by Scott, Eliot
My phone bings with one last notice, and it’s a picture of Emily grinning, holding a puzzle and swinging her feet from the cool loft inside the lodge. I laugh quietly to myself because she’s so darn cute, but the lighthearted feeling flees the second Grady opens the office door.
“Why did you bring her?” Grady asks, frowning.
“As my wife, she’s going to have to sign everything too.”
Grady’s eyes widen at that word, but he manages to keep his own poker face intact as he nods. “Fine. Come in.”
I tuck my phone in my purse, pull my bag close to my body, and remind myself that I have Alex’s gun in here. I also repeat in my head my promise to not let either of us use it. If one of us has to, though, it needs to be me, which is why I’m in charge of it. Alex can’t have any trouble. I could prove that it was self-defense a lot easier than he could.
“Let’s get this over with, thief,” Grady says through gritted teeth as he sits in the large desk chair and motions us to the two leather ones on the opposite side of the mahogany table. It’s strange to have him acting like he’s the host when technically, Alex still owns this place.
“Thief, huh? Really?” Alex stares at his brother for a second, so I touch his hand with the back of mine to remind him why we’re here. He can’t let his brother push him into acting out. He finally sighs.
“Yeah, you’re a thief. All of this should have been mine to begin with but you stole it, just like you stole Father away from me.”
Alex blinks at his brother, who is shifty with his movements and unsettled in his own skin. He seems high, and I wonder if maybe he is. Grady’s been drunk around me plenty, and a drug habit wouldn’t shock me at all.
“Grady, I meant what I said. I want you to have this with my whole heart. You know I didn’t steal anything—the will…it was Father’s last way of fucking with us. That document was his last way of tearing us apart so we couldn’t ever be brothers. Can’t you see that? He never wanted us to have a relationship,” Alex says, and my heart swells because my Alex, he’s so sincere. He’s so generous and hopeful for change—a real change—even now. I have great doubts it will happen. I just don’t think it’s possible.
“You were the eldest,” Alex continues, stroking Grady’s ego. “Tradition dictates the eldest son should be heir, and there is no argument that you were always the best and most loyal Sinclair.”
“Damn right I was, and I still am.” Grady puffs up his chest, while Alex only seems to deflate and look sad.
“You know I don’t have what it takes to fill Father’s shoes how he wanted me to,” Alex admits. We practiced this part during our drive, and it’s coming out so honestly. I think there’s a sliver inside of him that always wanted to make his father proud and hates that he never did.
“Nice to hear you say it out loud.” Grady smirks.
“I like to think you also don’t have what it takes. That you’ll be a better man than Father was. That you will work to end the darkness.” Alex scoots forward in his chair, dialing in on Grady’s gaze, trying to reach him. “Brother. Why the hell not? We can be family—real brothers. We’re all each other’s got.”
“We’re fucked up brothers in a fucked up family. I don’t see any of that changing.” There’s a harsh swallow that chokes Grady after those words come cascading out.
Alex blinks.
“We don’t have to be; we’re in control now. You—you’re going to be in control now.” He corrects himself. “And we can fix all of this shit—the past…hell, the future too. We can start over. We can work towards knowing and understanding each other.”
Alex leans in, eyes pleading. “I saw some bruises on Mother’s face. She tried to cover them up with makeup. Please tell me they’re not from you—please tell me I didn’t see what I saw. She was acting like she’s losing it, just like how she used to be in the past, when we were little, and I just need to know that you didn’t have anything to do with that.”
His voice is low, non-threatening and sad.
“Bruises? On Mother? I wouldn’t hit her—no! I—fuck—how bad was it?” His face grows pale, his eyes go wide—wild, like he, too, is suddenly afraid. Alex shares a look with me, and I shrug, because for once in my life I actually believe Grady’s response. He didn’t do it, so maybe May fell or hurt herself intentionally. Maybe she did it to herself to work her way in and buy sympathy. I don’t put anything past this family.
“Where is she now? Did she come see you?” Grady’s voice is tinged with panic.
