Page 121 of Let’s Be Real

Crying.

It didn’t make sense. Not at first. It took me far too long to understand my brother was crying on my shoulder and holding me as hard as he could. Once I did, I turned into him, pulling him close.

When we were young, probably before our mother left, I’d been the first person he’d run to when he was hurt or scared, and I’d held him until he was okay. Later, it shifted to Roman. We all leaned on him. But I liked this. I wanted to be the brother Adrian could come to.

That I was the cause of his tears hadn’t escaped me, but I hoped like hell I could get to a place where I wouldn’t be. Then I could take my place in our set.

Samantha came to visit most days. Sometimes we talked. Other times, we just sat together, holding hands and looking at one another. She told me about work, including the building they’d bought in LA. She rambled on about her workouts, the café she’d tried, her spin instructor—safe topics that gave me a glimpse of what she was up to when she left me.

I ate it all up, but sometimes…

“Sorry.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“My mind wandered. I’m sorry.”

“Nate, you have nothing to apologize for.” She touched her lips to mine. “I promise.”

One day, she’d taken a deep breath before speaking, like she was working her way up to something, and I’d braced for the worst.

Then she asked, “Would it be weird if I told you I’ve slept in your bed the past few nights?”

I jolted with surprise, my hand tightened over hers. “Not weird,” I choked out.

Her eyes narrowed. “But it’s…something.”

“You can move into my place if you want. I…just…well, why?”

“I miss you a lot.” She kicked at the pebbles beneath our feet. “Your sheets still smell like you. I don’t let myself lie on your pillow. I don’t want to contaminate your scent. I probably need to change the sheets soon, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

I rolled my forehead along hers. “Bring me a pillowcase tomorrow. I’ll rub my head all over it.”

That made her laugh. “Oh god, Nate. Can you imagine? If they see you doing that, they’re never going to let you out of here.”

I found myself laughing with her. “You’re right. They already think I’m crazy enough.”

“You’re not crazy,” she said softly.

“Crazy about you.”

“Then I should be locked up too. I’m just as crazy about you.”

We weren’t back to normal. How could we be? But we’d gotten a taste of it back. And it was more than enough to get through the day and add another heaping of hope to the pile.

On my tenth day at the clinic, Roman arrived for a meeting with me and my doctor. We came up with a plan for what would happen now that my condition was stabilized, but I wasn’t ready to go home.

Roman walked out of the office with me, his hand on my shoulder. He hadn’t given up the habit of always having at least one hand on me.

I didn’t mention it.

“The place looks really nice.”

“Anywhere is fine. They could send me to a roach motel, and I’d go if it could help me stop this from happening again.”

I’d flipped through pamphlets. Mountain views, workout facilities, a spa, along with around-the-clock mental health care.

I was far enough out of my hole to acknowledge how privileged I was to be able to go to a place like this for as long as I needed. The plan was to start with a three-week stay then reevaluate.