Page 132 of Bobby Green

“People can’t always hold their own burdens,” John said softly. “And they can either ask for help and accept it, or they can throw their burdens on someone else’s back and watch them drown too. Tory did that second thing—so much pain and so many drugs, right?”

“V wouldn’t… wouldn’t take her drugs,” he said, remembering a talk he and Bobby had once about irony. He’d never understood that until now.

“Either way,” John said softly. “It’s taking responsibility for living in the real world. You can try all you want, Reg, but you can’t do that for someone else.”

“He thinks I’m stupid,” Reg whispered.

“He attacked the cop who called you stupid,” John told him.

Reg closed his eyes, his head hurting more. “Nobody told me that.”

“Well, you should know. He was coming in to tell you he’s doing fifteen days in jail—it was almost three years, but I know good lawyers.”

“He’s going to jail?” Reg tried to sit up, but God, his head—it was gonna pop the fuck off his shoulders.

“Two weeks, Reg. So two weeks in jail. You got three more days in the hospital. You may want to use that time to think about what’s important here. From what the social worker toldme, all he was worried about was you not going home with your sister alone.”

“Jail,” Reg moaned, eyes closed. “I told him to fuck off. I screamed at him—oh God.”

John smoothed his hair back from his head, like Bobby did sometimes, like his sister used to. “He’ll understand, Reg. He will.”

“But I’m still so mad!” What kind of person did that make him, that he heard Bobby saying “No, he’s not capable” in his head over and over again. And every time it echoed, he saw Bobby being kind, fixing his kitchen, bringing him books,possessing his body, and he thoughtHe doesn’t see me as a person. I’m like the house. I’m a project. How can he love me when he wants to fix me?

And all the good parts of the last year became a lie.

“He thinks I’m… I’m substandard! I’m not… I’m not enough!” And that was the thing he was maddest at. The lie, the terrible, hope-bringing lie, that Reg could be enough to keep his household in order. Enough to love.

“Oh, baby,” John said, his green eyes narrowed with frustration. “Don’t you see his biggest fear is that he’s failed you?”

“It wasn’t his fault she got the shovel from his truck,” Reg said, because they’d both slept through it. God—they hadn’t even heard the door opening.

“Well, your sister’s pretty smart, Reg.”

“No, she’s not.” Reg’s eyes burned at this too. “She used to be smart about people. Used to care what they thought, what hurt their feelings. She doesn’t know how to do that no more.”

John let out a breath. “Then she’s not as smart as you. What do you think Bobby thought when he saw you bleeding? How do you think he felt when he realized they might send you home with your sister and not him?”

“That she’d kill me,” Reg said dully. She would have. She hadn’t even seen her brother at that point. He’d been as much a stranger to her as she was to him.

“Maybe he’d rather you hate him than have that happen.”

“Yeah.”

Reg had fallen asleep then, and when he’d awakened, Ethan and Jonah had been there instead of John. They’d played Uno with him that night, and after they left, something in his chest and back felt like it unclenched. It wasn’t letting go—he couldn’t yet—but maybe, when his hands didn’t hurt so much from holding on too tight, it was a possibility.

Lance brought him home after his three days in the hospital, and he walked past his Camaro in the driveway and into his house expecting the worst. But the guys had cleaned up—the lamp that V had shattered, the bloody sheets, the prints of cop boots—all of it was gone.

Looked like his house again—the new bathroom, baseboards, window treatment, hall floor, all glaring brightly against the old, crumbling parts, but his.

That’s okay—Bobby’ll fix the—

He put a hand to his aching head and moaned softly.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked, going to the cupboard for a glass. “You need a pain pill?”

“I told Bobby to fuck off,” Reg said. “And now he’s in jail.”

“Yeah.” Lance brought him the pill. “Sort of a low-rent move, Reg.”