“Yes. She did, but I didn’t have time to really observe much of her before she rushed off saying she was late. I’ve seen her a couple of times now, and Mother truly seems off.” Alex shakes his head, clearly confused at how Grady’s responding—like he’s truly upset. He was so sure his brother was the one to cause this behavior in May. So was I.
“The bruises just shook me up, that’s all.” Alex points at my face next. “It took Jojo weeks to heal up from what you did to her.”
“And it took me a month to heal from what you did to me,” Grady says, voice shaking. My stomach begins a low boil hearing my injuries brought into the discussion, especially with Grady’s complete lack of remorse. Like I said, always unfair.
Alex opens his mouth to respond, but Grady holds up his hands, his eyes drifting to me as he speaks fast. “Wait…before we sign any of this shit…”
Grady stalls for a few seconds, his gaze wandering off to the side as he blinks. His head cocks as his focus shifts to me, and when his heavy stare remains on my face for more than a full breath, I grow hot. What starts as fear and shifts to anger begins to resolve into pity, though. His throat moves with a sharp swallow, and his mouth twitches, lips quivering nervously.
“I want to say straight up, Jojo—Alex.” His voice drops to a low hum and his face shifts into an uncomfortable seriousness, as if he’s pushing himself to walk through a fire but maintain his bravery despite how badly it hurts. “I need to say this. I’m…sorry I hurt you, Jojo. I truly am. Now that I’ve had time to process everything, I just want you to know that was unnecessary, and now—today—I see how it’s all getting so fucked up. I feel bad about it. I do have a conscience, you know? I do.”
His gaze dips to the top of the desk for a moment, and when he looks at me again, I swear to God I see, for the very first time in his eyes, what looks like regret. There’s self-hatred brewing in those eyes. The monster is realizing what he is, and maybe how he was made.
I nod, but don’t say anything as Alex fills the crackling air in the room with his own apologies to his brother.
“I’m sorry too, Grady. We need to remember that we were kids, forced into a horrible position. We were made to become people we didn’t recognize, people who didn’t know how to rebel against their father’s twisted goals. I’m also sorry we had a mother who was so abused she couldn’t fight for us. But now...” Alex wavers, glancing at me. “With father gone, I’m clear, and I hope you can get clear too. I’m happy to give everything back to you. In time, I want a relationship with you, Grady. A real one. I’m serious. We just have to agree to not hurt each other anymore. If we can shake off the ties that bound us, we can make new ones. I know we can be brothers. We can protect our family, and we can protect what Father left behind for us—for you. All for you now.”
He gives Grady a meaningful look. “The land, the oil—and the water—it’s a huge responsibility to take on, and I want you to know I’m available anytime should you want advice. If you want any sort of help, I am at your disposal, with the ultimate decision always being yours…of course. I’m leaving Tacoma to start my own life, but I’m always going to be here.” He places a hand over his heart.
My chest twists at the earnestness and longing that crosses Alex’s face. My soul hurts for him then loves him so deeply all at once. My lungs can hardly pull in air. Because even though Alex swore he was finished with Grady—with this place and his family—at the eleventh hour, he can’t resist his true essence.
He’s always been the kind-hearted, loving, and generous boy who only wanted a family to love him back.
True to his own essence, Grady’s eyes grow dark as he answers, “What about the lake? You’re giving me the lake—the house and the lake?”
Alex’s shoulders slump in defeat as he nods. “That’s why I let Jojo come here with me. The house, yes. No problem. I’ve got the papers for that drawn up, but the lake.” He looks at me then. “Half of the entire lake, and the aquifer underneath, belongs to her—and it always has. Here, Jojo. Please come look.”
Motioning me away from the windows, Alex pulls a stack of legal papers out of his messenger bag and sets them in front of Grady. He reaches in, and from the slim front pocket pulls out a yellowed, crumpled paper as well. When I notice that it’s a deed, just like the deeds and trusts I was looking at inside the county building the days following Michael Sinclair’s funeral, my heart begins a slow, dreadful thumping.
