“No need to be sorry,” I say quickly. “He’s struggled a lot with what we went through. Nash and I help as much as we can. He’s doing well now. Holding a job and paying his bills, but that, uh… well, it never lasts long. And for some reason, talking to us kind of triggers him, so we don’t talk much. Which sucks.”
It sucks a lot because he’s my brother, and I wish we could just be fucking normal.
Miles nods, complete understanding on his face. There isn’t a single inkling of judgment there.
“Addiction is tough. I saw a few of my friends from high school go through it. I can’t imagine it being my family member.”
“Nash and I mostly know how to deal with it. We know Hollis’s behaviors, and can tell when he’s using again, though he doesn’t usually try to hide it. But it doesn’t stop us from worrying about him all the time. When is it going to be too much, you know?”
Miles wraps his arm around my waist and snuggles closer.
“Nash and I see a lot of this because of what we do, and every time I see it, all I can think of is Hollis and it fucking sucks.” I pause a moment, then add. “Nash probably does too, but he’s more closed off than I am, if you can believe that.”
“That is hard to believe,” he says in a gentle, slightly playful tone.
The emotion in my throat is too much to speak past, so I stay quiet. Silence falls between us, and we focus on the TV, though I don’t think either one of us is actually watching it.
It’s comforting to have Miles’ silent support. The only other person I get any sort of support from is Nash, and that’s more of a tough love situation. He likes to call me out on my shit, shove it in my face until I see it and figure it out on my own. Usually it works. It has for just about everything other than Franklin. Nash isn’t only that way with me; it’s just who he is. So, when he says he’s never getting married, I believe him. He’s not the affectionate type, not in the way someone would need to be to sustain a healthy marriage.
Though, you have idiots like me who stay anyway, so maybe there is some hope for Nash.
Not that I’m comparing Franklin to my brother, because Nash would never treat someone the way Franklin treats me… I know Nash wouldn’t do that because he’s not that much of an asshole.
The oven beeps, so I untangle myself from Miles and go to the kitchen to pull out the brownies. They’re done, so I put the pan on the counter and turn off the oven. I wash the few dishes I left in the sink from preparing the batter and grab two plates for the brownies. They’re always better when they’re warm and fresh out of the oven, so I won’t let them sit and cool, even if I’m supposed to.
I don’t hear Miles walk into the room, but I hear his voice when he speaks. His low, emotionless voice that startles me because it sounds almost ghostly.
“Who’s Franklin?”
I whirl around, anger rising up through my chest. Miles is standing there, his arms at his sides, and my phone in one of his hands.
“What?” I snap.
“Someone named Franklin is blowing up your phone.” He offers it out. “Who is he?”
His tone tells me something is off. It’s cautious. What did he see? What did Franklin say that Miles caught a glimpse of? It’s the perfect time to come clean, to tell Miles everything. The longer we go on, the worse it’ll be. Miles asked. I should tell him.
But I don’t come clean, because why would I? That’s just not who I am.
I snatch my phone from his hand. “Why are you going through my phone?”
Miles frowns, flinching back. “I didn’t go through your phone.”
“You obviously did if you know who’s calling me.”
He blinks a few times, pain written all over his face. Guilt sinks into my chest, making it hard to breathe, but it doesn’t change anything.
“It was on the coffee table. It was vibrating so much it fell to the floor. I picked it up and—”
“You shouldn’t have touched it.” The phone starts vibrating again and we both look at it. I end the call and when I look back at Miles, there’s understanding on his face.
“I’m going to go,” he says carefully, and something deep within me knows this isn’t like last time.
There isn’t going to be another chance if he walks out that door. I could still fix this. There’s time. I could apologize. Explain. Tell him the truth.
But… I don’t.
“Good idea,” I spit out.
