Four Letter Word
Page 73

“You know my brother died. You know how he died, but you don’t know the part I played in it.”
Brian slowly turned his head. His brows furrowed.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
I felt my spine bend, just the slightest give in my strength, but I gathered it back up before replying.
“Barrett had two choices he was looking at when he graduated,” I said. “UCLA and Boston University. Had scholarships from both, so it was just a matter of where he preferred going. One night I was playing in my room and he came in, carrying the brochures he had from the two schools and laid them out in front of me. He asked me where I thought he should go. Said he was having trouble deciding and wanted my opinion, a twelve-year-old’s opinion, so I gave it to him. I picked up those brochures and studied them for the time I needed to make my decision, which lasted all of three seconds because the brochure for UCLA had pretty palm trees on it and a picture of the Pacific Ocean. I thought it was beautiful so I told him to go there, and he did. Four months later he died.”
Now it was Brian who was turning in his seat a little to face me, his thick shoulder bracing his weight on the backrest.
“You don’t blame yourself for that, do you?” he asked, face tight with worry.
I shook my head and closed my eyes through an exhale.
“No. But I could,” I replied, looking at him. “I could very easily feel guilt over Barrett dying. Let that consume me like your guilt’s consuming you.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“What’s the difference?” I asked. “My brother died because he went to a school that I picked. Maybe if he went somewhere else, it wouldn’t have happened. I was driving that day. It was my fault.”
“Syd—”
“Or,” I interrupted. “My brother died because no matter what school I would’ve chosen, he would’ve gone to UCLA anyway because it was where he really wanted to go. He was just humoring me by letting me pick. It didn’t matter what I said. If I’d chosen Boston, he still would’ve wound up at UCLA.”
I sniffed and pushed my glasses back on my nose. My other hand was being held tight in one of Brian’s.
“Or my brother was never meant to live past his nineteenth birthday,” I continued. “He could’ve gone anywhere and he would’ve died. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what school I picked or where he got scholarships. It didn’t matter if he even went to college at all, he would’ve died anyway.”
Brian stared at me.
I held my breath and my tongue. I wanted him to ask me the question I needed him to ask me. I couldn’t say any more until he did and the words I had to say were so important I wanted to write them down so Brian could hear them while I spoke and read them whenever he needed to and carry them with him always, so he’d never feel this way again.
He leaned closer and held my cheek, and a breath of relief filled my lungs and burst on his wrist as I said a silent prayer because I knew the question was coming.
“You really believe that?” he asked. “You think he’d be dead no matter what? No matter where he would’ve gone?”
I felt my lip tremble.
“Do you think I killed my brother? Do you think he’s dead because of me? Because I chose palm trees and a pretty ocean for his place to die?”
“No,” he answered quickly and firmly and on what sounded like a full breath. “No, I don’t fucking think that.”
“I have,” I confessed. “I’ve thought all those things at one point. The last one is just the easiest. I’m not as sad when I believe that one.”
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, whispering my name one time.
He was sad for me. I needed him to feel sad for himself, too, instead of angry, so I kept going.
“What happened wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, and if you hadn’t been driving that night, it would’ve been somebody else. That little boy’s fate was already mapped out, Brian, just like Barrett’s.”
He shook his head once. “Someone else could’ve been driving, fine, but you know what?” He glanced up. “Maybe they wouldn’t have been speeding. Maybe they would’ve been going slow enough to get control of their car and they could’ve avoided—”
“No.” I leaned closer and took his own face in my hands when he let go of mine. “I’ve driven on this road. I’ve gone down that hill, which means I know how steep it is, and I can tell you knowing in my heart that it’s true, it didn’t matter how fast you were going that night. You could’ve been doing the speed limit and you would’ve still lost control when you hit that ice, and given how sharp that drop is, you would’ve sped up, Brian. You would’ve sped up and you still would’ve hit them. Anyone would’ve hit them.”
“I could’ve controlled it.”
“You couldn’t, honey. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
He blinked hard and I felt the muscles in his jaw tense.
He was hearing me. I was getting to him.
I had to keep going.
I looked between us, at the console and his body pressed against it to get closer to me and my body pressed against it to get closer to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning back and gripping my waist as I put my weight on my left foot and carefully brought my other leg over to his side.
“Getting closer,” I replied.
I slid over him and straddled his lap.
“Syd …”
My hands moved from his shoulders to around his neck. I pressed closer until I could feel his breath on my mouth.
“I’m gonna say some things to you and I want you to listen,” I said. “Can you do that?”
His hands glided to my back.
“Do I have a choice?” he asked.
“No, but I thought I’d be polite and give you the option.”
He looked to my mouth, then back to my eyes, replying, “Sweet of you.”
I shrugged, found the words I wanted to say, and said them quickly, speaking fast because I didn’t want to be interrupted and because I believed them so much I couldn’t keep them to myself another second.
“You’re a good man, Brian,” I started, feeling his neck pull as he tried to look away but I kept a tight hold so he couldn’t. “Amazing,” I continued, bending closer. “I needed you, but I didn’t know I needed you until you reached out to me and made sure I was okay. You told me to focus on you, remember? When I said I felt lost and scared, you wanted to talk to me. You comforted me. You didn’t need to do that but you did, and I don’t care if your reasons were selfish in the beginning. I don’t care if you wanted to know the girl who had to be a little crazy for going off on you the way she did. You made me laugh and live and you helped me find the person I was without Marcus, and you did that carrying this guilt inside of you that you didn’t deserve to carry. You were hurting so bad but you shut that out so you could heal me. You kept that locked inside and you made sure I was okay. That’s …I mean, my God, how amazing of a man can you possibly be? Who does that?”
“Syd,” he tried, interrupting when I paused to take in a shuddering breath.