Page 14 of Wherever You Are

“We’re friends?” I ask incredulously. A part of me still thinks the invite here was out of pity, and because I’m just Willow’s boyfriend.

“Jesus Christ, do I need to make friendship bracelets for you to believe it?”

“Fuck you,” I snap. Hesitantly, I dip the chip into salsa.

“Don’t be pissy because I’m prettier. It’s just a fact you’re going to have to get used to.”

I swallow the chip and the lump that’s wedged in my throat. “I thought the tall one was supposed to be the prettiest.” If Connor knew I called himthe tall one, I don’t think he’d love it. Too generic for the mighty god. That’s why I like doing it though.

Lo starts to smile. “Shh, we don’t like to tell him the truth. It ruins his allure.”

I nod, my shoulders sinking forward. Into myself.Disappear.

Lo sweeps me in this causal way. “So what are your brothers like? You have three, right?”

Easy enough question.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Mitchell, Hunter, and Davis. We’re all two years apart from one another.”

Me:twenty-one.

Them:twenty-three, twenty-five, and twenty-seven.

A long, tense pause strains the air, and I stare at the small scar on the inside of my pointer-finger. When I was nine, Hunter made me fish in the garbage for aSports Illustratedmagazine I threw away. He was pissed because he never got a chance to read it.

I sliced my finger open on a tuna can.

“Which one’s the worst?” Lo asks.

It drives deep into me.

Which one’s the worst.His voice is strict and sharp, sounding protective before he even knows the real issue. But he must sense the problem is with my brothers. I’m sure I mentioned them briefly before, and I couldn’t have said nice things.

I look Lo up and down. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Am I right?” He motions to my ribs. “Did one of your shitty fucking brothers do that?”

My nose flares. My throat swells. I try to swallow again. I barely can. No one but Willow has ever confronted me outright. And it’s like submerging my whole body into ice water. I don’t know how to breathe with this type of pain. I wantout. Out. I glance left and right, searching for some sort of escape.

It’s not a physical place I want to be.

Take it away. Take this fucking pain away.

My mouth dries more. “They’re just messing around.” My voice is barely a whisper. But I think he hears because his jaw clenches.

Anger flares in his amber eyes.

I don’t know why I defend my brothers or regurgitate my mom and dad’s words. It feels easier to agree with my parents than to say what I know is true.

Silence stretches for an uncomfortable beat and then Lo says, “Can I see it again?”

I glance to the living room.

Everyone sits on couches, most aren’t facing the kitchen, and their attention cements to the little kids. Not aware of our conversation or they’re purposefully giving us privacy.

I rotate back to Lo, and I realize he’s being really patient.

Patienceisn’t a quality I’d shelve under his name. That gets me for a second. So I take a breath and grip the bottom of my hoodie.