“Fisher?” I laugh incredulously, swallowing down my rising panic. “What about him?”
He narrows his eyes on me and my heart races. I wonder if he can see the skip of my pulse in my throat. Elias purses his lips and drops his gaze from mine.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t understand why you’re bringing him up,” I press, which might be dangerous. He’s giving me an out so I should take it and run.
He snorts. “So, you’re just oblivious to the way he looks at you like a lovesick puppy?”
I frown. “He does not.”
“You can’t be that unaware.”
My cheeks warm and I drop my gaze. “You’re crazy.”
“If that’s how you want to play it, that’s what we’ll do.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stare down my brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stuffs his mouth full of a bite of food, I’m sure in an effort to stall. That’s confirmed when he swallows and says, “I wanted to hang out with you, not fight.”
Lowering my head, I say, “I’m sorry. I think I’m a little on edge.”
“A little?”
That sarcastic comment earns him a smack on his arm.
“Ow. I’ll never know how you make that hurt so bad.” He rubs his arm.
“You’re just weak.”
“Most guys are,” he agrees.
Smiling, I say, “I love it when you see things my way.”
Elias changes the subject when he says, “How’s your leg?” He nods toward the spot where I propped my cane up against the cabinet.
“It’s…” I search for the right word. “Frustrating.”
The pain, the stiffness, the ache—all of it is so damn frustrating.
His lips turn down in a frown, sorrow in his eyes. Since he was there for me the day of my accident, he knows how bad it was. I haven’t been on a bike since, and I’m not sure that’s a feat I’ll ever cross.
“I’m so sorry, Eb.”
I shrug. “Not your fault. It’s just a thing that happened and this is the outcome.”
“Still, I hate it for you.”
I go silent, lost in my own thoughts. I try not to dwell on my accident. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go back in time and tell my old self not to bike that trail with Elias. This is the reality I’m forced to live. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t mean I don’t get mad at times and question why me.
Clearing his throat, he says, “If you ever need someone to talk to you know I’m here for you, right? Or if you want someone professional I’ll make sure it happens.”
I give a soft, forced smile and give my brother’s hand a gentle pat. “Thanks, El. But I’m good. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“You promise?” His eyes are a shade darker with seriousness, something rare for my carefree twin.
“I promise.”