Granted, watching your youngest wither away to nothing and then being told he would die if he didn’t get help probably changes a mother. I couldn’t blame her for the worry. I just wished I didn’t feel like I was constantly disappointing her by not being fixed yet.
“When?” I kept my voice carefully neutral, my eyes on the bubbling chili.
“I’m home for a stretch.” Avery was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone with the casual ease of someone delivering good news. “I bought her a ticket already.”
Of course he did. Avery, the good son. The one who called every Sunday, who remembered birthdays without calendar reminders, who had somehow turned out stable and successful despite our fractured childhood. And then there was me—Mathéo, the prodigal son. The one who’d driven our parentsapart, nearly killed himself chasing perfection, and was now living off his brother’s charity.
The comparison sat bitter on my tongue.
“That’s great,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “We should take her to Chinatown. She’ll love it.”
“Ooh, there’s a dim sum place Hana’s been wanting to try.” Avery perked up at the mention of food—or maybe at the mention of Hana. “I’ll see what day she’s free. You should invite Sully.”
This time, I did drop the spatula.
Red sauce splattered across the floor like a crime scene, spattering the lower cupboards and the edge of the counter. I swore under my breath and grabbed for the paper towels, crouching down to mop up the mess.
“Why would I invite him?” I asked, keeping my head down, my voice carefully casual.
“I thought you guys were friends.” Avery sounded genuinely confused. “You hang out together even when you’re not watching his dog. He’s a really nice guy. I’m sure Mom would love to meet any friends you’ve made.” He paused. “Maybe one of the skaters you’re training with too? It would put her at ease to know you have people to lean on other than me.”
I was very focused on cleaning up the mess so he couldn’t see my expression. My hands moved mechanically—wipe, fold, wipe again—while my brain spiraled.
My brother really was clueless.
Here I was, sleeping in Derek’s bed most nights, wearing Derek’s clothes, letting Derek take me apart with his hands and his mouth and his ridiculous earnest praise—and Avery thought we werefriends. That Derek was just another name on the list of people keeping Théo Beaubien from falling apart.
Which, technically, wasn’t wrong. Derek was keeping me from falling apart. Just not in the way Avery imagined.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally, tossing the stained paper towels into the trash. “I don’t want to overwhelm Mom with too many new faces.”
“She’s met Hana before.” Avery was already back to scrolling, the conversation forgotten. “Just let me know. I want her to see that you’re doing okay here. That Chicago was a good choice.”
She really had not wanted me to leave Toronto and it was one of the rare times my brother had defied her and sided with me. I should feel more grateful but mostly I felt anxious.
I turned back to the chili with a clean spatula and stirred it with more force than necessary.
I was going to have to tell him eventually. About Derek. About us. Whateveruswas.
But not today. Today, I had enough to worry about with my mother’s impending arrival and the minefield of emotions that would bring.
???
In the end, I consulted with Sabrina—my surrogate therapist, since I wasn’t seeing my actual therapist until next week. It was a long overdue conversation where I had to admit we weren’t just sleeping together but I was actually starting to develop—gulp—feelings for him.
“I knew it,” she crowed through the phone. “I knew it from the moment you mentioned the snowdrop thing. You don’t let people give you cutesy nicknames, Théo. You once threatened to stab a guy for calling you Teddy.”
“That was different. Teddy is a horrible nickname.”
“The point stands. You’re catching feelings.”
I groaned and buried my face in the neckline of my shirt. One of Derek’s—a plain dark tee I’d pilfered from his bedroomfloor. Inconspicuous enough that Avery wouldn’t notice, unlike the Frost hoodies. It smelled like bergamot andhim.
Chicago was supposed to be a clean slate. A fresh start. And here I was: fucking my brother’s mentor, catching feelings I couldn’t afford, and stealing his clothes like a lovesick teenager.
New city, same disastrous decision making.
“This is a disaster,” I muttered.
