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“You’re the asshole who chose Shafer. Should have picked a college that actually lets their athletes get paid.” He looks at the table. “That’s what I would have done.”

I let my own gaze drift toward the floor. “Yeah. Lot of things we could have done different.”

“We? I don’t know, man. I can count my mistakes on one hand. Not sure about you.”

Outside, an obnoxiously loud motorcycle roars down the street. I reach for something to say to pull us out of what we just stepped into, but there’s nothing to cut through the tension.

Ant finally pushes his chair back. “I should get going.”

“Hold on.”

“What?”

“What the fuck, Ant?” He turns to go, but I stand up, right behind him. “You’re going to say that and just leave?”

“What did I say?”

“You’re a passive-aggressive dick, man.”

“How?”

“Why don’t you just say you blame me for the way your life turned out? I’m sick of things being like this between us.”

“Hey, man, you got the life you wanted, so learn to take the bad with the good. It can’t all be perfect.”

I point to my shoulder. “No shit.”

He levels me with a cold gaze. “I’d take a busted shoulder in a heartbeat.” Then he looks past me.

“Say it, Ant. You think it’s my fault I have the life you wanted.” Here we are. I’ve finally put it out there. But Anthony doesn’t even react. He’s staring intently, his focus somewhere beyond me. I turn around and follow his gaze to the wall where a framed photo of me and him hangs above my mom’s whiteboard. We’re little kids in the photo, dressed for Christmas Eve dinner in matching deep-green sweaters knitted by our grandma. We could pass for brothers. I look back at my cousin, who’s finally focused on me.

“You really can’t stand that there’s one person in this world who doesn’t completely worship you. Is that it?”

“You used to.”

“When I was a kid.”

“And now?”

“Okay. Yeah.” He steps up and I’m reminded he’s got a solid inch on my height. “I do blame you. We were on the same track, and you kept going up and I fucking fell down. And I blame you.” He shrugs. “Sorry, Lorenzo, can’t have it all.” He gives me a final look and turns to walk out.

“I never said you shouldn’t. All I said was I’m sorry, over and over. What do you want me to do?”

He stops, his shoulders hunched. “I want you to stop worrying about it,” he says, half turning back to me. “You thinkyou’re alone? Guess what? I blame my parents too. And I blame the friends I partied with in high school, and I blame the girl I was dating, and I blame the other driver. So don’t worry about it, man, it’s what I do. You’re off the fucking hook.”

The door slams behind him. I don’t want him to leave, but I’m all out of things to say to keep him around. From outside comes the sound of his car engine cranking but not starting, silence, then the engine finally springing to life. My heart feels like it’s beating through mud. I knew he blamed me. I wanted to hear him admit it and he did. I got what I asked for. So why does it feel like he just punched me in the fucking gut?

THIRTY

lorenzo

I textRuby from the road.

Lorenzo: I’ll be back on campus in an hour. Are you home?

Ruby: Yep. How was Lakeside?

Lorenzo: Stay there. I’m coming to you.