Page 138 of Alphas Like Us

I stop abruptly on the pavement. “That was the fucking plan,Charlie.”

He faces me. “That wasyourplan—”

“This is aboutmybrother,” I snap. My fingertips squeeze onto control of this situation because I need it. And want it. Giving Charlie the reins wasn’t on my to-do list for the day. He’s here as backup. Support. I’m takinglead.

My brother is in trouble.It’s all I think.My brother is in trouble.And I have to help him, and Charlie is unpredictable. As much as I love my cousin—and I know you may think I hate him, but I love him too damn much—I can’t see where his head is most of the time, and I havenogoddamn idea what he’ll do in charge. I’m not playing a chess game. I’m dealing withpeople.

Real people and lives—and my brother’slife.

I don’t want either of us to move Xander around a board like a rook on H-6.

Charlie’s golden-brown hair blows in the wind. “I’m not seeing many volunteers here to accompany you on this excursion,” he says. “So we do this myway.”

I shake my head. It can never be easy with us. “This is bigger than the bullshit between you andme.”

Charlie looks annoyed. “You think I’m here for some petty reason, but maybe consider that I’m the only one by your side because I actually understand.” He steals my Ray Bans off my head and slips them on hiseyes.

Those last three words cave my chest.I actuallyunderstand.

“What do you mean?” Iask.

Charlie shifts his crutches beneath his armpits. “Nothing.” He glances at the Cobalt Estate, pink tulip trees lining a driveway that leads up to a regal fountain and ornate mansion. It’s nothing like my childhood house that I just passed, which is stone and brick with a fir tree in the frontyard.

“It’s not nothing,” I say, failing at softening my tone. I’m trying.I’m trying.I know I need to try harder for him. “Charlie, I want tounderstand.”

He’squiet.

“I’m fucking sorry.Please.”

He hooks my Ray Bans on the collar of his button-down, the leg of his slacks cut to make room for his cast. Charlie looks tormented, his features fracturing in emotion that I can’t pickapart.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Charlie…” Somethinghappened.

He pinches his eyes, then he puts his weight back on his crutches. And I remember that any act of “heroism” on my part causes him pain andfrustration.

And it’s plunging a knife into mygut.

I drop my hand, and we don’t continue our trekyet.

Charlie stays still. “I’ve thought about telling you before now…” He struggles to make a decision, staring up at the sky. “My brother needs more than me to care about him, and you’re the logical choice because you’ll care excessivelyto the point ofstupidity.”

I ignore that last insult. “Whichbrother?”

Charlie takes his weight off his crutches again. “My twin brother.”This is serious.“Every night Beckett is on stage, he strives for perfection in ballet. It’s an impossible goal, and he’s worn his body down to the point of pain. A couple years ago, he found afix.”

A lump makes its ascent in mythroat.

“Cocaine,” Charlie says plainly,clearly.

I didn’t know. I doubt many people in our families do. “Charlie,” I breathe, so much tunneling through me. Concern for Beckett, for Charlie, and wanting to console them both, but I don’t know how in this instance. I don’t know what theyneed.

So I wait andlisten.

“He’s a beautiful dancer,” Charlie says, clearing his throat, almost choked. “One of the best in the world, and it won’t take words from me or anyone else to convince him to stop. Not evenyou.”

It slices me open for asecond.

He winces. “And now that you know this, there’s a sick part of me that loves that you’ll be hurting with me.” His chin almost quakes, and he drops his head, dragging his gaze across thecement.