me every few days, but the calls eventually stopped, and I never knew why. I haven’t heard from him other than receiving a letter here and there.
He places me on my feet, his arms wrapped around me as he kisses the top of my head. I squeeze him the same way I used to when I was a kid, only now it’s filled with so much more. He laughs a little and looks down.
“Still trying to break me?”
It takes everything in me not to cry uncontrollably. I squish my nose at him through my smile as I nod. “Did it work?”
“Never,” he chuckles. “You’ll never be powerful enough to defeat me,” he teases in his deepest voice.
My heart smiles as memories flood my mind—silly games and wholesome fun, all because of this man right here. He kisses the top of my head again, then lets me go.
“I can’t believe you’re a college graduate,” he says, taking me by my shoulders.
“You did it, Lana. Wow, look at you.” His eyes shine with admiration, and I smile brighter, feeling the warmth touch my cheeks.
“You’re a grown-up. Like, really! You’re, like, what, a full five feet now?
You can probably swim in the deep end and everything. ”
I gasp and watch the playfulness twinkle in his eyes. I missed it so much.
“Shut up!” I whine, throwing a punch at his chest and immediately shaking my hand out after. “Ow,” I say, cupping it with the other. “What, are you Iron Man, now?”
“Pure steel, baby.” He puffs his chest. “Had a lot of time to work on myself, you know?” His lips curve into a mischievous grin, but my own smile fades and tears prick my eyes as guilt begins to blanket me.
“Oh, come on.” He nudges my shoulder gently. “Don’t be like that. It’s just a joke.”
“Well, it’s not funny.” I swipe at the corners of my eyes before a tear escapes. He chews on his cheek a moment.
“It’s a little funny,” he says, and I scowl at him. “Tiny bit?” He squints at me while holding up his thumb and forefinger to show a small amount of space. I scowl harder, and he lessens the space between his fingers. “Itty bitty amount?”
I almost laugh at the high-pitched tone he uses, but I purse my lips together to hide it.
He accepts it as enough of a victory. “Alright, come on.” He spins me around and props me under his arm. “Let’s go get a beer. You do drink beer, right? You’re, like, tall enough or whatever?”
“Yes,” I sigh with a smile.
“Oh, good, because I’m parched. Haven’t had a drink in five, almost six, years! Whew!” He teases, and I elbow him in the ribs. He grabs at his side.
“Ow!” He winces, and I chuckle. “You got stronger, that’s for sure.”
“Strong enough to defeat you?” I smile mockingly, looking up at him.
“In your dreams, Lana Lane.” He grins. Then he pushes the exit door open and leads us out into the warm Austin air where we walk the whole way arm in arm.
We spent the afternoon grabbing a quick lunch and a celebratory beer before I gave him the mini tour of my UT life.
I showed him my apartment, the building where I used to dorm, and the library I spent nearly every free moment at—until recently, that is—but I left that part out.
We made it to dinner with Lia and her family, who were all so pleased to meet Parker, though I barely knew them myself. It was refreshing in a way that made me almost feel normal.
Parker and I went home then, and I filled him in on everything he missed—what my last year of high school looked like. Who I went to prom with. How Jamie helped me find a dress and get ready. The air became heavy at the mention of her name, and he grew deeply silent.
“You haven’t seen her yet, have you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen anyone. I got out two days ago, bought a suit and a plane ticket, and here I am.”
My heart falls like a wilted flower. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I thought you had two weeks left.”
“I did. Got out early on good behavior.” His lips pull into a grin, and I give him a questioning glare. “Nah. Over population and good behavior. But it was more the first one.”
I nod. “Well, I’m still sorry I wasn't there. I planned on heading home next week.”
“Yeah, I gathered that from all the boxes.” He looks around the room and sighs. “Why are you going back?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He shifts from his spot on the living room floor. “What are you going back for? You did it. You got out. There’s nothing left for you there.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t gonna leave you there alone. I wasn’t gonna let you come home to, I don’t know, whatever’s left. Not after…” I trail off, my throat tightening around the words. “Not after what you did for me.”
P walks over to the couch and sits beside me. “Alana, I did what I had to do. It was my job to keep you safe, and I failed. There are consequences to that.”
