He kept talking, "I just—I know you hate him, or at least you want to. But don’t blame him for what he did. Maybe running away was the only way he thought to make it right."
I nodded. It was all I could do. Maybe he was right, or maybe I just wanted him to be. He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it. Then we stood in front of each other, my face to his chest—the guy was huge. I tilted my head so I could see his eyes. "Whatever Heidi is making you feel, she’s wrong. She has no idea what she’s about to lose."
Suddenly, his arms were around me. "Thank you for listening," he said, his voice rough.
"No, Dylan, thank you for speaking. It’s rare."
He laughed.
So did I.
I missed it—the laughing.
***
"Happy birthday, homo," Ethan sang. We were in Tristan’s yard, sitting at our usual spot of the dock on his private stretch of the lake. His parents were loaded, but the type of loaded that meant they were absent more than they were home. We’d spent way too many quiet nights here drinking.
"Thanks, baby," Tristan blew him a kiss.
Ethan belched.
I nudged Alexis next to me. "You think that’s hot?"
Her eyes were half shut, her face a shadow of red from the fire pit in front of us. "Dude, your brother is hot. You can’t deny it."
"I can totally deny it."
"Shut up," she huffed. We both watched the guys, about ten feet away, with their beers in their hands, play-fighting. "Ethan’s always been hot."
It was my turn to tell her to shut up.
She snorted.
"Have you ever told him?"
"What?" She sat up. "That I want to hump him?"
I threw my head back and laughed. "Ethan!" I called out.
"Shut up," she warned.
I didn’t care. I was having fun tonight. I wasn’t drinking, but I wasn’t brooding, either. "Lexi said she wants to hump you."
They stopped play fighting and immediately faced us.
"Oh my God," Lexi moaned into her hands that were covering her face.
I laughed at her, and then looked up at the guys. They were standing close to each other, having a heated discussion. Tristan chuckled, pushing Ethan towards us. They walked the few steps until they were around the pit with us. Tristan took a seat while Ethan stood in front of Lexi. I watched him, confused What the hell was going on? He must have noticed, because he gave me that shut-the-fuck-up look I’d gotten used to in our almost twenty-one years together.
Lexi’s face was still buried in her hands. He cleared his throat. She didn’t move.
"Lex," he said quietly.
"Go away."
"Lex," he said again, firmer.
She still didn’t move.
He sighed, and then moved her hands away from her face. Finally, she looked up at him, her face red—from embarrassment, this time.
He tugged on her hand to get her to stand up. She did, but her eyes were huge with shock. He sat on her chair then brought her back down on his lap, whispering something in her ear.
She nodded.
Good for them, I thought.
***
That was as far as they went. She sat on his lap, with his arms loosely around her. They didn’t make out; they didn’t even kiss. At one point, I saw her flip his cap backwards so their faces could be closer when they whispered, or talked quietly to each other.
I had to turn away then; it was too much.
Too familiar.
He sat back in the car after walking her to her door. It was nearing four a.m. and we were heading home to Mom’s house. "I’ve always like her," he mumbled. His head fell back against the headrest.
I watched him for any sign of amusement or mocking—there was none. "Yeah? What took so long?"
"She’s your best friend."
"So?"
He sat up and faced me, motioning his head for me to start driving. I did.
"I heard her once—telling you that she wouldn’t date a guy that she couldn’t be around whenever she wanted. She said she had trust issues, and didn’t know how you did it with Tyson."
Tyson. My heart hurt. I wonder where we’d be . . .
"Sorry." He pulled me from my thoughts. "I shouldn’t have mentioned it."
I glanced at him and smiled. "It’s fine." It really was. Tyson wasn’t a sore subject. "What makes you think she won’t make the exception with you?" I asked.
"Because." He took off his cap. "I just asked her. She said she’s happy to fool around, but she doesn’t want to be anything more—not when I’m there, and she’s here. She doesn’t want an emotional attachment, or whatever. She says she doesn’t trust me."
"So that’s that?"
"That’s that," he confirmed.
2
It had been a month since we went home for Tristan’s birthday. A month since I ran into Dylan, and a month since I’d decided that I was no longer going to live my life in a state of post-Logan depression, again.
I was going to live my life for me, and only me.
Ethan was the only one that was stopping me from doing that. He never left the house anymore. He was in class, or home, and that was it. I was never home alone. He never dated, he never partied, and he never went out. If I wanted to go somewhere, he was with me. Like my bodyguard. Only he wasn’t. He was my brother, and he shouldn’t be living his life like this.
So, that’s what I told him.
He just stared at me, unblinking.
I raised my eyebrows.
He sat up on the recliner and rested his elbows on his knees. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat, and then he let out a long sigh. "No," he said, his voice firm.
"Ethan." His name came out like a whine. "I’ll be fine."
"No," he repeated, coming to a stand. He pointed two fingers at me as he walked past. "And we’re done talking about this."
He walked into the hallway, and seconds later, the sound of his door slamming echoed through the house.
