Brant, age 24
Andrew scratches at his silvery hair, glancing around the cheerless apartment.
Sounds of traffic permeate the wall of silence stretched between us as he parks his hip against the couch we just hauled over from Theo’s old place. Veronica was moving into a new complex, too grief-ridden to stay in the apartment she shared with Theo, and asked if I needed any of his furniture.
I did, technically.
I’ve been living in my new two-bedroom unit for three weeks now, sans a couch. My move out of the Bailey household was abrupt and unplanned, so I wasn’t exactly prepared to furnish a space, and I’m short multiple paychecks thanks to my leave of absence from work.
I’ve been eating my meals at the small, laminate kitchen island, and hardly have anything in the living room aside from a rocking chair and television I don’t use.
Most of my time has been spent in the barren bedroom, or out on the balcony that overlooks a populated downtown street. I purposely chose a noisier unit, leaving the balcony door cracked open regularly, so the hustle and bustle seeps inside.
The quiet is where I overthink.
The quiet is where I backslide.
The quiet is where I second-guess everything.
“This could be a remarkable place,” Andrew murmurs, nodding his head as he gives the nine-hundred square foot unit a quick sweep. White walls, outdated fixtures, and hardly any character make it underwhelming at best—hardly remarkable. “It has potential.”
I stuff my hands into my pockets, rocking on the heels of my feet. “Yeah. I’ll spruce it up.”
“I can help if you want. God knows I need a distraction.”
My mind takes me back to watching Andrew sit like a stone on Theo’s old bed as he stared out into space. Focused on nothing. Focused on everything that is now nothing. Clearing my throat, I say, “I’d like that.”
“I know Samantha was reluctant to see you go, but I think you’re right. It’s for the best,” Andrew continues, still nodding. Still looking around, drinking in the proclaimed potential. His receding hairline emphasizes the wrinkles and sunspots etched into his prominent forehead. He’s aged. And I wonder if he’s aged more in the last two months than he has over the last two years. “Moving forward is the only way to keep from slipping back. The timing was hard for her, but it’s right for you. This has been a long time coming.”
Tentacles of guilt coil around me.
The timing was shit.
The timing was callous.
But it was also borne out of a blinding desperation to protect June at her most vulnerable. To protect her from me—from whatever the hell happened that night at the Prom, because as much as we want to, we can’t possibly sweep something like that under the rug. Not now when it’s so fresh, so raw. That kiss went beyond dust and crumbs.
It’s a roaring beast that can’t be tamed, and all I could do was run.
“I’m not far,” I tell him, riffling my overgrown mop of hair. “I’ll visit. You’re walking distance.”
He smiles, just a slight smile. “That’s what I keep telling June.”
My muscles tighten at the sound of her name.
She didn’t take the news well.
She said I was deserting her. Abandoning her.
And I get it, I do, but I wasn’t abandoning her—I was abandoning what my presence under that roof was doing to her. June was spiraling. Clinging to me so tightly, it was as if she thought my very existence could heal her broken soul; that if she could burrow far enough inside of me, she could make a new home for herself. A new life.
A reality where her brother wasn’t gone.
But I knew better.
I know better.
Swallowing, I ask softly, “How is she?”
Andrew glances at me, his sad smile still in place. “She misses you. She misses both of you,” he says gently, holding back his own anguish.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath through my nose.
“She’s been waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares. Having panic attacks. Using her inhaler more often.” He looks off over my shoulder. “I found her curled up in the fetal position where your bed used to be one night.”
A strangled little sound escapes me, like I’ve been physically struck. “What?”
God.
No.
My resolve starts crumbling at my feet until I’m questioning everything.
Am I making it worse?
Is she deteriorating without me?
Holy shit… am I killing her?
Nausea swirls in my gut as I watch Andrew’s expression carefully, trying to discern the truth. Trying to figure out if my plan to protect June and help her heal is backfiring.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t know better.
Maybe she needs someone to cling to, to help her over that salient pinnacle of grief. Hell, I know I did. The Baileys were my rock, my only hope of recovering from the loss of my parents, and if they had turned their backs on me, I’d be indefinitely shattered.
Andrew is still zoned out, staring at a cobwebbed corner of my ceiling, so I approach him with a furiously pounding heart. “Andrew.”
He blinks, canting his head toward me.
My dry mouth tastes like cotton balls and decay. There’s a catch in my voice as I wonder aloud, “Did I make a mistake?”
