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"Are you okay, Daph?" Damon taps my shoulder. "You're off some place." His voice is even, as if it's a casual observation, but I still hear the concern.
That's the problem with a brother in recovery. He knows all the tricks. He knows how much people pretend they're okay and how hard we all try to turn away from our pain.
I have a high-functioning, socially acceptable coping mechanism, but I'm not different, really. I still try not to hurt.
Everyone does.
I appreciate the interest; I do. And I'm glad he's doing well enough he can see I'm struggling and ask.
I just—
I'm going to miss him.
I don't want to tell him I'm leaving.
I'm so glad he's okay, and I'm so worried he won't be. And I miss the times we leaned on each other more, even though that weight was too much for me.
Everything is true, all at once. So, I stick with something true. "Thinking about school."
"It's a big change. It's normal to feel freaked."
"I know. I do. But I don't really want to go there right now, okay?"
He holds my gaze for a moment, deems me okay enough, nods. For a minute, we sit quietly, letting the silence find some space between awkward and comfortable. Then he asks the question he can't deny. "Do you like Jackson?"
"What?" I will my cheeks to stay pale.
"You keep looking at him like you want to do unholy things to him," he says. "He's a good-looking guy. I don't blame you."
"But?" I ask.
"Did I say but?" he asks.
"Is there a but?" I hear a but.
"He's a good guy, too, but a mess, romantically."
Yes, his relationship history is a little suspicious. A breakup that led to better sex and all phone sex, at that. And all the women he dated before that—women I never met and Cassie never mentioned. But still. Is my brother seriously telling me a guy is a mess? He spent years getting drunk every night and fucking randos he totally forgot the next morning."You spend six months in a relationship, and suddenly you're an expert?"
"Fuck. You really like him." He doesn't get even a little mad. No, it's much worse. He laughs at my pain.
"It's not funny!"
"It's pretty funny."
"Maybe to a jerk like you."
He nodsmaybe.
"But yes, in a very unfunny way, I like him," I admit. "Don't spread it around. How can you tell anyway?" Maybe it's that obvious. Maybe the blinking sign in my brain sayingmust have Jackson nowis bright enough that people can see it from a hundred feet away.
"You can't fool an alcoholic. We know denial." He smiles, good-humored about it. A dark humor, yes, but a good one.
It eases the tension in my chest. "I am worried about you. Las Vegas is a lot." Okay, sure, I shouldn't change the subject so fast, but I need to get through this part, if I want to get to the fun stuff. Even if the fun stuff is my own misery.
"It is," he agrees. "But I have people to call."
"And you'll call me if none of them pick up?" I ask. "Do you promise?"
