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“Levin offered to have Thanksgiving at his house.”

“My house bigger,” Levin added.

Xay looked at him.

Then me.

Then back at him.

“Nigga, why the fuck you wanna host Thanksgiving?”

Levin shrugged.

“Why not?”

And for some reason, standing there between the two of them, knowing what I’d sent one brother last night while the other one slept beside me afterward⁠—

Thanksgiving at Levin’s house suddenly sounded like the worst fucking idea anybody had ever had.

Which probably meant I was going to say yes.

The second the door shut behind Levin, I turned around.

“Nigga, what the FUCK are you in debt to Levin for twenty bands?”

Xay kept walking toward the living room like he ain’t hear me.

Oh, fuck no.

“Motherfucker, don’t walk away from me.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Sam.”

“You literally fucking walking away from me!”

He stopped and turned around.

“I don’t feel like arguing.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you feel like! We don’t have twenty thousand fucking dollars, Xavier!”

“I just gave him seventeen.”

“That’s even fucking worse!”

He sucked his teeth.

I stared at him.

“We supposed to be getting a bigger fucking place. You know how cramped we are in here with four kids. We been talking about saving, moving, getting something with more space, and you just pulled seventeen thousand dollars out your fucking ass to give your brother?”

“It wasn’t out my ass.”

“Then where the fuck did it come from?”

He didn’t answer.

My stomach dropped.