Page 106 of Whatever It Takes

I almost slip on the fucking icy steps, and he’sstillcrushing my windpipe. So by the time Hunter lets go and pushes me into the two-inches of snow with only my thin hoodie—I’m livid.

I land on my knees and hand. Body shaking, anger barely warming me in the chill. Picking myself up, my chest rises and falls heavily and my breath smokes the air.

“Come on,” Hunter says like I’m a three-year-old kid crying over spilled milk.

I’m not crying.

“Fuck you,” I sneer.

Davis tosses a football in the air. “He’s just playing around, Garrison. Lighten up. It’s the holiday.”

I swallow hard.Cool.“I’m grabbing my coat—”

Hunter blocks me, his chest puffed out against mine. “What do you call this?” He fists my hoodie.

I slap his hand off me. “Don’t touch me.” My heartbeat hammers my ribcage.

He laughs. “Come on.” When he sees I’m serious, he shakes his head. “Don’t be such a pussy. You don’t need a fucking coat.” He spreads his arms out to illustrate that it’s not cold, and how he’s also without a winter jacket.

My speeding pulse is now in my throat. I tear my eyes off him, and I lift my gaze to Mitchell, who zips up his teal Columbia jacket—he looks away from me.

Not doing a fucking thing, per usual. It’s hard to blame him, but it’s easy to hate him.

Davis pats my back.

I tense more. We’re adults, and I still can’t figure out a good exit strategy from “bro time” with my brothers.

“Boundaries are the edge of the property.” Davis points the football between all of us, his younger brothers. “Two-on-two. Mitch and Hunter versus Garrison and me. Tackling is fair game. You okay with that Garrison?”

Hunter smirks. “Or are you going to pussy out like you always do?”

I stare at my brothers. Davis. Hunter. Mitchell. All in their mid-to-late twenties now. And I’m not seventeen anymore.

I’m not a kid.

But they’re still bigger and taller than me. Still treating me like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Something to pull to achieve whatever the fuck they’re after.

I rub my frozen hands. “No tackling.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, he asked.” I point at Davis. “I’m telling younofucking tackling.”

Davis gestures to me with the football. “How about light tackling?”

Really.“How about none?”

“Learn to compromise, man,” Davis tells me like he’s the wise older brother here. “It’ll solve a lot of problems for you in life.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Light tackling is fair game.”

Hunter jumps up and down and cracks his knuckles.

Bile rises in my esophagus. Being here. Outside. Alone with them. Why did I put myself in this situation?

It’s on me.

They’re my family.

It’s still on me.