Beside

13 - brothers

"Jellybean, do stars wish back?"

"I think they do, Fox. What did you wish for?"

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

"For your dad to be less angry too."

ｃｈｒｉｓ

The building is just bones. Metal beams crisscross like a skeleton reaching toward the sky.

"I can't climb all the way up," I tell Whitney. She huffs, clutching a paper lunch bag, and forges ahead.

Ugh, I guess I have to as well.

The ground's uneven, all gravel and half-packed dirt, and my flats were not the right choice.

Walker's construction site is loud—really loud. The rumble of machinery, the clang of metal against metal, and men shouting back and forth, some of them perched high up on beams like birds of prey. There's a weird smell here too. Dust heat oil soup.

We were hanging out at her place since it's her only day off this week. Then Walker called saying he forgot his lunch. I offered to drop it off, to let her rest and relax—if anyone deserves it, it's her—but she just shook her head.

Turns out her boyfriend's only on the first level—and all the scary falling things are above us. Oh god.

"Careful," Walker's voice rings out. He's hunched over a set of blueprints on a makeshift table made of plywood and cinderblocks. His eyes flick toward us, landing on Whitney first. "Watch where you're walking, babe."

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

Boring.

Whitney adjusts her step, moving away. She hands him the brown 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's lips twitch—kind of like a smile—and she shakes her head.

"Thank you," Walker says, turning back to his blueprints.

"Shouldn't you be wearing a hard hat or something?" I ask, glancing around. Workers are walking by, balancing beams, hauling supplies, all of them in helmets and bright yellow vests. It feels like we should be safer.

But maybe not. I'm hungry. And tired. And we're all going to die so what's the point of anything?

Walker looks up, brows furrowed. "Stay by me, you're fine. We know what we're doing."

He reaches out for Whitney's 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. I already know it's Chase.

The big guy, blond like Walker, but older, and broader, 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.

Chase scowls. "The hell did you say?"

Walker doesn't answer, still focused on whatever fancy lines he's drawing.

Chase takes a step closer, his jaw tightening. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that? Always bossing people around like you own the damn place."