It was the first time I’d cried since finding my mom dead. Until this moment, I’d felt cold and numb, petrified with guilt and fear. But warm and secure in Brandt’s arms, I finally felt safe enough to let go. He absorbed my grief and eased the pain.
Voices down the hall told me how the apartment was filling with people, coming to pay their respects. Sometimes I’d hear a child’s shout, Reese’s quiet murmur, Noel’s regretful condolences, Mason’s reply. But none of that mattered. I was in my Brandt bubble, and I didn’t want to leave.
I’m not sure how long I wept, but Brandt was in no hurry to push me away. He didn’t ask questions or try to get me to talk. He was just there, and that was better for me than anything.
When I settled down enough to blow out a long, exhausted breath, he murmured, “Let’s lie down.”
He helped me onto my side, then he spooned his body up behind mine and curled an arm around my waist. We’d never really hugged before, so it probably should’ve been weird for us to go straight from hugging to cuddling on a bed in just a couple minutes. But it felt strangely perfect. Comfortable, safe, soothingly perfect.
When he said nothing else, I reached back behind me and caught hold of his shoulder, needing just that much more reassurance that he was there for me. I closed my eyes, knowing I didn’t deserve his friendship but appreciating it anyway.
“Mason’s trying to get custody of me,” I said.
I have no idea why I said that. There was so much more I should have told him. Confessed everything, each awful thing I’d ever done, so he’d know what a monster I was, that I was a mother-murderer and a brother-betrayer. But no, I went with something easy and simple that didn’t hurt, that wouldn’t make him want to leave.
“Good. That’s good,” he said. “It means everything...it’s going to be okay.” He stroked my hair gently. “Living with your big brother isn’t so bad. It’s actually been better for me since I have. You’ll see.”
I grabbed hold of his shirtsleeve and squeezed it tight. “Please...don’t...leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me. “I’m staying right here with you.”
“But I don’t want to stay here right now either,” I whispered. “I have to...I want to escape all this.” I wasn’t sure what I could escape, but Brandt seemed to understand anyway.
“Okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’ll see to it. You don’t have to stay here. Don’t worry.”
So I closed my eyes and believed him.
A couple minutes later, he stood, kissed my forehead and left the room, saying he’d be right back.
An hour after that, I was going home with him and his family, and the relief made me cry some more.
BRANDT
AGE 15
Sarah stayed with us for almost two weeks after her mom overdosed. I took the couch so she could settle in my room, and she slept in my bed every night. She ate in my kitchen when I told her she needed to eat. She rode in our car with us to the funeral home and cemetery when it came time to bury her mother. And when Noel and Mason’s boss got married a week after the funeral to Reese’s cousin, she attended the wedding with my family.
Both Mason and Reese visited every day, but whenever they showed up, Sarah shut down. She couldn’t look her brother in the eye, and I could see how much that hurt him.
I think it hurt her too, though she didn’t say it. And I didn’t ask. I figured she’d talk when she was ready.
I stuck by her side pretty much all day long, every day. Aspen even let me take off school to stay with Sarah. Then at night when everyone else fell asleep, I snuck into my room that had been Caroline’s before she’d moved out and married Ten, and I crawled into bed with Sarah to console her.
She was always awake and would always clutch my shirt with the tightest grip as if I were some kind of lifeline.
By the twelfth night, I couldn’t take it any longer. She was fading away in front of me, and poor Reese had been crying when she and Mason had left earlier that evening. Something had to change. Sarah had to talk, and since I was the only person she seemed to be speaking to, I guessed this shit was up to me.
She said nothing as I entered the darkened room, but I knew she was awake. I’d spent enough nights with her now to know she didn’t spasm in her sleep, and she was shifting restlessly under the covers as I lifted one corner and slid into the bed next to her. So she had to be up.
I didn’t curl against her as I had the past few nights. Instead, I stayed on my back and stared up at the dark ceiling while she shook, her back facing me.
It struck me just how important she’d become lately, because nothing in the past so many days seemed as essential to me as fixing her. A happy Sarah seemed as integral to me as my own well-being. And she was suffering, so I was suffering.
Needing to stop the pain, I drew in a deep breath and asked, “What did Mason do to you?”
She sniffed as if she were crying. But she answered, “Nothing.”
My return snort told her I didn’t buy that. “If he didn’t do anything wrong, then why are you mad at him?”