Page 56 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

“Maybe? I’m not a doctor, but it’s bigger than what you’re thinking of.

It’s like the battery that Jansen runs on gets electrocuted.

He revs up. He’s up all night, he can’t concentrate except on whatever thing has thrown him, he forgets to eat, to exercise.

And then, after weeks or months, he slides off the edge, and it’s like the battery has been obliterated.

Only, he still can’t sleep. He can’t exercise, because he can hardly move.

And he can’t concentrate on anything, because it’s like the juice in his brain just dried up. ”

Emma looks shocked. “Jansen? Sunshine and rainbows Jansen?”

The door to the kitchen flies open, Evie coming through. “Where is he?”

“I told you, he’s sleeping. And we both know it’s what’s best for him.”

“But where—”

“Clara’s room. Leave him, Evie.”

She looks around the kitchen, as if there’s somebody there she could fight to make her brother better. Some boogeyman to vanquish.

But the problem is in his brain. And as this has only happened once before, none of us could convince him to go see someone about it.

Now, though? He’s been riding the edge of breakdown for months. And this was a shattering blow. He’s going to need more than the assumption that he’s fine.

I open Evie’s beer and slide it across the counter to her, and she takes it, her face grim.

I’m about to offer them leftover mandu when RJ pushes into the kitchen, going straight to the fridge and pulling out a Mountain Dew.

He turns around, seemingly shocked by Emma and Evie standing there holding beers.

“You, I need to get you off my list,” he says, motioning with the bottle in his hand at Evie.

Her confusion is palpable, but he walks to the door to the hallway, not addressing it. “Where’s Jansen? He’s supposed to be doing this.”

“He’s sleeping. Let him.”

“Then come,” he says, pushing through.

Evie and Emma stare at me, and I pick up my bottle, hoisting it like the world’s stupidest toast. “He’s been trying to fix something for you, Evie.

I’m pretty sure he’s been up all night, so he’s going to be a little.

..curt.” I take a swallow and lead the girls upstairs to RJ’s cave, the air already stale.

Then I grab chairs from my room and Jansen’s room.

And after a pause, I go into Trips’ room and grab his desk chair, too, the violation skittering along my skin as I tiptoe in and out.

Trips is protective of his spaces. And I don’t have permission. But he’s not here, and he won’t be for a while, so I swallow down the discomfort and bring the last chair into RJ’s room, taking it for myself as RJ mutters to Evie.

Emma rolls back beside me. “How are you guys holding up?” she whispers, barely audible over the steady hum of RJ’s music.

“How do you think?”

Her face drops. “Clara said it could be months.”

I nod, not wanting to think about it.

“That sucks.”

“Yup.”

We watch Evie and RJ work, our beers eventually emptying.

And when Evie turns back to Emma, there are unshed tears in her eyes.

“He found the guy, my stalker, Emma. Goddamn Richie. You remember me telling you about him? How he was always everywhere I was in high school, but never actually spoke to me? About how weird he was? It, it’s been him, this whole time. ”

Emma bounds across the room, pulling Evie into her arms. “That’s good, right? We can bring this to the police?”

Evie nods against her chest. “Yeah. RJ says I should say I hired a private investigator.”

And then she crumples, years of terror that have weighed her down, restrictions that were keeping her from having the life on stage she’d dreamed for herself, everything changing in an instant for her.

RJ watches for a moment, but then is back at it, his next project up on his screens. This moment isn’t the one he’s working towards. It was just something hanging over him he needed off his to-do list.

It’s weird that important moments in one person’s life can just be a normal day for someone else.

Yesterday was a day that broke the hearts of everyone who lives in this house.

But to everybody else? It was a muggy August Thursday.

Maybe it was a good day. Maybe it was a bad day.

But while my world imploded, the rest of the world kept spinning.

And it makes me so damn angry.

Emma and Evie decide they’re going out for brunch, promising to come back later to check on Jansen, and I show them to the door. Once it shuts behind me, the silence echoes. I go to my room, set up a canvas, and without hesitation, I paint my anger.

Swaths of thick oil, of emotions, not fussy details. Bold and vicious and nothing like my usual technique, the piece comes out of me in silence, no music, no delicate hum between songs marking progress like usual. Nothing tricky. Nothing pointing at someone else’s style.

Only me, my damn bitter heart splattered across the canvas, available for anyone to see.

When it feels done, my anger stays.

It turns out my tears are just as bitter as my heart.