My brother offers a harsh smile. “I’ll be honest with Gid when he decides to be honest with me.”
What the hell does that mean? I don’t touch the comment, though, because I didn’t come out here to fix East’s relationship with Gideon. I came out here to save my relationship with East.
“I was wrong,” I tell him.
He wrinkles his forehead. “Wrong about what?”
“Everything.” I grab the joint and take a deep pull that leaves me light-headed. On the exhalation, I blurt out every bone-headed move I’ve made this year. “I shouldn’t have hooked up with Brooke. Shouldn’t have hid it from you. Shouldn’t have hid it from Ella.” The weed loosens not just the cobwebs in my head, but my tongue. “It’s my fault she ran off. I drove her away.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t answer.
“I know it scared you when she left. It hurt you.” I turn to study his tense profile, and I tense up too as something occurs to me. “Do you love her?” I ask hoarsely.
His head whirls toward me. “No.”
“You sure about that?”
“I don’t. Not the way you do.”
I relax, just slightly. “Still. You care about her.”
Of course he does. We all do, because that girl flew into our house like a whirlwind and made everything come alive again. She brought steel and fire. She made us laugh again. She gave us a purpose—at first, it was us uniting against her. Then it turned into us standing beside her. Protecting her. Loving her.
“She made me happy.”
Helplessly, I nod. “I know.”
“And then she left. She left us and she didn’t look back. Like…”
Like Mom, I finish for him, and a jolt of agony arrows through my chest.
“Whatever,” East mumbles. “It’s no biggie, okay? She’s back now, so it’s all good.”
He’s lying. I can tell he’s still terrified that Ella might pack up and leave again.
It terrifies me, too. Ella’s barely spoken to me since the night we kissed. The night she cried. Cried so hard that it broke my fucking heart. I don’t know how to make it better with her. I don’t know how to make it better for East. Or for Gideon.
But what I do know is that this isn’t just about Ella. Easton’s abandonment issues run deeper than that.
“Mom’s not coming back,” I force myself to say.
“No shit, Reed. She’s goddamn dead.” Easton starts to laugh, but it’s a hard, humorless sound. “I killed her.”
Jesus. “How many joints did you smoke today, little brother? ’Cause you’re talking crazy right now.”
His eyes are grim. “Nah, I’ve never been saner.” Another laugh pops out, but we both know he’s not getting amusement out of any of this. “Mom would still be here if it weren’t for me.”
“That’s not true, East.”
“Yeah, it is.” He takes a quick drag. Blows out another gray cloud. “It was my oxy, man. She took it and OD’d.”
I look over sharply. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She found my stash. A few days before she died. She was in my room putting away some laundry, and the shit was in my sock drawer and she found it. Confronted me, confiscated it, and threatened to send me to rehab if she ever caught me with ’scrips again. I figured she flushed the pills, but…” He shrugs.
“East…” I trail off. Does he really believe this? Has he believed it for two whole years? I draw a slow breath. “Mom didn’t OD on oxy.”
He narrows his eyes. “Dad said she did.”
“That was just one of the things she was on. I saw the tox report. She died of a whole combination of shit. And even if it was just oxy, you know she could’ve easily gotten her own prescription.” I snatch the joint from his lax hand and suck deeply on it. “Besides, we both know it was my fault. You said it yourself—I’m the one who killed her.”
“I said that to hurt you.”
“Worked.”
Easton studies my profile. “Why’d you think it was you?”
Shame crawls up my spine. “Just felt like I wasn’t enough,” I admit. “I knew you were hooked on pills. I knew something was wrong with Gid. Night before she died, she and Dad argued over a fight I got in. My fighting bugged her. I liked it too much. She knew that and she hated it. I… I was just added stress for her.”
“You’re not the reason she died. She was messed up way before that.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re not the reason either.”
We go quiet for several moments. It’s awkward now, and my skin is starting to itch. Royals don’t sit around talking about their feelings. We bury them. Pretend nothing touches us.
East taps out the joint and tucks the roach into his little tin. “I’m going inside,” he mumbles. “Turning in early.”
It’s barely eight o’clock, but I don’t question him. “’Night,” I say.
He pauses near the side door. “You wanna ride to practice tomorrow?”