“What is this?” I ask him.
“It’s the original deed to the lake. It’s my apology. It’s my redemption.” Alex smoothes it as flat as it will go on top of the desk, and waits for Grady and I to crowd around and read. Grady gasps as my hands go over my heart and my eyes tear up as I note it’s dated the same night my father died. He gave me the lake. His lake.
His apology for a crime that wasn’t his fault.
“I can’t believe you did this. Utter…hardcore…family betrayal! No wonder Father went so insane,” Grady growls in a whisper, shocked. He blocks my view of it as he reads the deed for himself.
All I can think about is how so many people have given this lake away—even my mother.
“Father never knew I gave half of the lake to Jojo,” Alex tells Grady, sounding half-proud, half-defensive while I reel with shock, absorbing the ramifications of this act.
Alex signed over half of what is easily the most important piece of land in the Sinclair fold to me. But how? When?
“How do you know Father never knew? I’ll bet he knew. You always act so sure of yourself when you’re full of shit.”
Grady turns back and locks eyes with Alex. For some reason the odd-smirk on Grady’s face makes my stomach churn with dread.
Alex’s expression is clear and confident as he replies, “I’m still alive, Grady. That’s how I know.”
Grady nods, but his usual asshole-smirk falls off of his face when Alex explains more, “I owed the lake to Jojo, Grady. We all did. We took her father away when her mother was dying from cancer. We tortured her, made her cry, messed with her head. She was innocent, and we made her become part of a feud that had nothing to do with her. You get that, right? We were brutal. It was a fair trade.”
“How can you say she’s not part of the feud?” Grady shouts. “She’s a damn Wallace girl. Through and through.” He scoffs out, “Fair. What does that word mean to us, Alex? Being born Michael Sinclair’s son—is that fucking fair?”
“No. It wasn’t,” Alex answers simply. “But we aren’t that anymore, are we? He’s gone, and now we can finally be brothers.”
“Fuck you, Alex. Stop saying that to me. You sound like a sentimental sappy asshole. Endangering all of us, and fucking up our lives even more all because of your damn lake-gift and for—”
“For love. For family.” Alex stops Grady’s tirade while he reaches over and picks up my hand. “For a love and a new kind of family that I hope includes you one day. If you’ll let it,” Alex adds.
“Just like that stupid word fair, brother,” Grady bites out, shooting me an icy glare and taking his anger, along with something I can’t define, out at me. “We don’t get to have family or love or be that kind of brother to each other. It’s fucking impossible.”
“You’re wrong, Grady,” Alex insists. “We can have it. We will have it, and even though I know we have miles to go between us, and some fucked up, dark as hell water under our bridge, I’ll just lay the word down at your feet. I love you because you’re my brother. I always have, Grady.”
“You’re mental.” Grady shakes his head and turns back to the deed, continuing to utter low, but markedly less angry curses. His facade has cracks forming.
Alex’s eyes delve deep and search into mine. “Father—our father.” He motions to include Grady in what he’s saying. “He also made Grady participate in your Father’s murder.”
“I know Alex. I know and I’ve forgiven you, and you don’t have to revisit that.” I don’t want to hear it—picture it--die inside all over again.
“I want you to forgive Grady, too,” Alex whispers. “He needs to hear it.”
His words make my body hurt, because I wonder if I’m capable of forgiving Grady. This ask…it’s too big. I would give my husband anything, but this? Why does he ask this?
His words also cause Grady to pull in a fast breath and turn to face me again. Grady’s eyes are hooded and oddly stained with what might be a hint of…hope? Alex quietly moves into our shared memories and utters words that hurt, that I do not want to hear, or live through ever again.
“Grady went home before your father died, and—as you know—I was on the opposite walkway from where it all happened, unable to help.”
I nod once, trying to keep it together.
“Grady did just as much horrible shit as I did that day—and before—and after.”
“And always,” I accuse.
