Page 29 of Last Boy

She stills, huffing out a breath. “What do you want to talk about, Walker? What could you possibly have to say?”

“What were you and Huff talking about?” I say into the darkness, holding her body over my shoulder.

“None of your business,” she snaps. “He’s my friend. You are not.”

“The look on your face tonight, it was…different,” I whisper.

She grows silent. “Yeah, well, not like you’d care, but I guess having to identify your twin brother’s body will probably do that.” She begins flailing again. “Put. Me. Down.”

Immediately, I set her down, but I keep my hands planted on her waist. “Van is dead?” I barely get the words out of my mouth, my throat burning.

“Don’t act sad about it,” she snarls. “We all know you didn’t give a damn about him.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head quickly. “That isn’t true, and you know it.”

Her eyes narrow, staring at me like I’m a monster. “I don’t know anything when it comes to you. I knew Walker James, the boy down the street who was my best friend. The one who took away my pain and knew the right thing to say to make everything better.” She eyes me up and down before exhaling. “The guy in front of me? He’s just a stranger.”

“It’s still me, Poppy,” I say through gritted teeth. Out of nowhere, tears blur my vision. “I’m still me. And I’m right here.”

She looks up at me, and I watch her face soften as she looks for any sign that I’m full of shit. But the moment is gone as quickly as it came, and suddenly, she’s shoving her hands into my chest, pounding on my body as haunting screams come from her lips.

“You aren’t the same, and you know it!” Every word she yells at me is filled with anger. “You weren’t there for him! He loved you. You were his best friend. And you left!”

She continues beating her fists into my chest. And I let her. Because her brother just died. And because I’m a fucking failure, she had to identify his body alone.

She had to see her brother—her fucking twin brother—lifeless on a table.

Nausea hits me, but I push the thought down of needing to puke. Right now, I need to be whatever she needs. Even if what she needs is a literal punching bag. For her, I’ll be it.

She’s so close to losing it. I know she’s about to fall apart. Years of shit she’s tried to push down is going to come to the surface, mixing in with the death of Van.

I’m scared for her. Who can stand pain like that?

“We needed you! And you left!” she screams, almost like she’s no longer controlling her actions. “He had no one!” Her movements begin to grow weaker as exhaustion kicks in. “I. Had. No one.”

It happens. The tears start, and her voice breaks. Her shoulders slump, and her body sinks. But before she can fall into a pile on the sidewalk, I hold her up.

“I’m so tired of having no one,” she cries, letting herself fall against my chest.

Wrapping my arms around her, I cradle her. “Shh,” I mutter against her hair.

Her body quivers against mine. I can tell she’s tired. Why wouldn’t she be? I’m sure this has been the most emotionally draining night of her life.

“Come home with me, Poppy,” I say softly. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“No.” She quickly shakes her head, though she doesn’t pull away.

“The guys are both gone tonight. You can go back to hating me in the morning.” I keep my cheek firmly against her temple. “But tonight, please, just stay with me.” I pause. “Let me be your somebody tonight. The way I should have been all along.”

The night is so quiet as she lays her body against mine. Finally, she pulls back slightly, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Okay,” she whispers. “But only for tonight.”

Slowly, I pick her up. Tucking her head to my chest, I carry her in my arms and start back toward the arena.

Sometimes, things just need to fall apart before they can fully come together. I’m ready for us to finally fucking be together now. Because it seems like there’s nothing else that could possibly fall apart.

Poppy

Everything hurts. My eyes, from crying. My head, from hyperventilating. And my heart, because my brother is dead. And I did nothing to help him. The last time we talked, I wasn’t even that nice.

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