“Who?” I ask.
“The news, all those reporters…you don’t think our dad actually did those things to me?”
I try to hold back a cringe. Someone told the press that Jonathan physically abuses Lo. The rumors just kept escalating after that. I don’t know if our dad could hit him…or molest him. I don’t want to believe it, but there’s a fucking sliver of doubt that says maybe. Maybe it could have happened.
“It’s not fucking true!” Lo shouts at me.
“Okay, okay.” I raise my hands to get him to calm down.
He’s been like this since the accusations, pissed and angry and looking for a way to fix things. Booze was his solution unfortunately.
Our father filed a defamation lawsuit, but no matter the outcome of the court case, it won’t change the way people look at both of them. Vilifying our father, pitying Loren. There’s no going back.
“You just have to move fucking forward,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about what people think.”
Loren inhales deeply and stares at the sky like he wants to murder a flock of birds. “You say shit, Ryke, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Do you know how annoying that is?” He looks back down at me, his features all sharp, like a blade.
“I’ll keep saying it then, just to irritate the fuck out of you.” What else are big brothers for?
He sighs heavily.
I rub the back of his head playfully and then guide him towards his house. I drop my hand off his shoulder, and he stops in the middle of the road, his brows scrunching.
“About your trip to California…” He trails off. “I know I haven’t asked about it in months. I’ve been too self-absorbed—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I motion with my head to the white colonial house. “Let’s go make some breakfast for the girls.”
“Wait,” he says, holding out his hand. “I have to say this.”
But I don’t want to hear it. I’ve made up my mind already. I’m not going to California. Not when he’s in a bad place with his recovery. I’m his sponsor. I have to be here.
“I need you to go,” he says. I open my mouth and he cuts me off. “I can already hear your stupid fucking rebuttal. And I’m telling you to go. Climb your mountains. Do whatever you need to do. You’ve had this planned for a long time, and I’m not going to ruin it for you.”
“I can always reschedule. Those mountains aren’t fucking moving, Lo.” I’ve wanted to free-solo climb three rock formations, back-to-back, in Yosemite since I turned eighteen. I’ve been working up to the challenge for years. I can wait a little longer.
“I will feel like shit if you don’t go,” he says. “And I’ll drink. I can promise you that.”
I glare.
“I don’t need you,” he says with malice. “I don’t fucking need you to hold my hand. I need you to be goddamn selfish like me for once in your life so I don’t feel like utter shit compared to you, alright?”
I internally cringe. I was selfish for so many fucking years. I didn’t give a fuck about him. I don’t want to be that guy again.
But I hear him begging me. I hear please fucking go. I’m losing my mind.
“Okay,” I say on instinct. “I’ll go.”
His shoulders instantly relax, and he lets out another deep breath. He nods to himself. I wonder how long he’s been carrying that weight on his chest.
I can’t explain why I love him so much. Maybe because he’s the only person who understands what it’s like to be manipulated by Jonathan for his gain. Or maybe because I know deep down there’s a soul that needs love more than anyone else, and I can’t help but reciprocate to the fullest degree.
I put my arm around his shoulder again and say, “Maybe one day you’ll be able to outrun me.”
He lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “Maybe if I break both your legs.”
I grin. “Would you even be fucking fast enough to do that?”
“Give me a lacrosse stick and we’ll see.”
“Not fucking happening, little brother.”
I don’t say it with scorn.
I never do. And I never will.
< 2 >
DAISY CALLOWAY
I have this theory.
Friends aren’t forever. They’re not even for a while. They come into your life and they leave when something or someone changes. Nothing grounds them to you. Not blood or loyalty. They’re just…fleeting.