He runs his open palm over his buzzed hair. He never used to cut it so short, but it seems to be a permanent fixture now.
“You better not be lying to me,” he says, his tone firm. He sounds just like our father,again.
“I’m not.”I am, but you’ll never know.
Spinning around, I step onto the curb at the edge of the parking lot. It sits just outside my apartment block, and I amble toward the sprawled-out gray rendered building. Hearing no shuffling behind me, I turn to find Keats with his head still in my trunk. I drop to my ankles, my knees cracking, the skin around them pulling. Breathing through the searing pain, I snatch up a loose white pebble from the outdoor garden bed and throw it at him. It bounces off his arm, and Keaton whips his head to theside, the corner of his mouth flicking up. I try my best not to wince from the stupid fucking movement.
I’m an idiot.
“Well, are you going to help me?” I smile, even though smiling is the last thing I want to do. I brush my trembling palms through the top of my hair and pull the long strands into a messy ponytail at the top of my head. “Or are you too good for a little manual labor?” Placing my hands on my hips, my grin widens.
His arms are beside him as he moves for me and wraps me up into a headlock. He guides us toward the glass entry door, and I have to use every ounce of strength not to whimper, to cry from the pain that prickles through my entire body as he clutches me to his chest.
“Little shit,” he states, his voice gruff but with the same hint of playfulness I’ve always known. “You taking on LA?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “But can you keep it between us?” I hit his arm three times, tapping out.
He drops his muscled limb from around my shoulders, and we move through the front entry of my apartment. When I shove my wheeled suitcase toward him, he stops it with his foot. The open room is quiet,static.
“Yeah, but you wanna tell me why I’m keeping it quiet, B, and who the fuck I need to kill?” he asks, words increasingly biting.
My heart crawls right into my esophagus, slowly beating harder among the walls. I can feel it laughing at me.
You have no idea, Keats, and you will never know.
Clearing my throat, I disregard his concern. “You always jump to the worst conclusions. It’s sad, really. You’re so angry all the time.”
Keaton starts to laugh, but it’s hesitant. “Whatever.” He ambles over to the bench and snatches up the black duffel bag sitting on the countertop, throwing it over his shoulder. When he turns around, he pauses, looking directly at me, and I doeverything to mask the torture playing on a reel behind my eyes. All I want is to cry in my brother's arms, to feel safe again.
“I understand what it’s like to want to disappear, sis.”
I snort a derisive sound. “Yeah, you do it all the–”
He cuts me off. “Shut the fuck up for a second, B, and just listen to me.”
I jerk my chin up at him, my heart pounding a little harder. And even though he just snapped at me, I find myself clinging to what he has to say. “Well, go on,” I rasp.
He shakes his head, the tattoos on his neck dancing with the movement. “Just touch base with me, okay. Let me know what you’re up to. Tell me about your achievements, and let me know where you are so I can come see you.”
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He swiftly pulls me in for a hug, then pushes a kiss to the top of my head.
“Go and makeherproud.”
My head is at Keats’ chest, I can hear his heart punching against his ribs, and I squeeze him tighter when a tear rolls out of my eye and soaks into his black t-shirt.
“I will,” I whisper.
Keaton’s mouth pushes against the top of my head again and, before I can blink, the moment is over, and I’m closing my apartment door behind us.
My car is packed with the bare minimum. I left mostly everything in the apartment, apart from my clothes, beauty products, and dance shoes.
The chilly air casts a breeze through my open car window as I call out to Keaton, who is standing at the curb. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his black jeans as he moves toward the open window and rests his palms on the roof of my car.
“I almost forgot, I lost my old phone,” I start to say, feeling my eyeballs shake with the lie. Snatching up the new one Ibought not even an hour ago, I hand it to him. “Save your number.”
“Fuck, that could have been bad.” He grabs it and punches in his digits before calling himself to save mine in his. Passing it back to me, I return it to my center console and flick my eyes upward.
“You mind running past the dance studio and throwing up a black tarp or something in the windows?”
