Page 27 of Loverboy

“It’s not that bad.” I shrugged.

He threaded his fingers through his loose curls.

“If she didn’t text back right away, I thought she didn’t love me.”

“Sounds like you,” I said, biting back a grin as I thought about all the times I’d left him on read to provoke him.

“You don’t get it.” He half-stood, palms slapping the table. “I don’t know where I end and my partner begins, you know? I want—”

“So you’re committed?” I cut in, sipping my coffee noisily.

He groaned and sank back into the booth.

“You’re such a freak.”

“Coming from the guy into actual freaky shit.”

That earned laughter, bright and unguarded. His freckled cheeks bloomed pink, and my hands itched to reach out and wipe the flushed skin, to feel the heat under my fingers. Only sheer willpower kept my body locked in place.

“I mean it,” I said, my tone sobering. “Accept that you’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?” He held out his pinky.

“Promise.” I hooked mine with his and squeezed.

12

Jasper

I STARED BEGRUDGINGLY at the IV drip connected to my train wreck of an older brother, elbow resting on the arm of the visitor’s chair, my knuckles pressed against my cheek. I’d lost my shit earlier on the nurse when she blew a vein on the first attempt, leaving his already sickly skin with even more marks. A fresh bruise had spread around the failed insertion site, adding to his growing collection of tiny puncture wounds from emergency room visits.

This morning, he hadn’t been doing well. I’d known something was wrong when he started stumbling around, dizzy, slurring his speech, and complaining about feeling queasy. Then he fainted right there in the kitchen and scared the living shit out of me.

Who would have thought that barely sleeping, eating, or drinking anything other than alcohol would catch up to you after downing an entire bottle of pills and vomiting for twenty-four hours straight?

Stupid, reckless, stubborn brat.

I clenched my fists, internally reciting the earful I was going to give him as soon as he was conscious.

I’d done everything I could, just short of force-feeding him. I thought I was doing the right thing by taking him out for coffee and getting him to eat something small, even if it was just a donut. But it wasn’t enough; I should’ve done more, and maybe then he wouldn’t have collapsed.

I was royally fucking this up.

The most important person in my life was falling apart, slipping through my fingers, and I couldn’t stop it. I’d do anything to keep him alive, no matter how heinous, so why did it feel like nothing was working?

He begged me to be here. I hadn’t bothered telling him that I was already desperate to get out of the house before he’d asked me to stay. Things between Mom and Dad were becoming unbearable. My only reprieve was Dad’s out-of-town work schedule, long stretches where I didn’t have to watch their marriage rot in real time. Moving out wasn’t just about keeping Milo safe. It was about escaping.

We both needed this to work.

I glanced toward the curtain that separated us from the hallway, hoping the footsteps I heard would stop here so we could get answers and go home.

“So,” the nurse drawled, poking her head around the curtain. She stepped inside, inspecting the IV pole and then my sleeping brother, her lips tightening as she looked over her own shabby needlework. “Good news: you won’t have to stay long.”

“It’s nothing serious, right?” I asked, impatience creeping into my voice.

“He’s extremely dehydrated,” she explained. “From what you described, it’s likely related to all of the vomiting and not keeping up with fluid intake after his initial release. We’ll get fluids into him, and you’ll be good to go in a few hours.”

I ran both hands through my hair. I should have been stricter. I kept trying to walk the tightrope between comforting him and being the hard-ass he needed. Too little, and he spiralled. Too much, and he shut me out.