The steady stream of traffic drowns out as we stare at each other, a heaviness wafting through the air, the silence thickening.
It feels like an eternity passes us by before he shakes his head. “No, son. You didn’t make a mistake.”
I’m not entirely sure I believe him.
All I can envision is June sobbing on my bedroom floor, clutching her elephant, her chest caving in while she tries to breathe.
My chin dips, my gaze landing on the floor. Fixating on the blotchy carpet riddled with old stains, vacuumed over in an attempt to appear new.
This is what I traded June for.
Four hollow walls and discolored carpeting.
A new beginning, tainted with the stains of the spills I left behind.
She’s outside tending to the lilac bushes and foliage that line the front of the house when I park my Highlander beside the familiar vehicle sitting idle in the driveway.
Her back is to me, a wide-brimmed hat shielding her from the scorching August sun.
I watch her for a few minutes. She has earbuds popped into both ears, making her unaware of my arrival. Dirt from the garden smudges her cotton shorts and tank top while a flush of pink stains her porcelain skin.
I’m transported back to summers long ago when she’d be sunburned and filthy after hours of playing outside beneath the heated sky, her light brown hair shimmering golden when the light hit it just right. I can almost hear her childlike laughter.
The screen door claps shut, loud enough that June pokes her head up and yanks out her earbuds. A smile stretches on her face as Kip steps onto the front porch, wearing his everyday attire.
He smiles back at her.
My teeth scrape together.
She saunters toward Kip, lifting a hand to hold her hat in place when a warm breeze floats by, then falters mid-step. June pauses before spinning to face the driveway.
Our eyes lock through the windshield. Swallowing, I muster the courage to push open the driver’s side door and make myself known.
Kip offers a friendly wave as he moves down the cobblestone walkway. “Brant. Hey.”
“Hey.” I slip my keys into my back pocket. “What brings you by?”
My gaze must shift pointedly to June because he hesitates for a beat, reading me, then issues a reassuring smile. “I’m helping Andrew with a kitchen project. Refinishing the cabinets. He needs something to keep him busy… keep his mind busy.”
June fidgets, then turns away, tinkering with a pair of gardening gloves.
I skate my attention back to Kip, guilt snagging me. “Can I help?”
“Nah,” he says, giving me an amiable smack on the shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate. I’m just trying to be useful where I can—and that goes for you, too. I’m just a phone call away.”
My lips twitch with gratitude.
Kip has been a beacon of strength over the last two months since Theo died, and honestly, I don’t know how he does it.
He was the one Theo saved.
Theo sacrificed himself… for him.
The weight of a burden like that sounds backbreaking, so it boggles my mind that Kip manages to still stand tall, taking on our added weights, and offering his heartfelt support when his own heart must be suffocating.
And then there’s me.
The guy who deserted his family during their time of need. The asshole who ran away like a coward.
The self-proclaimed protector who abandoned the girl he vowed to take care of.
I abandoned her.
“Brant.”
Kip’s worried voice pulls me back to the front lawn. My eyes are blurred with tears as I blink at him, inhaling a shuddering breath of regret. “I think I fucked up, Kip.”
Empathy shines back at me, and I’m so glad there’s no trace of pity.
I couldn’t handle it.
“You did what you needed to do,” he says.
My head whips back and forth. “For myself. I was selfish.”
“Grief is selfish. There’s no shame in that.” Kip sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he takes a small step forward. “Listen… everyone reacts to trauma differently. There’s no right or wrong way to heal. Some people need time and space to process, to grieve alone, and some people, like me, need to stay busy. Social and useful.”
“There is a wrong way,” I counter, my eyes panning back to June, who is kneeling in the grass, bent over a flower bed. “The wrong way is the way that drags other people down with you.”
“No.” He shakes his head. Adamantly. “You’re not responsible for the way others react to what you need to do to get better.”
I allow his words to sink in, giving me the smallest pocket of peace.
My intentions were pure.
I wasn’t actively trying to hurt anyone—I was doing what I thought I needed to do to keep June from careening into a downward spiral because I wasn’t mentally strong enough to fight my grief over losing Theo and my grief over loving June in a way I should never dream of loving her.
It was too much all at once.
It was too fucking much.
Kip follows my stare to where June sifts the parched soil with gloved hands, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’ll be okay. She’s stronger than you think,” he tells me gently.
“Have you, uh…” I scratch at my hair, shuffling my feet. “Have you been spending a lot of time with her?”
I hate that my knee-jerk reaction is jealousy when it should be appreciation.
