Page 64 of Getting It Twisted

Together we watch the sun descend below the mountains at the opposite end of town. The once first-rate view of the city is now half-concealed by vegetation, but the ancient cedar woods around Springvale’s campus are the same, as is the smoke from the paper mill, the sprawling suburban houses, and the quaint city center.

My home. Our home.

“Look familiar?” My exhale drifts through the wind, merging with the brilliant orange sunset.

Nathan takes the joint from my hand with a brow raised in question.

“I had a sketch of this place,” I clarify. “You stole it.”

He flashes his teeth in a grin. “I did?”

“Don’t deny it.”

“It was a good one,” he says, as if it’s explanation enough. “We had a good time out here.”

“Yeah. That summer . . . it means a lot to me.”

“Me too.” He slides his hand over mine and leans his head on my shoulder. The moment feels frozen in time, like two pictures snapping into place, our past and our present selves merging into one.

“Holy shit I missed you so much,” I croak, and the tightness rushing up my chest isn’t just from the weed. I feel like crying and laughing all at once.

“I know, Daniel. I missed you too.”

Why do I still not fully believe him? Even though five years have gone and passed, one particular wound is still too raw when pressed on. And yet I can’t help but dig into it, rip the half-healed tissue apart and claw it open.

He said he cared about me when we were growing up. But if that’s true, how could he have hurt me like that? Will he ever become the person he was to me back then? Do I even want him to be? By even entertaining the idea, I open myself up for destruction. For heartbreak.

What are you doing?A cruel tilt of perfect lips as I leaned in to kiss him.What did you think—that we’re some lovey-dovey couple now? Fucking is just fucking.

My heart pounds, hard and deep. Crap. This is why I don’t smoke anymore. George made me quit my daily use after I dropped out of college, and every time I’ve tried it since then has devolved into a panic attack.

There’s a rumble behind the mansion. Engines? Motorbikes? My hypervigilant senses have me jumping off the bench and looking through the broken windows to the driveway.

At least five or six bikes and as many men are parked by the entrance.

“Nate,” I hiss. “What the fuck are they doing here?”

Nathan hasn’t even left the bench, still puffing on the joint. “Some stuff going on with a handover, most likely.”

“A handover?”

The men dismount their bikes, and the scrawny, insect-like form of Joshua enters my view. He gives one of the bikers a packet of some kind, and he receives one in return. Drugs? Money?

The bikers leave soon after, but Joshua stays put. Why isn’t he leaving?

“I know you’re here,” he calls. “You think I don’t recognize that ugly car of yours, Antler?”

“Shit.” My voice sounds too loud to my ears. I feel hot all over, almost sick. “Nate, get the fuck up.”

Joshua walks across the ruined kitchen with no care in the world, and I stand to face him.

“What do you want?” I ask.

He nods toward Nathan, who’s still sitting with his back turned, seemingly unbothered.

“You owe me quite a bit of cash, Antler. Or did you forget?”

“I haven’t forgotten shit,” Nathan says.

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