“What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I’m the one who made the mistake. I’m the one who put you there.”
“Lana, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was!” My throat ripples around a swallow, that prickly sensation I’m all too familiar with pinching at my eyes.
“No,” he says, taking my hand in his. “It wasn’t. Jesus, have you thought it was all this time?”
A sob rips from my throat, and he takes me into his arms as I cry.
“No, Alana. I told you that Derek had his own vendetta with me. And I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle, but it was not your fault, do you hear me?
You were just a kid.” His grip on me tightens, and my arms wrap around his back.
“I thought,” I say through cries, “you hated me. I thought you were so mad at me for what I’d done. And then when the calls stopped coming, I thought… I thought you never wanted to speak to me.”
Parker’s head lowers, his chin resting on my head.
“Are you kidding me? I could never hate you, Lana. Never. I didn’t call because I couldn’t.
The last few years were rough in there, and I spent most of my time in solitary, but it was never because of you.
Never. I was never mad at you, not even for a second.
And I never stopped praying for you. Every day, I prayed. ”
My cries become jagged, a sound caught between grief and relief. “I’m so sorry, P,” I tell him, my body shaking as I dissolve completely.
All the guilt. All the pain. All the years of blame I carried like a weight anchoring me to the darkest sea… I cry until I let it all go.
Parker held me close until his white dress shirt was covered in my tears. He rocked me like a child until I calmed down and drifted off to sleep.
When I wake up in my bed, it feels like I’ve been asleep for days.
I’m both exhausted and refreshed, the way you feel after a nap that lasted several hours too long.
Still, the air feels lighter, like the weight of the world is no longer dragging me down and drowning me.
I can’t tell if it’s P’s forgiveness or his presence. Maybe it’s a mix of the two.
I stroll into the living room, where P is wrapped in a blanket staring up at the ceiling.
“What’s up, buttercup,” I asked in a sing-song voice. “How’d you sleep?”
He startles a little, then smiles lightly as he stretches his long body across the couch with a grunt. “Best bed I’ve had in years.”
I chuckled and made my way to the coffee machine. He stands and continues his stretch.
“Would you put some clothes on,” I tease, noticing he’s only in boxer briefs.
He laughs, scratching at his chest and his head. “I don’t have any clothes. All I brought was a suit.” He pulls a leg into his navy pants.
“You didn’t pack anything?”
He eyes me curiously. “Pack what? I left prison with the clothes on my back, twenty bucks, and a Nokia phone that surprisingly still had battery.”
I laugh. “It did not.”
“Nah, it didn’t,” he chuckles. “Looks ancient compared to what’s out now, though.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“I gotta run to a store today. Grab a new phone and some clothes. Shoes.” He looks at his soiled white shirt and dress shoes. “Anything I could borrow in the meantime, little sister?” he asks. “Maybe that cute cat sweater you used to love so much.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say through a smile. “I literally wore that thing until it fell apart.” I laugh at the memory. And then a light goes off. “Wait, actually…”
I walk to my bedroom and sift through my closet until I find it.
“Here,” I say, tossing Parker the dark sweatshirt. “You can wear this for now, but I want it back.”
P holds the article of clothing up before pulling it over his head. “It’s like eighty-five degrees out.”
I shrug while taking a sip of my coffee. “Beggers can’t be choosers.”
“Should I ask why you have a man’s sweatshirt in your closet?”
I’m quiet for a long time, swallowing hard at the sight of P in Jake’s sweatshirt. I spent our first three months apart practically living in it, refusing to take it off until I had no choice but to wash my tears off it.
P raises an eyebrow at me. “Seems like there’s a story there.” He grabs a mug and pours himself a hot cup of coffee. “Care to share?”
For a second, I consider telling my brother all about the love I found. About the all-consuming way it took over every part of me. If anyone would understand, it’d be him. But just the thought of saying Jake’s name had my tongue tied and my eyes stinging fiercely.
“No,” I say instead. “Now are you gonna help me pack or what?”
“Definitely,” he says, taking a long sip from his mug. “After I borrow your car.”
A few hours later, Parker and I are taping up the last of the boxes in the kitchen. He’s now appropriately dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, a pair of Nikes, and the latest iPhone in stock, which makes me wonder…