Page 45 of Loverboy

I took a drag and scrolled through my phone until a text popped up at the top from Oliver letting me know he was on his way. Finally, I was going to have company that wasn’t monitoring my vitals or keeping count of how many cigarettes I smoked.

Jasper had stocked the fridge with electrolyte drinks and meal replacements after my third hospital run, taking his role as nurse and simultaneous pain in my ass all too seriously. Physically, I was beginning to stabilize. Mentally? No sign of improvement.

I liked our new arrangement. Sometimes, he came into my room and played with my hair until I fell asleep, and other times, he’d put up with me crawling into his bed, never once complaining about me taking up all the space or snoring.

I worried I was doing too much, but as long as he didn’t push me away, I’d take whatever I could get. At this point, I didn’t miss Sofia specifically. I missed how it felt to have someone to hold, knowing that I was everything to them. The connection I craved was one that consumed, where someone was incapable of living without me.

Without it, I couldn’t find purpose.

My brother needed me in his own way, which was why he insisted I rely on him, but the things I needed pushed the boundaries of what was considered appropriate for our relationship. He already indulged me more than he probably should. The line where I became too much had to exist somewhere, and soon enough, I’d find it. I always did.

When Oliver arrived, a six-pack of coolers in each hand, Jasper gave him a stiff nod, the bare minimum acknowledgment before disappearing into his room to finish his work.

“Are you going to stay the night?” I asked, hopeful.

“Hell yeah. We can play games all night,” Oliver said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Cool.” I smiled back awkwardly, trying not to look like I was dying from social deprivation. “I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

And I did—at least at fighting games. Oliver crushed me at FPS games, but 2D fighters were my domain.

We played for hours. Crushed cans and half-eaten junk food littered the table, and the weight that lived in my chest felt a little lighter. When Jasper finished his work, he came out and joined us, lingering behind the couch with his arms crossed. He responded to Oliver’s attempts at conversation with one-word answers, which Oliver took in stride.

Eventually, we migrated to the balcony, where I smoked a cigarette while Jasper begrudgingly shared a joint with Oliver.

“So, are you feeling better?” Oliver asked, dragging me into a headlock.

Why was everyone always manhandling me?

“A little,” I said, glancing at Jasper. He didn’t say anything, the ember of his joint highlighting his face with harsh lines in the dark.

“Good. Jasper here is all business, so you need me to bring the fun.” Oliver laughed, drunkenly rubbing his cheek into my hair as I tried to claw my way out of the death trap that was his biceps.

Jasper stubbed his joint out, darkness shrouding his features.

“Fun? You’re trying to kill me,” I wheezed, finally breaking free.

“With love,” Oliver chimed, resting an elbow on the railing.

By eleven, I was half asleep on the couch, pleasantly buzzed and clinging to the warmth of being surrounded by people who cared about me. I didn’t want to go to sleep and lose this to recurring nightmares and chronic emptiness.

“Milo.” Jasper crouched in front of me, brushing stray curls out of my face and sending a ripple of awareness through my skin. “You should go to bed.”

“We’ll still be here when you wake up,” Oliver added.

Traitor.

I curled into Oliver’s side on the couch and waved Jasper off.

“Get up.” Jasper’s voice hardened.

Why was he such a downer? It was always do this, do that. Don’t smoke an entire carton of cigarettes in five hours, or don’t drink yourself into oblivion. He was so mean.

“You can’t make me.”

Apparently, he could.

He ducked under my arm, wrapped a hand around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder. I kicked and whined as he carried me away, the world spinning and booze protesting in my stomach.