Page 31 of Road to a Cowboy

“You say that like I know his every move.”

“Because you do,” Ben said slowly. His eyes widened and he slapped his hands to his cheeks like Kevin McAllister in Home Alone. “Oh my god! Did you have a falling out?”

“What? No, we didn’t have a falling out.” They’d just had an awkward as hell first date.

First and last date?

Fuck, he hoped not.

“I told you—he had a thing.”

“A work thing,” Mom said, clearly disbelieving.

“Maybe a work thing,” Austin murmured, not wanting to lie outright.

“Hey, Austin,” Ben half-shouted over-enthusiastically.

Mom and Dad jumped. Austin gave him his patented older brother what the fuck face.

“Take me into my room.”

Austin took a giant bite of his muffin and chewed slowly. “Why?”

“I need to see the poster on the wall.”

“The one of Maroon 5?”

“Sure. Yeah, that one. I want to get the same one for a friend, but I don’t remember exactly what it looks like.”

“They probably don’t even print that one anymore. Considering how long it’s been on your wall, it probably went out of circulation years ago.”

“I can still try to find it. Take me to my room.”

“Can I at least finish my muffin fir?—”

“Take me to my room.” Ben slammed both fists against his table. “Take me to my room. Take me to my room. Take me to my?—”

“Jesus, okay.” Rising, Austin grabbed the tablet, making sure Ben got a good eyeful of his nostril in the process just for being a pest. “You had to have a second child,” he grumbled to his parents.

“You needed a friend,” Mom said.

“You were so lonely,” Dad added.

“What is it with everyone ganging up on me today?” Austin said to himself as he brought his brother to his old room. He left his parents giggling in the kitchen.

Ben’s old room was exactly as he’d left it when he’d headed east for his freshman year of college in Vermont. Gray bedspread with the white sunburst pattern in the center, gray drapes permanently tied open to let in the light, bean bag chair taking up space next to a desk that held an old Windsor Ranch mug filled with pens and pencils, and two skinny bookcases standing proud on either side of the bed. There was nary a single book on them; instead they held random stuff like track and field trophies, a jar of coins, a wicker basket filled with old PlayStation games and controllers, and other knickknacks he’d collected over the years.

“Okay, which poster is it?” Austin switched the camera view so that Ben was looking at his room instead of at him. “The one between your windows or the one by the?—”

“Who cares about the poster.” If Ben’s earlier half shout had been loud, this was ear-splitting. “Tell me about you and Cal. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Your eyes tell me otherwise.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“Flip the camera around again.”

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