“How do you fall in love and then just get over it and move on?”
“Dolces don’t fall in love,” he says. “Love makes you weak.”
“Then I guess I’m weak.”
“You’re not in love,” he says sharply. “It’s just a little crush, Crystal. An infatuation. You’ll get over it. I promise.”
But he’s wrong. If he’s never been in love, how would he know? He doesn’t know what it’s like to live for a glimpse of someone’s true self, a genuine laugh, a smile that reaches the eyes and sinks in until you’re seeing not just their soul, but your own soul reflected back at you.
He doesn’t know what it’s like to lie in someone’s arms and feel like every word he says is a treasure, to have to tear yourself from him with anguish when it’s time to go home and you have to stop the flow of ideas that move between your two minds as if they’re connected by more than just words but the most fascinating notions ever spoken.
He’s never gasped at the strength of the ache gripping his heart, or those little moments of truth when two people are nothing but themselves, and the outside world with all its expectations and pressures is stripped away. Everything is laid bare, like even our skin is peeled back, and our raw hearts are pressed together in the most terrifying, beautiful, painful joining of souls.
“You’ll change your mind when you feel it,” I say.
“I won’t feel it,” King says. “Love is a luxury that people like us can’t afford.”
“People like us,” I repeat.
“Crys, I told you what I’m doing when I graduate. There’s no room for weakness or love in that life.”
“Our parents are married,” I point out. “All the uncles, too.”
King hesitates, shifting on the bed. “Yeah,” he concedes. “But I don’t want to put anyone in that position. A family is a liability in that profession. If I loved a girl, I wouldn’t want to put her in danger like that.”
I think of Devlin across the lawn, in his bedroom. I wonder if he’s hurting. I’m selfishly glad he won’t be out throwing the football tonight since it’s raining. I wonder what else he does when he hurts. Does he fight like Royal? Drink and hook up like the twins? Or is he like King, too busy trying to moderate everyone else’s pain to allow himself to feel anything?
I shake the thought away and return my attention to my brother. “But… I mean… Don’t you want kids? You’d make a great dad.”
He gives a little smile and snags my spoon. “I’ve got you guys.”
“You don’t want kids of your own?” I ask, half-heartedly swiping for the spoon.
“No,” he says, scooping a bite of ice cream from the bowl. “I mean, if something happened, if I made a mistake and knocked up some chick, then yeah, I’d do the right thing by her. But even then, I wouldn’t let her love me.”
“King,” I say, accepting the spoon when he hands it back. “Are you really sure this is the life you want? It sounds like you’re giving up a lot.”
“We all make sacrifices.”
“But why go to work and make money if you’re not going to use it to create the life you want for yourself? I know you, King. You take care of people. You’ve basically raised us. You’re both our mom and our dad. I don’t believe you don’t want that for yourself.”
“I’ve got it,” he says, throwing an arm around me and rubbing his knuckles into my head. “I’ve got you to take care of. Now, take back that thing about me being a mom or I’ll rub a knot in your hair you’ll never get out.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing and squirming to free myself. “You’re one hundred percent tough guy. Not even a bit nurturing.”
“Good enough,” he says, releasing me and picking up the bowl that tipped over in our tussle.
“Look what you did,” I scold, pushing my mussed hair off my face. “You got chocolate on my blanket.”
King plucks the errant spoon from my bed and puts it back in the bowl. “I’ll get it cleaned,” he says, setting the ice cream on the nightstand. “But first, promise me you’ll be okay.”
I don’t want to lie to my brother, even though I know he needs it.
“What if…” I swallow hard, running my hand down my flat stomach and letting it settle there. “What if we forced them to let us be together?”
“You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but I have to ask. I have to know if it’s possible. King is the only one I can ask. Even if he cares more about our family name, our image, than anyone else, he also cares about my happiness. He cares about more of us getting hurt. If he could stop it, he would, no matter what it took.