Page 326 of Broken Like Me
“Listen, this is hard to talk about.”
“Take your time, brother.”
His easy composure helps me finally free myself of this burden.
“This is the reason I never came to find you. If you knew about me, it was only a matter of time before you started asking questions. And it would lead you to him.”
“You were protecting me?”
My eyes become heavy as moisture pools. “Yes.”
Shit. About to bawl in front of a group of tough guys. Perfect.
When I glance around the room, it’s empty. I replay what happened in the background when everything inside me froze.
Lila cleared the room for us. She even closed the damn door.
Beautiful, sweet soul.
Fuck it. Rip the bandage.
“Sawyer, when I found out, it broke me. I couldn’t do that to you.”
His posture slumps, and he lowers from his knees to flop on the floor. “We aren’t twins?”
“No.” I blink, then amend, “Yes. We’re still twins. I think. Actually, I don’t know how that works with the terminology. We aren’t the only ones.” I gesture at the photo. “He’s our triplet.”
His eyes drop to examine the young boy holding up a damn fish. With our eyes. Our face. And smile.
The same blood in his veins.
Thechosenone.
I finish administering the body blows with a final sentence, “Only you and I were put up for adoption.”
Perry’s face wears a haunting echo of my pain.
I scoot closer. “I’m so sorry you found out this way.”
Voice shaky, he ekes out, “He’s dead?”
My head juts back like I was kicked. “What?No. He’s alive.” I grab the other picture. “This is him on prom night.” Next, I gesture to the desk. “He built this fucking thing. I ordered it on his website.”
All his somberness gets sucked out in a vacuum. He perks up, literally jumping to his feet. “That’s great. Where is he? What’s his name?”
His reaction makes no sense. He went from the lowest of lows back to Happy the Fucking Clown in two seconds.
While I’m struck mute, he scurries back to the file on the floor, swiping the newspaper article. “The Tennessee Dispatch.” His big eyes of baffling wonder look down at me. “Is he still there?”
I rise in disbelief. “Yes.”
“And he’s a firefighter. Badass.” He searchingly runs his finger over the paper. “What did it say his first name was?”
“Flint.”
“Flint,” he repeats, then blasts a braying laugh with his next breath. “Haaaa!”
I’d love to join in and laugh at whatever he finds so funny, but I still have more bad news to deliver.
