“Wait!” George practically shouts. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going back to my motel room to sleep. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“What?” George and I ask in unison.
“I hope you get it figured out, George.” With that, she shuts the door, leaving me and George feeling lost.
Turning, George runs a hand through his hair, his eyes clenched closed. He has to know he’s really FUBARRED big time when it comes to Charlotte. After a moment, he opens his eyes and picks up my picture from the couch. “What do I do, Ike?”
“Go after her, you ass!” I yell, but of course, he can’t hear me.
As I drive back to the motel, the tears fall freely. Revealing my pain to George and Ike was like peeling back my skin and exposing my insides. It’s been so long since I let the memory of my brother, and his untimely death, wreck me like that. I never intended to tell George or Ike about Axel, at least not how destroyed his passing left me.
Pulling into the motel’s parking lot, I put the truck in park and rush inside, hoping Ginger won’t see me in this state. It’s dark out, so it’s unlikely, plus it’s two in the morning, but I hurry anyway, just in case. Once inside, I flip the light on and nearly jump out of my skin when the first thing I see is Ike. I know he’s disappointed in me. I left his brother. I’m leaving tomorrow without helping him resolve his unfinished business.
“I’m sorry, Ike,” I say, hoarsely. His brown eyes soften and he runs a hand over his hair, like he does a lot, and sighs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s hard to tell,” I answer honestly.
“I’d like you to tell me now. Please.” His gaze meets mine and he reaches a hand up as if he wants to wipe the tears from my cheek, but his hand stops midair and he pulls it back slowly, realizing he can’t. I quickly wipe at my face and let my gaze fall to the floor. I hate he can’t touch me right now. A hug, a touch from him, would be amazing. It’s been so long since someone, anyone, held me, gave me some kind of physical comforting. Maybe I’m partly to blame for that; I haven’t exactly been making myself available. But right now, I’d give anything to feel Ike’s touch. And as fucked up as it sounds, I’d love to feel George’s, too. The brothers are so different, polar opposites in fact, that I find myself drawn to each one for different reasons. One is so strong and responsible; so much so, not even death can keep him from taking care of those he loves. The other, broken and lost, wishing time could rewind on one hand, but using any method necessary to forget time on the other. In George, I recognize myself and my desire to save him has a lot to do with wanting to save myself; as if by yanking him out of the black hole he’s sinking in, maybe I’d have a chance of surviving this hell I’ve lived in for six years. In Ike, I see hope. I see that maybe with enough love, being saved is possible.
Before I can respond to Ike, there’s a knock at the door and I have a feeling I know who it is. I open it and see George, his swollen eye and busted lip painfully on display, his forearm leaned against the doorframe. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in; he just pushes past me, forcing me back and shuts the door behind him. We stand facing each other, our gazes locked. I loathe the weak and pathetic girl I am right now. All I want to do is breakdown and sob. There’s a saying that misery loves company, and it’s true. At least for me it is. George is a reflection of every horrible feeling I have, and even though the moments we’ve shared together have, for the most part, been anything but pleasant, being with him feels like being with someone who understands.
He stares at me with his good eye and his mouth curves at the corner. Before I know it, he’s wiping my tears away. And when I press my cheek into his hand, his other arm snakes around me and pulls me to him. My thin arms wrap around his torso, causing him to hiss slightly, so I immediately loosen my arms, realizing his ribs hurt, but he presses me to him.
“Don’t stop,” he orders, so I strengthen my hold and press my forehead to his chest. Minutes, hours, I don’t know—time passes and we hold each other. It isn’t intimate or sexual; it’s the comfort in finding someone who finally understands. When we finally pull away from each other, I scan the room and don’t see Ike anywhere. My heart breaks a little. He wanted to comfort me this way and couldn’t.
“Don’t go, Charlotte.” George breaks the silence. “I know I’ve been an asshole. I’m just really fucked up, but I think you should stay.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and sighs. “I think if you do, we could be good friends, and to tell you the truth, I really need one.”
I lick my dry lips. “I’ll stay, if you promise me something.”
He snorts. “What’s that?”
“No more drugs. I mean it, George. None.”
He swallows hard and nods once. “Okay.”