Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)(64)

I cocked my head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“When the feelings get scary real, that quickly,” he clarified. It shook me a little to see genuine pain surface in his eyes, an old, deep ache that he obviously kept firmly buried the rest of the time. “That’s where I was with Linden, before I fucked shit up egregiously, as is now a matter of Thistle Grove canon. I was . . . man, I was so in love with her, even if I hadn’t said it yet. That was what made me panic, mess with Talia when I shouldn’t have; I figured Lin would find me out any minute, discover what trash I was on the inside. So why not at least deserve the judgment, when it finally happened?”

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “And whatever Lin might say about me now, I remember how she looked at me then. Before. Like I was good. Like I was wonderful.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, aching for him—even if it had been wholly his fault, exactly like he said. “I hadn’t realized you were . . .”

I trailed off, unsure how to finish without presuming.

“Still in love with her?” he said, arch. “Totally fucking destroyed, more than a year later? Yeah, well. Did it to myself, didn’t I? Literally have no one else to blame.”

“And there’s no way for you two to talk about it, at least? Does she even know you still feel like this?”

“Please.” Gareth barked a sharp half laugh, giving a brusque shake of his head. “She won’t even be in the same room with me, not that I blame her. Nah, sis. I’m never getting another shot with her, and frankly, I don’t deserve one, no matter what I might’ve done in the meantime. Growth, personal development, all that mess . . . it doesn’t really count. Yeah, I genuinely want to be the kind of man who’s worthy of someone like her—but that’s who it’ll have to be. Someone like Lin. Not her, not ever again.”

For a moment, we just sat in a gelid pool of silence, neither of us sure of what to say.

“Sorry, Nina,” Gareth said automatically, swiping a hand over his mouth. He’d done that constantly, growing up, forever apologizing for his feelings. Another lovely heirloom from our mother and grandmother. “Didn’t mean to whine.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m glad you told me. But I am sorry, Gare,” I said wishing we were the kind of family who hugged, knew how to offer each other meaningful comfort. “I’m sorry things fell out that way. I don’t know what else to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replied roughly. “Point being, I get where you are with Morty, no matter my personal feelings about him. And if you care—really care—then I’m not going to be the one to harsh it for you, not when things are going well.”

“Thank you for that,” I said, even more surprised to see this mature, well-intentioned reaction from him. He really had taken the time to grow over the last year and change; this wasn’t the brother I remembered, incapable of so much as articulating his own emotions. “He just . . . seems to see me. And he’s perceptive, kind, without judgment. I’ve been able to share things with him that I’ve never told anyone else. About Sydney, for one. And about Lyonesse, Igraine. What growing up with them was like.”

Gareth’s blue eyes chilled at that, his brow knitting together. “Wait, wait. You’re letting him in on family shit already? Our actual private stuff? Seriously, Nina?”

“And why wouldn’t I?” I challenged, my back stiffening. “Because we need to keep the rampant ugly under wraps at all times, just keep it in the family like our dirty little secret? So we can continue as we’ve been, stay completely fucked up like all of us are?”

He clenched his jaw, discomfort emanating off him. “I just . . . it doesn’t seem right, that’s all, telling an outsider about that. Spreading it around. That’s our business.”

“Oh, just look at us, Gareth!” I snapped, my patience fraying, that flame leaping to life in me again. “Really look at us. There’s Gav, the clingiest, most melodramatic borderline personality you’ll ever meet. There’s me, the perfect pillar of ice, the one who has to white-knuckle her way through life just so she can feel worthy of being loved. Look at our father, Tintagel’s own ghost, basically haunting this place instead of living in it.”

I focused on him hard, eyes blazing, my shoulders heaving with emotion. “And there’s you. Given what you just told me, do you even need me to break down what’s wrong with you? Because it seems like you’ve got a solid handle on it already.”

“And you want to blame Lyonesse and Igraine for all our varied shit?” he shot back, flattening his palms on the table with a smack. “Like we had no say in any of this, no agency in who we are? Who we’ve become?”

“Of course not,” I said, shaking my head, subsiding just a little. “That’s not how a reckoning works. Like you said, we’re adults—which means everyone takes their share of responsibility. But I won’t pretend anymore that this family is anything like perfect. Anything like normal. Anything like good.”

Gareth rocked back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine, Nina. That’s your prerogative. And what do you intend to do with it, exactly? This newfound revelation about how much we blow, as a family?”

“First of all,” I said, laying my own hands flat on the table and leveling a gaze at him. “I’m going to admit to myself that you and I aren’t going to get anywhere with this endeavor. Not without outside help.”