Page 158 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Stop freaking yourself out. Even I know the bloody thing by heart by now." A voice comes through the door and I freeze, staring at myself in the mirror. Did I imagine that?

The door flies open without waiting for my reply. My brother's standing there, holding rather than leaning on the cane he uses on bad days. He's looking better by the day, and likes to say the cane's only there for sympathy. The pallor that crosses his face when he pushes too hard tells me otherwise, but it's also why I let him think I believe him.

"You're supposed to be resting." I turn to face him, arms crossed. "I said I'd come get you when I was ready." It's the deal that convinced me to let him get on the plane to Sydney in the first place.

"I got bored." He shuffles further into the room and drops into the armchair by the window, cane propped against the arm. "You have an alarming lack of DVDs."

"I use streaming services. Like everyone else living in our century."

He scrunches up his face, an expression I've seen on my own face countless times. "I much prefer to browse a wall of DVDs than look at pictures on a screen."

"What do you think you'd be looking at once you picked a DVD to watch?"

He opens his mouth, closes it again, clearly buying time. "That's different."

"Yeah, how?"

"Pictures are stagnant. Movies are... moving." He frowns, and then his whole face lights up. "Holy shit. I just realised, the term 'movies' comes from moving pictures, doesn't it? Looks like you're not the only big brain in the fam." He grins and taps the side of his head. "Is this the kind of scintillating debate you're expecting at your presentation?"

"Absolutely." I press a hand to my chest. "I should scrap my whole topic and just go with: 'Why Movies Are Called Moving Pictures. It's all there in the name. The end. I will not be taking any questions.'"

He leans back and laughs, and it eases something in my chest. "You're welcome. I could've saved you seven years of study." Then his smile softens. "Ready, sis?"

I take a breath and nod. "I guess as ready as I'll ever be."

"So. Have you spoken to any of them?" he asks when we're downstairs waiting for the Uber.

I blink at him. "Really?" There's only incredulous sarcasm in my voice. "Now?"

He shrugs. "Sure. Don't you want a distraction?"

"By leading with the one topic I haven't wanted to talk about for weeks?"

"I mean, it'd take your mind off your presentation."

"So would pushing you into traffic."

He takes two very pointed steps away from the road and leans against the wall. "Too messy, you'll be late for your presentation. Also rude. You're triggering my PTSD." He shifts his weight and hisses, sharp, and I stop dead, reaching for his arm, all annoyance forgotten.

"Maybe you should just stay at the apartment," I suggest, voice softening.

"I'm fine." His face transforms from the look of pain to a grin. "Bet you didn't think about your thesis for a solid eighteen seconds there. See how good I am at that?"

I stomp to the road, looking left and right. "Where's one of those really fucking big semi-trailers when you need one?"

He grabs my arm and pulls me back. "Hey. Listen. Seriously, though." His voice drops the bit entirely. "I'm proud of you. And whatever happens from today, you know the only thing I've ever actually wanted was for you to be happy. Right?"

I don't say anything. A million thoughts crossing my mind at once.

A frown spreads across his face when I don't reply. "What — you don't know that?"

My lips tighten over my teeth. "I think that you think that you think that, and hope that I think that you think that too."

He blinks. "Are you having a stroke?"

I ignore the comment. "Look, you can say that's all that matters to you. And I know that you love me. But what you want to feel is not always how it manifests in your behaviour. Do you ever actually think of me as anything except your little sister?"

"You are my little sister."