“Night,” I tell her, shutting off the ignition but leaving the keys.
“Come on, man. Don’t do this, tonight.” I jiggle the handle, desperation finally taking over once I cross the fifteen minute mark. I turn in a circle, wondering which of these neighbors would have a key, when the overnight attendant walks out of the elevator, confused. “I’m uh…his brother. If I could just?—”
The man doesn’t flinch, just flashes a key card over the door handle and walks away. When I step into the space, the dull yeast of weeks old beer creeps up my nostrils while the shower loudly sprays in the distance.
So he’s alive.
I grab a trash bag, tossing everything more than half empty in the flimsy plastic before moving to his bedroom. There’s a Will sized dent in the sheets, and a Gen sized one, too. Hot steam pours through the crack beneath the bathroom door, and I bang on it loudly.
“Will. Will, it’s me. Andy.”
Nothing.
“I’m coming in,” I warn him before turning the knob.
And it isn’t so much that Will’s standing there in the shower naked, because I’ve seen every man on the team in various states of undress; it’s that Will’s skin is raw. His face, hisarms, his chest—they’re all as red as the tired veins traversing his bloodshot eyes, as the blood running from his hands down his legs, circling the drain.
I have to turn the water handle completely around, that’s how high he’s turned it up. When the fiery assault to his body stops, he blinks back into himself and sees me for the first time.
“You should go.”
“No fucking way, Will.” I disappear into his bedroom, pulling a fresh pair of sweatpants, shirt and underwear out of a drawer, and throw them on the bathroom counter. When he emerges, I consider at what point I should call someone. If telling someone to leave is grounds for a wellness check, or if the threat needs to be more substantial.
I decide that if he says the words, I won’t hesitate.
But he barely says any words at all. He collapses on my shoulder and cries, and I let him, until he falls asleep, his face twisting with the kind of guilt and self-hatred I only ever see when I’m alone.
18
Andy
November
“Sloane, huh?”
I shoot my attention back over my shoulder and find Ian leaning against a mostly bare maple tree, its red and golden leaves littering the ground. The smirk permanently etched on his face is a distraction, so similar to the one our father wears, and I wonder if he knows he does it. Kind of wonder if I do it, too, when I’m not paying attention to whatever I’ve schooled my expression into.
I turn back around to the coffee counter, nodding a quick thanks to the underclassman manning the chilly campus beverage cart.
“What about her?” I ask, walking away, knowing he’ll follow if his curious gaze is any indication.
“What, no funny dumbed down joke? You’re off your game, Spellman.”
I roll my neck, really not in the mood for whatever he’s trying to get at. He has to know I’d never let him quote me forhis idiotic paper. When I don’t say anything, he clears his throat, increasing his speed so that we’re in lock step, crunching the fall foliage at the same time.
“That’s four times now you’ve been seen with her. Five times, if you count Pub 24.” I cut him a glare, clenching my jaw. “I have eyes everywhere, Andy.”
He’s just like him.
I inhale icy November air, forcing myself to calm down. “And why,” I begin to ask, shakily exhaling, “are you watching me to begin with?”
Something in his carefully crafted facade shudders, his gladiator shield falling as he glances around, tugging me by the arm until we’re in a gazebo. Nervous energy slithers out of him, so at odds with his usual confidence, and I can’t help but remember we’re technically brothers. That maybe he’s coming to me because he’s in trouble and has no one else to turn to. Knocking my head back, I let the possibility wash over me and decide to be a decent human, whatever comes next, even if he doesn’t deserve it.
“Listen—”
“I know he’s watching Sloane,” he says in one barely coherent ramble, and I freeze. “I know he told you to watch her.”
I contemplate lying to him, feigning ignorance, but he’d see through it. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter and he learned from the best.
