Page 132 of My Unfinished Heart

I hear the rustle of him getting out of bed. A few seconds later he asks, “What happened?”

“Did you tell him about us?”

“No, I thought—what the fuck? Asshole!” he shouts, loud enough to make me flinch.

“What?” I ask.

“My fucking journal is on his bed. I’m gonna fucking kill him. Connor!” he shouts.

“He’s not there, but he’s on his way back. I’m coming over,” I say, my pants on before the words are out of my mouth because I have a feeling I know exactly what’s in that journal.

“No. Don’t come here. This isn’t about you.”

“He’s not acting normal.”

Tristan makes an exasperated noise. “I think maybe I’m a better judge of that.”

“Then why didn’t you know about his hair?” I ask.

“His car just pulled up. I'll call you back.”

The line goes dead before I can say anything else.

If I hurry, I can be there in five minutes.

I can't say why I’m so worked up, but I am. I run red lights, I blow through stop signs, I drive too fast, but I get there. Seven minutes have passed since Tristan hung up the phone.

I hear them yelling as I rush up the walkway and leap over the steps. I pound on the door.

From inside Connor shouts, “Did you fucking call him?”

“You were just at his house acting like a psycho. I didn’t need to call him. Fuck.” Tristan’s voice is coming closer, and he pulls open the door. He’s in his underwear. My point in mentioning that is if he were dressed, I would yank him out of the house right now.

“Get out, Archer. You’ve got no business here.”

I look over at my brother who just spoke. Two lamps are on in the living room, so I can see his face better now. His dark hair is a quarter of an inch long, if that. His eyes are heavily rimmed in black liner, and some of it is smeared on his temple. He glares at me from across the room. He’s standing in front of the kitchen in a wide, defensive stance.

I move when Tristan does, staying close to him.

“He's worried about you.” Tristan says to my brother.

“You don't even know him. After everything I've told you, and all the shit he's done? How could you? He hates me!”

“Nobody hates anybody, okay? Let's take this down a notch and be rational,” Tristan says.

Tears erupt from my brother’s eyes, and he swipes at them, smearing his make-up even more, making him look more unhinged than ever. “You've been lying to me for—for forever.”

“You had no right to read my journals. Why would you do that?”

“You were gone for two nights in a row. You lied to me about where you went, you've been lying over and over again. Do you know what that feels like?”

“I didn't want to add anything to your—to what you've been dealing with. I was trying to be considerate⁠—”

“By lying?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing—for all of us.”

“For him,” Connor spits out with pure disgust. “You know what? You fucking deserve each other. I thought he wasn't good enough for you, but I was wrong. You’re perfect for each other. Neither one of you has the first fucking clue about love, or friendship or anything. Why don't you both go ride off into your beautiful sunset and stay the fuck away from me. I'm done.”