Slice [On Hold]

Chapter 4: Mercy

This was the first US Open Finals match that I'd missed since the start of my career. I saw the news of Brodie's win just like everyone else. Not from the court or the locker room but on TV. They'd been replaying highlights of the matche's best rallies and the made-for-Hollywood tearjerker of a show Brodie put on for the crowd after winning. Only Brodie Archie could make tearing up look manly and powerful. He was a superstar, a physical phenom, and a conman.

I smooth the black fabric of my dress down over my thighs before slipping into black kitten heels. I keep my long blonde hair down, tying up a small portion to prevent the waves from falling into my face. I want to look good for my brother. Strong, stable, put together. I hadn't cried yet since hearing the news. I let the anger flicker inside of me, the fire growing, the raw heat keeping any tears at bay. I apply a few swipes of mascara, re-reading Erin's last letter in my mind.

B,

I need you to know that I still love you. That I have always loved you. I want you to stop hating yourself. I forgive you for what you did. It wasn't your fault, you never had a choice. You belonged to the world, and I get that now. Let the pain go with me.

Love,

Erin

I grab my phone and keep it in 'Do Not Disturb' mode. Something about all the condolences texts, all the check-ins from people my brother and I didn't really know, just made the cut within me slice deeper. I'd known Erin for years. We'd all grown up on the court together, each of us thinking we'd someday be number one in the world, winning all the Grand Slams, breaking all the records. The only one of us who didn't fantasize about tennis greatness and fame was Brodie, the divisive but decidedly best player of all time. There was something about his relationship with tennis that was as close to resentment as it was to addiction. But Erin had always been a source of light, the airy easygoing one. Coppery shoulder length hair and freckles that perfectly dotted the bridge of her delicate nose, I always admired how pretty she was. And her prettiness was made even more pronounced by the fact that she was Brodie's girl. My brother Callan, Erin, and Brodie were all five or six years older than me, treating me like a little kid. But I was watching, picking up on the way Erin would tilt her head and laugh just a bit more excitedly at Brodie's antics. The way they were drawn to each other, darkness to light, aggression to elegance. I had a crush on Brodie back then, along with every girl and a few boys at the Florida-based tennis training camp where we all met. But Erin caught his eye and they simply belonged to each other. Well, at least until the summer he broke her for good and Callan was left cleaning up the pieces. Because that's who Callan was. The good guy. The one who kept promises, remained stoic, followed the rules.

I pick up my brother and he's someone else entirely. Dirty blonde hair unkempt, his tie hanging crookedly from his neck, I can smell the Whiskey on his breath. Callan never drinks. He is a health freak, near orthorexic when it comes to putting anything harmful in his body. But right now, I can see it in his eyes that he doesn't care. The woman he'd asked to marry him just three months ago, the woman who had said yes with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger, was gone. Right now, Callan would grieve the loss of her. The loss of the most important person in his life. But I knew once this initial grieving phase was over, he'd resent Erin for her letter, for the fact of knowing that he was always second in her eyes to a man that had treated her like trash for reasons no one seemed to understand.

"Callan, come here." I walk over to him, my voice sounding faintly like my mother's. He doesn't move toward me, but he doesn't move away either. I straighten his tie and pull a piece of mint gum from my purse. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"Yes," Callan brushes past me toward the front door, "I'm going to say the truth. That my fiancé killed herself because the thought of marrying me and never being with him again was worse than death."