“I was fifteen,” Gabe says. He doesn’t sound defensive. He just sounds thoughtful. Like he’s also sorting this out, finally. “And I was terrified, too. Dad left me in charge. I felt like he was watching to make sure I didn’t fuck up.”

I’m sure my mouth is open.

For the first time ever, I think, I got it all wrong. Gabe didn’t get the prize. He got left holding the bag.

It makes it easier to tell him the rest. “When you thought you were going to New York to be with Lucy, you left the business to Clark.”

Gabe looks surprised, but then he nods. “I thought you had too much on your plate. With Justin and Zoë. I didn’t want to pile any more shit on you. And let’s face it, Brody, you weren’t in a great place. You weren’t exactly screaming ‘management material.’ But I get it. You’d just gotten slammed with about the worst news a guy can hear. I just wish you’d told me. I could have helped.”

I take a minute, because if I talk now, I can tell my voice is going to crack, and I’m enough of a boneheaded Wilder not to want to show my big brother that weakness.

“I wish I’d told you, too.”

My voice cracks anyway. And the world doesn’t end.

He gives me a minute, not saying anything.

“Gabe.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to help with the business, but it feels like you’d rather work yourself to the bone than ask me.”

He frowns, and for a second I think he’s going to argue with me, but he nods. “And that’s on me, not you. I’m learning. I’m figuring it out. When Lucy went back to New York, before I realized I wanted to go after her, Mom said something to me that made a fuckton of sense. She said even though Dad laid all this responsibility on me, what he really wanted most for me was to be happy. And that that meant asking for help when I needed it. But as you can see, I still fucking suck at it.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You know what I think?”

“You’re going to tell me no matter what, right?”

I’m pretty sure he’s trying to hide a smile. He says, “If Connor doesn’t believe you deserve Rachel, so fucking what? I’d wager Rachel doesn’t give a shit. But I don’t think this was ever about whether Connor thought you deserved her. It was about whether you did.”

Staggered, I stare at him.

He returns my stare, unblinking.

Is that true?

I think about it.

About how I was the one who finished Connor’s sentence. About how I was the one who prodded Rachel to say I didn’t want to be the guy in the plan.