His phone buzzed across the tile floor and though I couldn’t see the screen, his answering glower told me everything I needed to know. He declined the call though another came through almost instantly. He growled like he was prepared to gnaw on that phone.
“Just take it,” I said. “I don’t care.”
He held up his phone to show me an old photo of Lance passed out in a ball pit on the contact screen. “Oh,” I said. “Might as well answer. He’ll just keep calling.”
“He will.” Beck offered the screen another resigned glare before accepting the call. He tapped the speakerphone icon. “Hey, Lance.”
“Would you care to explain to me what the fuck is going on there? Because I just got off the phone with my parents—who reamed me out for not telling them thatyouandmy sisteraretogether. And she was in a car accident today? For real, Beck, what the fuck have you done?”
Beck scowled at the phone and I could almost see him formulating a response that would balance us and everythingwehad together against his best friend and all the thingstheyhad together. And I realized I didn’t want him to balance anything. There was no reason for him to be stuck in the middle.
“Slow yourself down, Lance,” I said.
“Sunny? What is going on? Are you all right?” he cried. “Mom said you broke your arm?”
“Yeah, but I have another,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?”
“I was hit by a car,” I said.
Beck rubbed his temples.
“What? Why?”
“I don't know,” I said. “The guy didn't stop to explain his thought process. But, look, you can't call Beck and go off like this. You're not allowed to do that.”
“Sunny, I am just trying to figure out what the hell is going on there,” he said. “Can someone explain to me why Beck was with you at the hospital? And why you’re with him now?”
“I don’t actually think you need an explanation,” I said. “You want an explanation but that doesn’t mean you’re entitled to one.”
“Sure, I get that, but you’re my sister,” he said. “And he’s—he’s—”
“Go ahead,” Beck drawled. “Finish that sentence.”
“You’re almost a decade older than her,” he snapped. “And you damn well know it.”
“Just like you know you’re leaning into some extra patriarchal bullshit right now,” I said. “You can fuck right off with that, by the way.”
My brother was a horrible poker player. He bet too high, went in too fast, and his cards were as good as written all over his face. All of which was to say I wasn’t surprised when he declared, “I deserve to know what’s going on and when it started, Sunny, and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Hey,” Beck snapped. “Do not speak to her like that.”
I held up my hand to settle him, saying, “I get that you were blindsided by this just as I was blindsided by a car today.” I didn’t shoot for sympathy points often, but when I did, I scored. “But that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to stomp around and make demands.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it. “Mom just dumped all of this on me and she was so mad that I hadn’t told her and—”
“Yeah. I know,” I said, exhaustion sliding over me. “So, Beck and I are together. I’m going to need you to cope with that.”
Everyone was silent for a moment before Beck said, “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well, you fucking didn’t,” my brother replied.
“No, I didn’t,” Beck said. “Probably because I knew you’d be a complete dickhead about it.”
“I’m not the one being the dickhead,” he snapped. “You’re the one who did this to me.”
“No one did anything to you, you big baby,” I said. “Go sit in a corner and be mad about it. Goodbye.”