I let out a frustrated breath, got up and walked to his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the floor. "E." I tried to get his attention.
"Quit it, Dim. I mean it," he warned.
"You have to stop doing this. It’s not your job to protect me."
He stood up. "Get out," he spat, pointing at his door.
"What?" I reared back in surprise.
"Don’t talk to me about what my role is—or whatever." He was pissed. "I know what I should be doing. I know that I should be protecting you." He was shouting now. "You don’t think I fucking know that? I’ve failed you how many times now? First with Greg, and now this shit. Don’t fucking talk to me about—"
"Holy shit," I cut in. "Ethan, none of this is your fault." I took a step closer to him. "You can’t blame yourself."
"Shut up, Dimmy. You don’t fucking get it. Dad’s not around anymore. It is my job." He sucked in a huge breath, sniffed back his emotions and ran his hand through his hair. I watched his chest rise and fall, trying to regain control of his breathing. He walked to his desk and leaned back on it. "I’m sorry," he finally said. "I’m just . . . I don’t know what I am, but I shouldn’t be yelling at you."
I stayed quiet. I didn’t know what to say. Ethan had always been protective, but not like this. I’d never considered Ethan’s feelings. I’d never even thought of him, or how he’d felt when Dad left, or when that shit had happened with Tyson and Logan and Greg, and now this. "It’s not your place to be Dad, E. We have a dad; he’s just an asshole. But you’re not it. You’re not him, and you never will be. You couldn’t have done anything—"
"Amanda." My real name leaving his mouth made me pay attention. "I should've been there to protect you. I'm your brother."
"I love you, Ethan, but you're right. You're my brother, and that's all you are. It's not on you to be more for me. Don't do that to yourself. Promise me."
He crossed his arms over his chest
and looked away. "Okay." He nodded. "But I need you to do something."
"What?"
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a brochure, then walked over to me. "Self-defense classes." He handed the papers to me, and then waited.
I looked up at his anxious face. He looked so much like Dad; he always did. "Sure," I agreed.
***
So that's where I found myself two days later. Ethan was with me. He’d wanted to check out the place before I’d agreed to lessons. It was at the same gym I went to for yoga, so I was familiar with the building. Ethan didn't even try to hide his protective stance in front of me as the instructor introduced himself. "Jordan," the instructor said, shaking hands with Ethan.
"This is Amanda." Ethan pointed at me. I raised my hand in a wave.
Jordan smiled warmly. "Amanda," he repeated. He was only a few years older than us, and well built. Good looking guy, if I cared—which I didn't.
Ethan cleared his throat. I rolled my eyes.
Jordan continued to discuss my future lessons with Ethan. Sitting back, I let him have control. I think he needed to know that he was doing something to help fix me. Honestly, I really didn't think I was that broken.
***
"I don't like him," Ethan stated, from the driver’s seat of his car. We were on our way back home.
"Who?" I asked.
"That Jordan guy."
"What? Why?"
"He looked at you funny."
I laughed.
"Not funny, Dimmy. Last time I was pissed at a guy that looked at you funny it was Logan. Look how that turned out."
My mood switched. "Okay," I told him. I wasn't going to argue; he was right.
"Just don't get involved with him—"
"I don't even know him."
"Just say you won't start dating or whatever, not yet, okay?"
"Okay," I said again.
Dating was the last thing on my mind.
***
I was home half an hour before I started getting bored. Thanks to Logan's leftover rent money, and the money he’d put into my tuition, I was able to cut back a day or two on my shifts. This made Ethan happy. It made me insane. Especially now that I was alone, most of the time. Ethan was in the house, but it wasn’t like we hung out, or anything.
The urge to listen to my music set in, but my iPod was in his room. It'd been there since that night. I hadn't been inside since the day I’d got home from hospital and found he was gone.
"Come on, idiot," I said, whispering to myself. My hand was on the doorknob. "Just do it. It's just a room." I took in a deep breath and mustered up all the courage I had.
I turned the knob, blindly stepped forward, and let out all the air in my lungs.
Then I felt him.
Wherever he was in this world, he was only there physically. Everything else was in this room, with me.
My hand brushed against something soft, causing me to open my eyes. My breath hitched, and all the memories came back. I focused on the bed, not wanting to take in too much at once. It would overwhelm me. It would break me. My iPod sat in the middle with my headphones wrapped around it, right next to my e-reader.
I had been reading and listening to music when he’d come in from a run. He’d said he wanted to tell me something. He’d wanted to tell me that it was his birthday, but I’d already known. Of course I’d known—I loved him.
I loved him too much.
I ignored the ache in my chest and looked around the room. Everything was so Logan. Not a single thing out of place. He was meticulous, and kept his room so clean. I’d always wondered why he did. Even his pool house was like this, but I’d figured his housekeeper kept it that way. I’d never asked. I should have. I should have done a lot of things. I guess it had never occurred to me that our time was limited.
I did this sometimes—thought, or talked about him like he'd passed away. Dead. Never coming back. I think it was my way of dealing with it.
