Seth sipped his beer, his mind back in that terrible time, waiting after Gran called the cops. He’d tried the door, but it was locked. And the windows, too, since the old bitch had installed locks to make sure they didn’t sneak out at night. The way his heart had beat so hard it hurt.
Was Lincoln telling the truth? Had he pleaded Seth’s case? Likely he had.
“All kids lie at some point when caught out. Don’t feel guilty about that shit. She kicked me out, Lincoln. Not you.” He rested against the leather booth. Seeing the desperation in Lincoln’s eyes, his need to explain his actions was like a sobering slap in the face to Seth.
Seventeen years. He’d been carrying that anger around for so fucking long. His limbs felt heavy as weariness swamped him.
His brother looked off to the side, his voice remote. “She died. A year after she sent you away.”
The news hung heavy between them. Seth wished he could say he felt relief, but it was more a feeling of emptiness.
“What happened to you?” Lincoln would have only been eleven.
“Grandpa lasted until a week after my sixteenth birthday. Alcohol poisoning.” Lincoln leaned back. “The house was rented, so I moved out. Found work on a construction site and when I was old enough, I joined the army.”
The next words tumbled out of Seth’s mouth before he knew what was happening. “Why did you steal that money?” After everything that had happened, he deserved an explanation.
His brother sat up, as if preparing himself to face a firing squad. “I wanted to get you something for your birthday the next week.”
Jesus fuck.
Seth closed his eyes against the wave of sadness that pounded him and listened as Lincoln continued.
“The secondhand bookstore had a copy of Terry Pratchett’s Johnny and the Dead. I had the money I’d earned from doing odd jobs for the neighbors, but Grandpa found it when Gran cut off his beer allowance.”
That old bastard. He drank to drown out his wife’s sermons. And he stole from his grandson. He and Lincoln had really won the lottery on grandparents.
“The guy in the bookstore had the book on hold for me, but it ran out that day, and I knew he had others interested. I had to get the money somehow.”
What could Seth say? The whole mess was a bloody tragedy.
“You’re not responsible for what happened to me, Lincoln,” he said with a tired sigh. “Gran is. Mum is. Grandpa is. All of them screwed you and me over.” He shook his head. “In a way, I’m glad you came tonight. It clears up some things I’ve wondered about. But I have one last question I’d like answered. I’m not sure if you can.”
Lincoln shrugged. “I’ll try.”
“I’ve never understood why Gran hated me so much. Did she ever give you a clue?”
Lincoln drew in a breath and held it, along with Seth’s gaze. Finally, he let the air out in a loud exhale. “Yeah, she did. Mum fell pregnant with you. Whatever else had been going on in her life, she’d been able to hide it from the outside world until her swollen belly became public knowledge. Gran hated the stigma of having an unmarried mother as a child. And since you were that child...” Lincoln trailed off.
“I represented all that was wrong with her daughter.”
Gran’s hatred had nothing to do with him. He could have been brilliant at school, found a cure for cancer, and she’d have always hated him.
What kind of an evil person hated a child for the behavior of that child’s parent?
“Totally fucked up, Seth, but that’s the answer. I only found out because I asked Pop one night a few months after she’d passed.”
At least the old man had been good for something in the end. “Thanks for telling me. If you want to know anything about Mum, not that I remember much, I’ll share.”
Lincoln leaned forward on the table, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’m hoping my visit can give us both something more than that.”
Seth tensed. Now he had to be the bastard. “I can’t promise anything right now.”
A frown marred Lincoln’s forehead. “But you just said I wasn’t responsible for what happened.”
“You aren’t. But you want more than us drawing a line on the past, and I understand that.” Seth glanced off at the far wall and studied the wooden framed photographs of the pub and its patrons from years past. “But I’m not where you are. I haven’t looked for you.” Jesus, that came out wrong. “Lincoln, having you turn up has been one hell of a shock. And yeah, it would be good to talk more; I’m not denying that. But I don’t know where this is going to go, and I don’t want to promise you more than I can give. Believe it or not, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lincoln’s eyes flashed. “I’m still your brother. That doesn’t change just because you now have dual citizenship and a new surname.”