Page 60 of Every Broken Thing

“Last month,” he answered, still avoiding my eyes. “I think she found my number on LinkedIn or something. I didn’t ask.”

I felt like I was floating. “Why?”

“There were more important things to ask than how she found my number,” he said, somewhat impatiently.

“No, why did she call?”

“She wanted to meet up and talk. She wants to have coffee.” Will hesitated. “I was thinking about meeting with her.”

And I crash-landed back to earth. “Et tu, Brute?”

He flinched. “Silas—”

“Why?” I said again.

How could he do this to Dad? To me? She’d left us and he was, what? Willing to welcome her back with open arms? It felt like a betrayal.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Will jumped on the defensive immediately. “I just want answers. I think I—we—deserve to know why she left.”

“And you would believe her justifications?”

“I don’t know,” he cried, raking a frustrated hand through his tawny hair. “I don’t know, but I can’t exactly refuse her. She’s our mother for Christ’s sake!”

I tried to keep the judgment out of my voice as I said, “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Do you—” He paused and cleared his throat. “Are you gonna hate me?”

The way his voice cracked thawed me slightly. “No, I’m not gonna hate you.”

“I know that things aren’t always easy with us, but you’re my brother.” He rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “And I love you, okay? I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

I hadn’t expected such vulnerability, and my eyes burned. “Will, don’t be an idiot. I’m always gonna have your back.”

“I know she might not tell me anything important and that it probably won’t change anything, but I gotta know.”

“Yeah, I get it. Just… don’t tell Dad, okay?” At Will’s hesitation, I pushed his hand from my shoulder and pointed a threatening finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell Dad. She did enough damage the first time around, Will, and I’m not letting her hurt him again. If you see her, keep it to yourself.”

He worked his jaw but finally nodded. “Okay.”

The wind ripped around, chilling me almost as much as our conversation had. I hugged myself and rubbed warmth into my arms.

“Do you wanna know?” he asked carefully. “Like, if I do meet with her, do you wanna know what she says?”

My emotions were one big jumble, but I found myself shrugging. “I guess.”

“Okay.” Will released a heavy breath, body sagging like a load had been lifted. “Okay.”

“Did she—” I cut myself off, trying to swallow the words, but the little boy inside me fought to the surface, forcing them out anyway. “Did she ask about me?”

Will didn’t respond for a long time, which was answer enough. When he did speak, it was in a whisper, like voicing the wordslouder would make them that much harder to hear. “No. No, she didn’t.”

18

Spit, Don't Swallow

The next night, Iquestioned my sanity for the millionth time as I parked at the curb across from Kim’s house. I’d arrived exactly on time, yet I was somehow the last one there as my group of friends talked animatedly in the driveway.

I dragged my feet as I crossed the road and walked up the driveway. I pulled my beanie down to protect the tops of my ears from the cold, then pulled my bomber jacket tighter across my chest. It was supposed to snow next week, and I could almost smell it in the air.

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