Kip is here, and I’m not.
That’s my fault.
He senses the underlying question and quickly dismisses it. “I wouldn’t do that.” When I look back at him, he’s frowning a little, almost hurt by the subtle insinuation. “I wouldn’t do that to you, or to Theo. Please know that.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” he says, but he’s not mad. Just firm. “You did, but it’s okay. As long as you know I’d never cross that line. I’m here to help, not make things worse.”
I swallow. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kip inhales deeply, ducking his chin to his chest. “I know you two have a lot of… history.”
There’s a word for it.
Shame sluices me, knowing Kip saw what we did in that country club hallway. He knows my dirty little secret.
Still, there’s no judgment pouring out of him.
No sense of disapproval.
He continues. “I don’t blame you for moving out and getting away after everything that happened. I think you had to. For your own well-being, and for hers, too… even if she doesn’t see it.”
I glance at him, waiting.
“What happened between you both was big.” Kip meets my eyes. A beat passes. Then he finishes, “Be bigger than it.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, I blink as he sends me a supportive smile, gives my shoulder another slap, then moves around me toward his vehicle.
The sound of his car door slamming shut has June’s head popping up as she glances back at me, biting her lip when she discovers Kip has left, and it’s just me staring at her from across the yard.
She looks away, pretending to go back to gardening.
Be bigger than it.
I muster the strength to traipse across the lawn toward June.
Once I’m in earshot, she mumbles over her shoulder, “Dad’s working in the kitchen. Mom is grocery shopping.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” I say, stopping once I’m standing over her. June stills for a moment before continuing her task. “Please.”
“I’m busy, Brant. I told Mom I’d help with yard work today, so maybe another time.”
“Junebug.” She freezes again, her hand tightening around a tool. She doesn’t look up. The large hat masks whatever emotions are dancing across her face. I whisper softly, “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry for leaving.
I’m sorry for shutting you out.
I’m sorry for kissing you back.
I’m sorry for loving you all wrong.
June clears her throat, falling back on her haunches. “I’m doing okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I always worry about you.” Her long hair whips around the edges of her hat. I wish I could see her face. Read her. June wears her heart in her eyes—she always has. “You know I do.”
“Well, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
I pull my lips between my teeth, debating my next words. Sighing, I say, “That’s not what your dad told me yesterday. He said you’re having panic attacks. Nightmares. Your asthma is flaring.”
“He said that?” June gasps a little, finally rising to her feet. She doesn’t turn around right away. She ducks her head, drops the gardening tool, then wraps her arms around herself like a hug. When she pivots to face me, she pulls the hat off her head until her hair flutters free, and her eyes shimmer with a glaze of tears, glowing light blue in the summer haze. “He’s exaggerating.”
“He told me he found you crying on my bedroom floor, curled up in the fetal position.”
Her breath hitches, eyes widening. She shakes her head back and forth. “No, that’s… that was weeks ago. I’m better now. I’m fine.”
“June…” My hands reach out to cup her face, but she steps back. She retreats from me. “June, please. I only left because I thought I was hurting you by staying. I thought it’s what you needed, but…” I blow out a hard breath, dropping my arms to my sides. “I said I couldn’t be what you needed, but I lied. The truth is, I didn’t want to be what you needed. I didn’t think I was strong enough. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for that.”
June’s bottom lip trembles, but she doesn’t reach for me. Even as a tear slips, she remains rooted in place. “I’m fine,” she repeats, like she’s trying to convince herself.
“Okay,” I nod. “But if you’re ever not fine, I promise I’ll be there for you. I’ll be stronger next time.” My eyes rove over her face, her cheekbones tinged with sun, her full lips still quivering as she processes my words. “I’ll be as brave as you need me to be, June.”
She bites at her lip to stop the tremors, then shifts her attention away from me.
A thick silence falls between us as I gaze down at her. As she looks everywhere but at me. As she hugs herself again like she’s cold, but it’s eighty-five degrees out.
June finally nods her head, just slightly. “Thanks.”
Then she leans down to scoop up her hat and abandons her yard work, sweeping past me and heading into the house. She doesn’t say goodbye. She doesn’t say anything else.
I resist the urge to chase after her; to pull her into my arms and kiss away her tears.
I let her go.
I’ll accept that she feels angry and betrayed, and I’ll give her the space she needs.
I’ll be stronger than my feelings.
I’ll take care of her like Theo asked me to.
I’ll be bigger than that kiss.