Alex doesn’t deny it, he simply nods once too. “Grady—he had been cast as the villain in the narrative our father had orchestrated for years and years. Ever since we were little, I got to play the good guy. The smart kid. Grady—he was the bad guy. But none of it was true. Grady and I, though we weren’t ever allowed to say it, he and I were actually the same. I was as horrible as he was to you, Jojo. Maybe worse because at least Grady was out in the open while I was lying.”
“You—weren’t—” I start, but he stops me by holding up a shaking hand.
“We were both playing our parts, and following Father’s orders. Grady had to hold a gun to my head and threaten to kill me if I didn’t follow him to your farm. He was still recovering from his surgery. A surgery our father paid for after he was the one who had beaten and destroyed Grady’s football-throwing arm. We were both living with horrendous abuse. Each day was a pressure cooker, trapped in a vice that turned and turned on us until it broke us, over and over again. I think now, looking back, that Father would do it so he could fit us back together—rebuild us as he saw fit for his plans, and then when those changed, he’d do it to us again. Me, I was lucky. My torture was mostly fear based. Fear that you would be hurt always kept me in line. And maybe because I was smaller, Father didn’t beat me so often because he was concerned people would find out. He hit Grady a lot more, because Grady was stronger. Because he could take it. By the year your father was murdered, my brother had been so physically and mentally abused he’d made it through his own type of rebellion against father, and I, at that time was totally oblivious to what he was going through. I wasn’t there for you Grady, and I’m sorry about that.”
Grady doesn’t answer. His eyes are cold, shattered—closed off.
My gaze ricochets between Alex and Grady, between these brothers, and suddenly I’m finding it nearly impossible to imagine that Grady had once tried to rebel against Michael Sinclair. Even though I don’t want to hear more, mostly because I don’t want to see Grady as anything but a monster because that’s what he’s always been to me, I find my own heart cracking for him as I whisper in shock, “Grady? What…did he do?”
Grady still doesn’t answer; he simply looks away from both of us, tensing up his whole body as if bringing up this story is hurting him as much as it hurts for me to think about my father’s death again.
Alex goes on, eyes only on me. “My brother had huge dreams. He was the best quarterback our school—no…hell…our town and whole region—ever had. Recruiters had noticed, and all on his own Grady had landed more than one full-ride scholarship to some top universities.
He’d had his choice of any Big Six school he’d wanted, and he’d gone into it thinking our father would be proud of him for saving the family money, so he’d kept the scholarships as a surprise. But Father didn’t want Grady playing in the Big Six. He didn’t want any chances of Grady or I getting out of Tacoma and out of the family business. Quarterbacks like Grady play for the NFL, and they get to have their own money and be free from the noose Father had kept nice and tight around our necks. So, instead, good-ole Dad beat his dreams away. Literally beat him with a crowbar to make sure the arm was irreparable.”
I pull in a breath, my hands going over my heart. “No.”
Alex nods, and I can see Grady’s shoulders slumping and shaking. “Despite the story about Grady’s ‘injury’ in the Tacoma news, and the police backing the story too, there was no car accident that messed up my brother.” He barks out a sharp, pained laugh. “Fuck. My father…he invented the concept of ‘fake news’ long before it was trendy.”
“I don’t want people feeling sorry for me.”
“She’s not people, Grady. She’s Jojo,” Alex whispers. “And she needs to know it all.”
Grady’s now paced back and forth to the windows. He’s grabbed his shoulder, and when he turns back to us, his face is contorting as he’s trying to keep his mask in place as Alex relentlessly finishes the tale. “Anyhow…now you know some of Grady’s side of the pain. But Jojo…what I’ve told you? The arm—it doesn’t scratch the surface of the mountains of shit and beatings, and other pain that Grady and I have buried deep inside of us. We’ll both be fucked up from it forever.” He shrugs. “But yeah, in my mind, I won’t give up on us, Grady. Even though we weren’t allowed to be, we were and still are brothers. Real ones. And that means a lot to me. I hope it can mean something to you, too.”
Alex coughs then and stops talking like maybe his throat is closing up from a wave of tears.