Page 8 of The Story of You

“Yeah, it was. But don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

I trust the major has him, but I still think about his lifeless body floating in a shallow creek.

“I love you, douchebag,” I say quietly.

He smiles with his eyes still closed. I read the opening part of the book to him. There’s a paragraph I have trouble reading. I can’t read it above a whisper. My cheeks are soaked by the time Julius struts out of the ensuite bath in only a towel. He spies me and Darry on the bed and the state I’m in.

“No. No.Amore.” He tugs the book from my hands and sets it on the nightstand.

“I’m going to have to get through it somehow, Juli,” I complain.

By the look he’s giving me, he doesn’t feel the same way. He sits beside me on the bed. I think Darry fell asleep. Julius wipes my tears away with his thumb. “Read that in chunks, okay? Promise me.”

I nod. “Promise.”

He gazes at Darius. “Do you want to stay here with him? I have to go, bella.”

“Yeah. I want to stay. Um, watch out for Silas. He’s in a bad mood.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry, amore. I plan to sneak out the front door like the coward I am.” He leans forward to give me a kiss and I close my eyes. I get a flash of life with him in the future. Babies. Our family. Fuck, they’ll look so damn cute with his brown eyes. I’ll style their hair like his until they want to grow it long.

“Hurry home. I want my date.”

I wait until he’s long gone and then I pull the book from the nightstand and keep reading.

ChapterThree

~The Fucking Prologue~

Darius

Iknow Elmore Leonard says to avoid prologues, but honestly fuck that guy and the horse he rode in on. Sometimes a story needs a little road map and you, dear brother, need a fucking road map. Silas already wrote his in the third person and I didn’t want to fuck with his telling of his story, so I made Simon tell his version as Silas did—he’s not supposed to break the fourth wall, but I know he did anyway—and I won’t either. Mostly.

When Silas pulled up in that old Monte Carlo, I knew he’d changed. The engine was as loud as the pain on his face. His perfect haircut was gone, in its place a shaggy blond mien. It had only been three years, but he looked like he’d aged twenty. “Get in the car, Darius.Now.”

Things were bad when I left, but how bad had they gotten?

He sat in the driver’s side, not bothering to get out, expecting his will to be done. You were in the backseat. Quiet. When I last saw you, you were only just learning to walk. Now you were a full-grown boy. Your hair was nearly white, and your limbs were spindly, but overall, you looked healthy. Your blue eyes were wide, studying me, but then you’d give a furtive glance to Silas to make sure everything was okay. Gone was your happy, babbly chatter I used to love—even though I complained and pretended to hate it.

Silas stared out the window, his eyes dead. He’d never say it—he’s never said it—but I knew then he needed me more than Simon did. Besides, Simon had Shane. And Asher, well, I’ll get to that later.

I turned to see the aggrieved expression on Simon. Tears streamed down his face, sluicing through the dirt and grime that was always there, leaving tracks. Shane held him back by his wrist and Simon remained frozen, keeping a tight hold on the tension coiled within him and ready to spring free. They’d always had that kind of effect on each other—grounding one another, making the other standstill.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I gotta go.” I fucking hate goodbyes so I didn’t bother to hug him or say anything monumental. Besides, I knew it wasn’t goodbye. “Let me sort this out and we’ll be back for you.”

I’d somehow convince Silas to get them out too, and we’d come back to collect them.

I left with the clothes on my back.

Inside, the car was silent for miles. I’ve never been lost for words, but even I didn’t know what to say. Silas looked wrecked. He looked like he’d been through a meat grinder. He wiped away tears as we drove. It was the last time I ever saw him cry.

I didn’t look much better. I tried to keep myself clean at the Taylors’ house, but it was fucking difficult. They didn’t have much money for clothes, so it was rifling through a bin of hand-me-downs once a month. I was also scratched and bruised. Not from anything particularly awful. Everyday stuff working around the farm—hay bales, bumping into shit—but he didn’t know that yet.

I met your concerned eyes; they were round as quarters. “Hey, kid. You remember me?”

You checked in with Silas, tugging on the strap of your car seat, rubbing your eyes, pointing your bare feet, and flexing, kind of like you always do because your ballerina crap is programmed into your subconscious movements. “Baba?” Your eyes flicked back and forth between me and Silas. You looked ready to cry at a moment’s notice.

It broke Silas from whatever demons gripped him and he transformed for you, his icy blue eyes softening. My big brother was still in there somewhere.