Page 136 of Should Our Hearts Catch Fire

“Make it quick.” He turns around and wanders back to the sofa. He has no interest in being subjected to that deceptively crestfallen expression.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Cal—ugh, fuck it—says disapprovingly.

Ellis takes a long drink. “Why is that?”

“Nothing good ever comes of it.”

That’s not true. He gets to numb his stupid heart. That sounds pretty good to him.

“You don’t want me sober right now.”

Slowly, as if approaching a feral animal, Cal rounds the sofa, taking a spot on the far end. It leaves more than three feet of space between them, but it still makes Ellis feel cornered, makes him want to take off and just run until his lungs give up on him.

“He used to drink the same thing,” Cal points out.

As if Ellis doesn’t fucking know.

His eyes flit to the Paul John label. He never liked this stuff. He never liked whiskey. How pathetic is it that this swill is the first thing he thought of when he wanted to feel closer to his dead brother?

He slams the bottle on the coffee table, getting up on unsteady legs. “What do you want? If you’re here to give me a lecture, you can fuck off.”

Cal hangs his head, hands folded stiffly in his lap.

Ellis refuses to feel bad about it.

“Don’t be mad at Gabe,” Cal says. “All he wanted was for there to not be any secrets between you.”

Ellis falters, short of falling on his face. He didn’t even consider it might’ve been Gabriel who came up with the idea.

He probably felt bad about knowing something you didn’t.

“Maybe there should be,” he says bitterly. Sometimes, oblivion really is a blessing.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t fucking tell me how I feel.”

Right now, he’d like nothing more than to turn back time and erase the conversation from his memory. Shame that amnesia isn’t catching.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Cal’s shoulders curl inwards. He bites his lip, his expression contemplative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“You gonna elaborate?” Ellis prompts impatiently when Cal just continues to sit there, making big eyes at him.

Cal nods, but even so it takes a good long moment before he does. “I haven’t told Dawson this,” he starts, wriggling his fingers. “I…don’t know how to bring it up. But ever since the heart attack, something has changed. I started remembering.”

“Yeah, you said that. Big scary reaper and all that.” Ellis takes another swig from the bottle.

“I mean, I started rememberingeverything.”When Ellis only stares at him uncomprehendingly, he explains, “I have Caledon’s memories too.”

“You what?”

Cal lets out a shuddering breath. “I remember his life. Bits and pieces. Something happens that triggers a memory, and then it’s like being swept in a flood. I’ve started remembering more and more. The memories feel different from my own, they’re shrouded in this—” He makes an all-encompassing gesture around his head. “Fog. It makes it easier to keep them separate from mine.”

Great. Apparently, seeing someone else wear his brother’s face wasn’t blurring the lines enough. Now he also has his memories.

God, this is fucked up.

“Why are you telling me this?”