He could argue that he’d stopped some jackass from continuing to harass a woman, but he knew it wouldn’t sway his mom. She hated fighting, always had, and he wasn’t a big fan of disappointing her.

“You’ve always been my rebel,” she said.

He let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “If by rebel you mean pain-in-the-ass troublemaker…”

“You had your moments.” Her smile was closer to a grimace, but there was no mistaking the understanding in her eyes. “You didn’t handle your dad’s death well.”

Cole pulled his hand away and lodged his elbows on his knees, rubbed his hands over his face. “Let’s not tiptoe around things,” he said. “I didn’t handle much well.”

His mom was pensive for a few seconds. “Your troubles started early,” she acknowledged. “I’ve always suspected it was a result of your spot in the family. Mason and Gabe are close in age and have each other. Then came you in the middle, but you were too much younger to bond with the older two. Then the twins came along and had each other. You’ve always been the odd guy out, and I hated that for you.”

He whipped his gaze to hers, surprised at her insight and even more shocked that she’d never mentioned it before. Everything she’d said was spot on.

He’d been four when Zane and Drake were born, and he remembered how he’d anticipated being a big brother to someone, instead of the little brother who was too young to do anything with Gabe and Mason. He’d had it in his little-boy mind that the new babies would be his playmates. He hadn’t foreseen how the twins would have an instant best friend, hadn’t understood the twin bond.

He could fully admit—now, and only to himself—he’d grown up feeling like he didn’t fit anywhere. Too old for his younger brothers, too young for his older brothers, his own little island in the middle of the family. He’d never fared any better with the kids at school either.

He should’ve known his mom recognized the issue.

“Natural order of things, I guess,” he said, trying to blow off something that had unquestionably played a big part in his screwed-up psyche.

His mom reached over and rubbed his head. “I never wanted that for you. Your dad used to accuse me of spoiling you a little extra to compensate. He was probably right. Then when he died, I had my hands full with just getting up in the morning and taking care of you and the twins and handling the business.”

“I didn’t make it easy on you.” And wasn’t that an understatement. “I’m sorry for that,” he said for the first time ever. “For all the crap I caused. You didn’t deserve any of it.”