Chapter 18 - Julian Finally Said the Word
We met at a coffee shop.
Public.
Neutral.
No parents.
Julian looked terrible.
He had lost weight.
No designer jacket.
No expensive watch.
The sponsor company wanted that back.
He sat across from me.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke.
Then he said.
“I forged your signature.”
No excuses.
I waited.
“I used Mom to get your tax documents.”
“I lied about Chloe’s trust.”
“I lied to her parents.”
“I lied to sponsors.”
“I told everyone you volunteered.”
I still said nothing.
His eyes filled with tears.
“And I uninvited you because you kept asking questions.”
“I know.”
“I called you a loser because I wanted everyone laughing at you before you could tell them the truth about me.”
That one hurt.
Not because I had not suspected it.
Because he finally said it clearly.
“You needed me discredited.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I thought if everyone believed you were jealous, nobody would ask why you stopped paying.”
Exactly.
The insult had been strategy.
Cruelty with a purpose.
Then he whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at my younger brother.
I remembered teaching him to ride a bike.
Picking him up after college parties.
Helping with his first apartment.
Paying for his emergency dental surgery.
Loaning him money after his franchise failed.
I loved him.
That was the worst part.
Love does not disappear just because trust does.
“I believe you’re sorry.”
He looked up hopefully.
“But?”
“But I’m not rescuing you.”
His face fell.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Good.”
“I have to sell my car.”
“Yes.”
“Move back with Mom and Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Repay sponsors.”
“Yes.”
“Do community service if the plea goes through.”
“Yes.”
He gave a broken laugh.
“You really aren’t going to make this easier.”
“No.”
I said.
“I think making things easier is how we got here.”
He nodded slowly.
Then he asked.
“Do you hate me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
“That would actually be simpler.”
“What do you feel?”
“Tired.”
He looked down.
“I deserve that.”
Before leaving, he pulled out his phone.
He opened the old family group chat.
Then he deleted his message.
You’re not invited.
Goodbye, loser.
I stopped him.
“Deleting it doesn’t change it.”
“I know.”
“So why?”
“Because I’m ashamed every time I see it.”
I looked at him.
“Then maybe keep it.”
He stared.
“Why?”
May you like
“So you remember who you were when everyone else was paying the cost.”
He did not delete it.
