Page 25 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

“I don’t know,” he says. “Give her a free coffee and let her figure her shit out.”

“Or, and here’s a novel idea,” I take a deep drag of my joint, “you could fucking act like a man, step up, and help her out.”

“Watch it,” he says, stepping closer. “I am helping her out. She’s living here, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is, and I’ll point out that I’m helping her with that just as much as you are.”

“Oh, fuck you, Jonas. You act like you know everything, but you’re just another druggie asshole.”

I smirk a little bit. “Says the druggie asshole.”

“Stay away from Lizzie,” he practically growls. “She’s a good person and she’s been through enough. I don’t need you fucking her up, too.”

That makes me see red. I want to break his goddamn jaw but I can already feel the reed-thin high pressing my anger back down through my throat. This is why I smoke so much, I reflect for a second. It’s the only thing keeping me from losing my mind and trying to fuck everyone up.

“Okay, dick.” I push past him, slamming my shoulder into his. “I’ll go sleep at the shop. You can deal with your sister.”

I head inside, slamming the door behind me. Lizzie pokes her head up like a prairie dog, smiling that lazy, hazy smile stoners sometimes get. She’s baked to hell, which I actually feel bad about. I tried to make her take it easy, but one thing after another and suddenly she’s stoned to hell.

She’ll be fine, though. Good thing about weed is, there’s no hangover, and she seems to be enjoying herself at least.

I head into my room and grab a backpack. I throw some shit in there, some clothes and a book. I go into the bathroom, grab my toothbrush and deodorant, and I’m back downstairs in a few minutes.

Ezra stares at me from the kitchen. Lizzie’s back on the couch, watching TV with a glazed expression. I want to say something to her, maybe help her through this high, but she seems fine. Lucky girl, some people freak the fuck out when they get that high for the first time.

I glance back at Ezra and he doesn’t move to say anything. I want to punch him in the jaw, remind him who his best friend is, who got him through all the shit five years ago, who pulled him along and made Half Pipe happen. Instead, I just leave my own damn apartment.

Apparently, even he thinks I’m just another problem ready to corrupt everything around me. And I’m not even sure he’s fucking wrong.

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