I don’t have the willpower for silence any longer, so I ask the first thing that comes to mind, “Did you give in to curiosity and read my file?”
“Almost …” he admits and my stomach churns. I used to pride myself on how few fucks I gave over anyone’s opinion. Right now, though, it’s as if we’re surrounded by these fucks like wildflowers in a field. Flowers that could be easily plucked if only he wanted.
“Can you promise me something?” I question and then clear my throat, taking a moment to sip the now lukewarm tea.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Don’t read it.” I speak without daring to look at him.
“Don’t read the file, or don’t look into your past?”
“Both?” I say, with more hope in my tone than I’d like.
“What if I already know some things?”
I fret under his scrutiny, and place the teacup back down on the table rather than answering.
“I promise I won’t read the file, and I’ll come to you if I have questions about … well, you.”
“No FBI digging?”
“Does the FBI have a file too?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Although my comment is dry, Zander laughs. It’s that genuine, rough laugh that’s deep and soothing in ways it shouldn’t be.
I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from asking him what he knows. Shifting under the blanket, I realize how cold I was before. It’s already warmer, already promising me sleep.
After a moment of only silence, Zander says, “I could read, or I could talk … Or I could listen.”
“I’d rather not talk today.”
“Mmm,” he hums in a deep rumble, “and of course today was the day I chose to bombard you with questions.”
I give him a small laugh, part of it genuine.
“You have questions, don’t you? Questions for me?” he asks and the opening he’s given me grabs my attention.
“You and Cade are brothers?”
“That’s an easy one. And yes, we are.”
“You look alike but your last name is what gave it away.”
“That’ll do it,” he comments.
“Have you always been close?”
His brow pinches and he quickly exhales. “No. Not at all.”
I don’t have to pry further. He freely offers me his story, which includes another brother I didn’t know about—William.
“He was six years older than me and from that alone you’d think he’d have been the responsible one. There was him, then Cade and then three years later, me, the baby brother.”
It’s hard to imagine a man like Zander as the baby.
“Our mom passed away while I was a freshman in college. Our dad had cancer and Cade and William were arguing over a few things.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him and his hand falls onto my calf where he gives me a gentle squeeze. The blanket separates us, but still, his touch ignites me. It doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. As if touching me were the natural thing to do.