Page 42 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

Lizzie

The wind whips through my hair as I speed down the street. Cars pass close by but I barely notice them. I love the feeling of the sun on my skin, the cool breeze along my face, the speed of the bike under my weak legs. I pedal harder, pushing myself until my breathing picks up. I can feel sweat prickling my underarms and that only spurs me on harder. My thighs and calves ache like always but this is a good pain. This is the pain of getting stronger.

I haven’t ridden a bike in so long, but the old cliché is true, you never really forget how to do it. At first I was tentative, a little scared, a little intimidated by all the cars and the other bikers, but now I don’t care. It’s been a week since Jonas surprised me with this, and it’s the best present I’ve ever been given in my life.

It’s freedom. I can go anywhere in the city now, as long as I’m willing to bike there. I don’t have to ask anyone for rides or worry about walking or public transportation. I don’t have to stress about being in taxis or about catching trains. I can go wherever I want, wind-whipped and perfect.

It’s beautiful. I always thought people riding their bikes around the city were kind of lame, or hipsters, or whatever, but now I get it. Riding a bike is absolute freedom at its purest.

And I can get places faster than I thought. It takes me maybe five minutes to ride to work, ten if I’m being lazy and following traffic laws. I always wear my helmet, because I’m not a total moron, but I do get a little reckless sometimes. It just feels good, pushing myself and my boundaries. It feels good to want to do things in the world again.

I don’t know if Jonas really understands what this bike means to me, and I haven’t been able to tell him. Ever since I started working at Half Pipe, he’s gotten super busy with the new crop of weed that’s being harvested. Ezra’s been around more for that too, still staying out late at night and coming home at random hours, but he’s coming home at least. He gets a few hours’ sleep and comes to help with the plants all day before leaving again at night.

Jonas and Ezra are barely talking to each other, and Ezra hardly notices that I exist. I guess I can’t blame him. I’m mostly in the café, which he never bothers coming into since he doesn’t drink coffee, and I’m usually asleep when he gets back from wherever he is all night.

I wish I could say that Jonas and I have gotten closer after what happened, but that wouldn’t be true. It’s not like he’s ignoring me or avoiding me, but whenever I try and engage with him, he’s always too busy or too tired or just locked up in his room or his office.

I still catch glimpses of him at the apartment. Jonas reaching up to a top cabinet in the kitchen, his muscular arms pulling down a bottle of whisky, fingers running through his beard. Jonas helping Lane wipe down a table, eyes focused on the task in front of him. Jonas smoking alone on the back porch, his face lit by the flare of the joint between his lips, handsome and brooding and alone. Once, I even caught him wearing nothing but a towel around his waist as he left the bathroom. That one earned me just a grin and one comment: “Like what you see, little rose?”

Nothing more than that, nothing deeper. I caught a glimpse of the Jonas that lurks below the surface outside of the bike shop when he told me about his dad. I had no clue he had an abusive father and that his mom had to raise him alone. I never really thought about his family. He’s always seemed so in charge of himself, so self-assured that I figured he just sprouted from an egg somewhere fully formed and ready to be an adult. Obviously that’s wrong, of course he has a mother and a father and a history with them, a messy and complicated and ugly and beautiful history, like we all do. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in your own tragedy and forget that other people are living out their own stories, and those stories aren’t always perfect.

One week after the harvest starts, I’m closing down the café with Lane. It’s late thanks to a group of teenagers that didn’t want to leave, and Lane didn’t feel like kicking them out. They finally got up and wandered out on their own, a full forty-five minutes after they should’ve left, but I guess it’s our own fault.

“I can finish up,” I say as Lane opens the register.

“Nah, it’s okay. We got most of it done already.”

“Seriously, I can do it. You’ve closed this place enough on your own.”

She hesitates a second. “I do have a date tonight.” She bites her lower lip, checking her watch. “I could use the extra time.”

“A date?” I grin a little bit, leaning toward her. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Some asshole,” she says, sighing. “Remember that suit I was flirting with a week ago?”

“Seriously?” I laugh at her as she slides out from behind the counter. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“He’s not.” She takes off her apron and tosses it over a peg near the door. “But we went out a few nights ago, and I got a little drunk and figured, whatever, why not, so I went home with him. And holy shit.” She meets my gaze, her eyes sparkling. “He was freaking amazing.”

“Really?” I stop what I’m doing to listen, my whole body thrumming. For some reason even the suggestion of sex has me on fire right now. Truth is, I’ve been buzzing off that moment with Jonas last week, feeding off that memory. It was so incredibly hot and all I want is the natural continuation of that moment, but he hasn’t given it to me. Maybe that’s why he’s been so busy lately.

“Seriously, amazing.” She sighs. “He’s such a stuck-up suit, but I’m not going to pass up good dick when I find it.”

I giggle a little bit, covering my mouth. “Good dick?”

“You know, the kind that’s toe-curling and fits just right? Not too big, not too small? That’s good dick.”

“I guess… I don’t have all that much experience.”

She gives me a look. “You’re young. Give it some time.”

“Yeah.” I hesitate. “I’ve only slept with one guy, and he’s dead now.”

“That boyfriend from the accident?” She asks so nonchalantly, almost like it’s no big deal to talk about. I’ve noticed that she never mentions the accident, but I know she knows. Everyone that knows me knows about that accident. Jonas probably briefed her and told her not to bring it up, but sometimes it’s good to talk about it.

“Yeah, Nathan,” I say. “He was okay, I guess. We were young and he couldn’t exactly, you know.” I blush a little bit.

“What, get you off?”

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