Page 164 of Lovers Like Us

I concentrate on Britni. “Want to sit with me for a second?” Iask.

She nods over andover.

So I slowly kneel on one knee and bring her down with me. I let go of her waist, and she sits on the stage, her legs splayed to the side. I rub her back and ask as gently as I can, “Want to tell me what’s botheringyou?”

She sobs into her Superheroes & Sconesshirt.

Likegutturalsobs. Each one tries to dagger my ribcage and lungs. My bones grind to a halt, locked, muscles tensing. My jaw sharpens, browsscrunched.

I’m not as soft as some fans think. I care wholeheartedly about these people, these fans I’ve never met, buttough lovecomes easier for me. And that’s not what sheneeds.

I lick my lips and swallow a pit. I rub her back again. “Britni,everything’s—”

“I’m s-s-s-sorry,” shewhimpers.

“I promise, it’s okay.” I nod to her, but she can’t meet my gaze. “You’re doinggreat.”

“I-I just…I’m having a hard time in school and at home and my life is over. You’re the only thing I need to make itbetter.”

I go numb. Pressure tries to compound, but I fight off the heavy, heavier, and heaviest. I’m aware that I have such a short amount of time with this girl. Anything I say could make or break her, and I never take this responsibilitylightly.

“Life can be hard sometimes,” I say. “My mom and dad taught me that when you’re not sure if you can keep going, you just need to take it one day at a time, one step at a time. Can you do that withme?”

She breathes heavily, and tears leaksilently.

“You’re here, today,” I say, reaching for something in my soul to give to her, but it collapses my chest. “There are good things in this fucking world. It might not seem like it yesterday, maybe not even tomorrow, but itgets—”

“It’ll all end,” she cries and then clutches onto the collar of my crew-neck, grip frantic.Tugging.

Farrow nears, and I side-eye him, silently sayingnot yet.I even hold out a hand so he’ll stay back for a fucking second.Just holdon.

Holdon.

You don’t know that I used to cry myself to sleep at nine-years-old. Hearing bad shit about my family. About myself. Wondering what the fuck was real. I was a happy kid, but there were hours, days, weeks where I used to think every cruel, heartless bastard would break the people Iloved.

I can’t fathom the kind of lows my brother goes through. What this girl may be going through. Where they just want to quit. But I understand what it’s like to wake up and want toscream.

And my parents would tell me, “One day at a time, one step at a time.” Standup.

Keepgoing.

Moveforward.

“Britni,” I start, but she twists the collar of myshirt.

I’m on both knees, holding her elbows andtryingto get her to look at me. Her eyes are everywhere but on myface.

“You have to give me a chance,” she sobs. “One date. Anything. You’ll see.” Her voice cracks. “You’ll see I could be such a good girlfriend, and we’ll be in love and everything will be perfect for once andhappy.”

Christ…I didn’t think it was leading there. I grapple and claw for the right response. My joints rust, neck stiff. “I do want you to behappy—”

She chokes on her tears. “My parents got divorced. Everyone at school hates me…” She yanks at my collar. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. Hugging a fragile humanbeing.

I’m not sure I can provide the right comfort. The right fucking words or the perfect strength. All I want is for her to be unequivocally, irrevocably happy, but I can’t even give that to my ownbrother.

How do I fix this? How can I fucking fixthis?

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice more stilted. “Justbreathe.”