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“You sound like Oz.”

“Don’t be so hard on him. He’s still nursing a broken heart.”

“And I’m not?”

“I don’t know, Dial—when it comes to Oz, you just have one setting: pissed.”

I glanced out the storefront window as people occasionally passed by in a rush to God knows where. Just because I wasn’t weeping and wailing, it didn’t mean I wasn’t hurting. I’d given Ozzie all of me. My love was unconditional and without fear, and in the end, I’d learned that was a mistake. Witnessing him going about his life every fucking day was a form of torture. So, when he did things like threatening my dates or punching a random guy for staring too long when I walked away, it felt like I had power. Power to control his emotions and ruin his day like he’d ruined my life. I knew it was sick and twisted, but that was how I felt.

“Why does everyone think I’m always okay?” I said.

“Because, after that shit following Maple’s birth, you’ve worked really hard to pretend you are.”

I squeezed the stress ball so tight I thought my nails were gonna puncture the rubber membrane. “Yeah, well, a 5150 seventy-two-hour hold will do that.”

Cyrus’s features darkened. “We were all just trying to do what we thought was best for you.”

“Locking me up in a psych ward was not best for me.”

“Ozzie was just scared—”

“Stop!” His words felt like splinters pulling free from somewhere deep in my chest, each syllable dragging old scar tissue with it as I forced myself to hold his gaze. I kept my hands folded in my lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling, the practiced stillness of someone who had learned long ago that falling apart in front of others only made things worse. A strange, hollow numbness crept around the edges of my grief, but it didn’t provide relief, just the exhausted quiet of a wound that had been opened one too many times. I didn’t want to talk about the fucking past. Ghosts were chasing me, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t outrun them.

Cyrus knew it was best to stop bringing up the lowest point in my life. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Ozzie was the silent investor. You’re right, I should have.”

“I’m not sorry I punched you.” We shared a laugh, which kept my tears at bay.

“Are we good?”

I nodded.

Cyrus looked at his watch. “Do you wanna have dinner with me?”

Beaming, I replied, “I’d like that.” For as much grief as I gave my brother, I did love him—even though he was a pretentious know-it-all who cosplayed as a Yankee. As mayor, he was always reminding us that his calendar was filled with important meetings, so for him to offer up his time was his sincerest form of apology. And I’d take it.

6

Ozzie

Melodic singing was wafting from the main room. Except for the weeks I had Maple, I lived alone. So, at this time of the morning there shouldn’t be anyone in my living quarters performing a concert.

I reluctantly rolled out of bed and found my baby sister in the kitchen pouring a mug of coffee.

“How did you get in here?” My voice was extra gruff from sleep.

“I have a key.”

“This is a clear abuse of the terms and conditions of use.”

“Nope, I’m your key holder and emergency contact, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Actually, Dial is my emergency contact.”

“Dial, would tell the doctors to pull the plug?”

I let out a hearty laugh, which reminded me I’d had way too much to drink last night. My head was pounding and my tongue felt fuzzy. After Dial broke up with me for the fifty-eleventh time, I’d headed home to drown my sorrows in bourbon, a couple bottles of beer, and a half-empty bottle of wine that tasted off. Normally I took Dial’s attempts to cut me out of her life on the chin, but yesterday had felt different. Yesterday, I actually believed her. “You’re probably right.”

“You look like crap.”