“No, no, it’s fine. Good to know you pretty much think I’m a lying asshole.”
“That’s not—”
But the door leading into the screened-in porch flies open, banging against the stair railing. My brother storms out, Alex on his heels. Owen freezes when he sees me. There’s a flash of sadness in his eyes. Regret. But then something hard glosses over his face, and his jaw tightens.
“Fucking figures,” he mutters, then brushes past me at the bottom of the stairs, nearly knocking me over. I grip the banister, shocked as I watch my brother and his best friend of more than ten years fall apart.
Alex squeezes my arm, but it’s a flash of comfort, because then he’s running through the grass after Owen. He catches up with him at our car, pulling Owen’s shoulder around.
“Get the hell off!” Owen yells. His tone feels like knives in my stomach because it’s not just anger in his voice. It’s fear and sadness and panic and loneliness. Maybe it’s a twin thing, but I can almost taste his emotions, a bitterness on the back of my tongue. I sure as hell feel them.
“Don’t do this, man,” Alex says. “Just talk to me. Tell me the truth—?that’s all I’m asking. All I ever asked.”
My fingers dig into the white paint of the handrail, a little sliver cutting under one of my nails.
Because they’re not talking about me anymore.
Owen glares at him, his chest heaving up and down. “You don’t want the truth. You just want to pretend like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t totally crap out on me when shit got hard.”
His glance moves to me. There’s a sheen to his eyes that makes me move away from the stairs and closer to him. The stars are out and I want to put my brother into our car, drive him home and sit next to him on the roof, spinning tales.
Spinning lies.
I stop in my tracks and he visibly flinches. He locks his jaw into place, but I see it trembling and I feel paralyzed. Unmoored and floating through space.
Then he gets in the car, engine rumbling and tires squealing as he backs out of the driveway. Alex stumbles back and shoves both hands through his hair, watching Owen leave.
He stands there for a few seconds, hands still on his head, staring at the street. Finally he turns, wordless, and takes my hand. He leads me up the stairs and into his house. We step into a big open space, the foyer leading into the kitchen leading into the living room. His parents are cooking and the whole house is filled with savory smells and bubbling sounds, but when they see us, they freeze, concern etched all over their faces.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Alex calls. I barely have a chance to wave before he’s pulling me up another set of stairs and into his bedroom.
“Sorry,” he breathes as he releases me and sits on the bed. He drops his head into his hands. “I need a minute. I just . . .”
His shoulders shake and he makes a wrecked sort of noise. I stare at him, totally transfixed as everything I feel pours out of him. I’ve known him my whole life and barely know him. He’s falling apart right in front of me and I can’t help but feel a wash of relief, because now I’m not so alone while all these pieces of myself fall away one by one.
I walk over to him, barely making it before I sink to my knees. I don’t care about this uncrossable gap between us, I don’t care who I love and who I need. I don’t care. All I care about right now is making all of this go away. Everything I just told Charlie. Everything that just happened between Alex and Owen. All the days, all the minutes, all the seconds, wondering why and how and what now.
I need it all gone.
And Alex needs it gone too.
I press close to him, his legs on either side of my hips, and run my hands up his arms to his shoulders. He’s still trembling, and a tear slips down his nose and darkens a spot on his jeans. I glide my hands up to his neck, then cup his face before slipping my fingers into his hair. I can’t stop touching him, mingling his loss with mine.
His breathing calms and he lifts his head, red and tired eyes searching my face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing ever comes out. Instead, he grips my hips and pulls me closer.
Our foreheads press together. I feel the tears on his face and it feels so good that I move my mouth to his. He opens to me, desperation and hunger colliding. My thoughts go hazy, dreamlike, and the feeling is a drug, morphine to a broken heart. I flick open the first few buttons on his shirt, sliding my hands across his skin. He shivers, his hold on me tightening. I push myself to my feet, but only so I can crawl onto his lap, my knees closing around his hips.
I’m shaking and I can’t tell if it’s the good kind or not. Everything is skin and adrenaline. Sounds and spit and teeth, the gentle scrape of fingernails as our shirts hit the floor. Alex’s lips are on my neck, my collarbone, everywhere. My hands pull at his hair and he rolls us onto the bed so he’s above me. His fingers fumble with my bra clasp and I reach behind me to help him.
“This is okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The word explodes through me, empowering and sexy, and I can’t get my bra off fast enough. His parents are downstairs but I don’t care. My heart is dissolving in my chest, but the rest of me is alive, finally. The rest of me needs, wants.
Then his hips roll into mine and my vision goes dark. I feel him through his jeans and I can’t breathe, the hard jolt through my center too much, too foreign and familiar all at once.
Hannah. Lying cold and shocked on a trail bench.