Without knowing, my feet had me walking around the room, towards his desk. He kept a framed picture of us right in the middle. Micky had snapped it when we were at their house once. We didn't know she'd taken it until she showed us weeks later. I was sitting on his lap, with his arms tight around my waist. My head was thrown back, laughing at something he'd said. His face was so close to mine we could've been kissing, but we weren't, he was just watching me.
He'd made Micky e-mail him the picture right away. We'd stopped by a store on the way home and he'd asked me to pick out a frame for it. He'd said that the picture resembled us, who we were, and how he wanted to remember me for the rest of his life. He wanted to put it somewhere he'd see every day, to remind him that not all memories are distinct moments. Some are moments just worth remembering. My laugh—he'd said—is a memory that should be treasured—not just remembered.
That was one of the moments that led to me falling so deeply in love with him.
I felt the sob creep up my throat and I held it back. Gripping the frame to my chest, I quietly shut the bedroom door and walked into his closet, and shut that door, too. My crying was the last thing Ethan needed to hear. I sat on the floor, turned on the flashlight app on my phone and looked at the picture in my hand.
Then I let it out.
The hurt, anger, sadness and the loneliness of it all.
I missed him.
I missed him so damn much, and I couldn't even cry openly about it. My tears landed on the glass of the frame, and I wiped them with my thumb. "You asshole," I whispered, figuring if I could feel his presence in the room, then maybe he could hear me, wherever he was. "I hate you." Lie.
Then I saw the box I'd put his birthday present in. It was the last thing I’d given him.
Stupid present.
Stupid stethoscope.
I laughed bitterly, and studied my wrists.
Stupid.
I cried so hard that I ended up in a ball on the floor. I don't know how long I was there for, until finally, the sobs wore me out and I fell asleep.
***
The vibrating of my phone woke me, right before music filled throughout the small space of the closet. I was in a daze of half-sleep before I realized what was happening. My head pounded and my eyes hurt. I felt drunk, but I wasn't.
I was just stupid.
I picked up the phone and sat up—and only then did I work out that Hey There Delilah was playing.
For some reason, I smiled. "Tyson." I spoke quietly into the phone.
"Dimmy," he sighed out. He was less enthusiastic than I was. Something was wrong.
"Tyson? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Looked like I wasn't the only one in the mood for lying.
I stayed quiet and waited. Tyson was like that; he just needed time.
I heard him sniff. "I just walked in on Ally and some guy in our bed."
"Oh my God."
"It's our fucking apartment, Dimmy. She was fucking some guy in a space we shared."
My blood boiled. "Fuck her."
He chuckled, but it was sad. "So lady-like."
"Seriously, Ty. If that's how she treats you, fuck her."
"I think some asshole already did."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me, too."
"So what are you going to do?"
"No idea."
"Are you kicking her out?"
"The lease is in her name. I just packed some shit and now I'm sitting on a park bench with two bags and my guitar like an upper-class, street-performing bum."
I snorted.
"Not funny, Dim."
"Sorry."
He exhaled loudly.
"What about classes?"
"I'm done. I don't even have to be here to graduate."
The words were out before I could stop them. "Move in here. We have a spare room."
3
I picked him up from the airport and brought him home. Ethan was fine with him living with us. He and Tyson had always gotten along, so it was never really a questi
on.
Then the awkward moment of which room he was going to have took place. The three of us stood in the hallway, eying each other. It was almost like Logan's room was haunted. Tainted. Ruined.
"Rock, paper, scissors?" Ty asked. He smiled sadly at me.
"You take it," Ethan said to me. It was an order.
"What?" I panicked.
"You have to get over it at some point. This is step one." He walked away.
"Is he okay?" Tyson's eyes moved from Ethan to me.
I shrugged. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. He just seems . . ." He laughed once. "Older?"
I rolled my eyes. "He thinks he's my dad now."
"Oh," is all he said. He walked into my room—or my old room, now, and I walked into mine. It should have been ours.
***
"When did you get a car?" Tyson flopped down on the sofa next to me. It only took him an hour or so to unpack his bags and move my things to my new room. Logan had emptied out most of his stuff; he didn't have much.
"A couple of weeks ago."
"It's nice."
"Thanks," I replied, not wanting to go into detail. I feigned interest in whatever was on TV. Baseball. Great.
Ty cleared his throat. "Did he pick it out himself?"
My eyes snapped to his.
"Ethan told me," he stated.
"Geez, gossip much?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know. His friends dropped it off . . ." I trailed off, watching his face for any emotion. I couldn't see any, but he looked tired, more mature. He wasn't the lively Tyson I'd known when we dated. The Tyson I knew was a boy; the one sitting in front of me was all man. He'd gotten bigger, more masculine. He’d been a jock most of high school, but in his junior year, he’d decided to focus on his music. He'd always been good at both, but he was amazing with his guitar.
"What?" he asked.
I must have been staring at him. His deep brown eyes bore into mine. "Nothing."
He laughed quietly. "Were you just checking me out?"
"No!" I yelled, and then laughed. It felt so good to laugh.