Beside

11 - brothers

"Jellybean, do stars wish back?"

"What did you wish for, Fox?"

"For my dad to be less angry. You?"

"For your dad to be less angry too."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

c h r i s

Walker's construction site is deafening. Between the rumble of machinery, the clang of metal against metal, and men shouting back and forth, I have to cover my ears. Some of the guys are perched high up on beams like vultures in hard hats. There's a weird smell here, too. Dust-heat-oil soup.

I trip on the way across the lot. The ground's all gravel and half-packed dirt. My blue poka dot flats were not the right choice.

The building ahead is just bones. Metal beams crisscross like a skeleton reaching toward the sky. Turns out her Walker's only on the first level, thank goodness. All the scary falling things are above us.

Walker is hunched over a set of blueprints on a plateau made of cinderblocks. His eyes flick toward us, landing on Whitney first. "Careful. Watch where you're walking, babe."

I glance down, half-expecting to see a giant hole. There's more gravel and dirt.

Boring.

Whitney hands him his lunch in a brown paper bag.

Walker's expression softens as he drops a kiss on Whitney's golden hair in a wind-blown bun, but then he frowns, eyeing the bag. "You didn't forget the water bottle this time, right? It's hot out."

Whitney shakes her head. He reaches out for her arm to guide her where he wants her. I melt at the small gesture. 

"Yo, Walker! We need the prints!" A gruff voice cuts through the air. Chase Thorn.

The big guy, blond like Walker, but older and ampler, steps out from behind a massive pile of scaffolding. His face is dusted in grime, shirt soaked with sweat.

"Go away," Walker mutters, barely looking up from his plans. Uh-oh. Brother problems.

I shift awkwardly, glancing at Whitney. She hasn't moved an inch, just watching dust blow across the concrete floor. She's wearing a baggy red hoodie—Walker's—and flowy linen pants. At least those are hers. Isn't she hot? It's hot.

Chase lets out a breath, scratching his belly. "Hey, Chris. Whitney." He nods, then heads back.

Walker closes his eyes to take a breath, then looks at Whitney again, his voice softening. "Come here."

Whitney steps forward into his arms. He adjusts her hair, tucks strands behind her ears, then kisses her head again. "I'll see you at home."

I guess we're leaving, then.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

F O X

Knock-knock-knock.

Cam's already halfway across the room before I can react, throwing open the door.

"Officer Wyatt!" She flings her arms around his middle like he's a fucking hero. "Oh my god, hi. You came."

Faro stiffens, arms hovering awkwardly in the air.

Goldwen Police Department tactical gear clings to him—black vest, gun holstered at his hip, the belt weighed down with cuffs, a radio, and fuck all else.

Cam lets go and steps back. "Come in!"

My big brother walks in, boots heavy on the floor, and stops at the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Noah turns from where he's been cooking something that smells like cilantro.

"How's the force treating you?" Noah asks. Faro shrugs.

I kick my feet up on the coffee table, stretching my arms out. "What brings you here? Finally taking me up on that offer to join our merry band?"

Cam says, "I invited him! Noah's making cilantro chicken wraps!"

I grimace. "I don't want to eat food that tastes like soap."

Noah assures everything, "I'll make the cilantro optional."

My brother has no reaction. He's a goddamn rock, but it's not like he doesn't have his reasons. Every quiet inch of him screams. Sometimes I think I can hear it. But he's never said a word. There's just the sharp line of his jaw and his buzzed brown hair catching the light.

"Hungry?" Cam asks Faro. He just looks at the dying succulent on the counter.

"Machines don't eat," I tell her. She flips me off. I'll stop bugging her; I know he's important to her.

Gag me.

I settle further into the couch and resume studying my flash cards. "Make yourself at home. Beer's in the fridge, and I'm sure Jed's got some conspiracy theory about lizard people he'd love to share with you."

Cam and Noah kick up a conversation about New Roommate, not that anyone knows where Chris is today. She's been gone a while.

I try to tune out.

Faro and I don't talk about the past. What's the point? We had a spineless mother who drifted out of our lives, barely there to begin with. After a house fire that nearly killed our sister, our father stuck around just to fuck us up a bit more.

Faro knows our family labyrinth of shit better than anyone. He mapped it so he could get us out.

My gaze slides back to the kitchen. Cam steals Faro's handcuffs he pulls two beers from the fridge, handing one to Noah.

I'm not Faro, with the luxury of silence. Every minute I don't talk about it, it gets louder. Maybe he's the same.

I'll never know.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

c h r i s

Whitney and I step into the bright May sun. It feels like she's quietly floating away. I wish I could too.

I glance at her, watching the way the light catches in her hair, the golden strands twisting in the breeze like spun sugar. She's got that faraway look again.

I shuffle beside her, staring at the sidewalk, at the cracks in the pavement that look like tiny rivers, snaking toward nowhere.

"Whit," I murmur. She keeps walking, her gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance. "Do you need Whitney Quiet Time?"

"Yes," she whispers. 

I take her hand in mind, squeezing as we walk. There's Whitney Hug Time, Whitney Quiet Time, and Whitney Alone Time. So, I stay quiet too, even though there's a Fox-coloured knot of string in my chest I'm itching to talk about. 

If I try to channel Whitney, I think she'd say, Don't romanticize this, love. Just because he was your childhood best friend doesn't mean the universe is handing you some fated, magical connection. You're still you, with or without him.

I sigh heavily as we stop at an intersection light. Whitney finally squeezes back.

He's not Little Fox anymore, and I'm not Little Me. I've grown up and turned into a coward. The universe handed me a story and I'm too scared to read the ending.

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Thanks for reading Beside.
—Laurel Montaze—
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