Page 7 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

It’s been a year, and I’m every bit as empty as the moment when I first heard those words.

Aspen grips the letter like it’s all she has left of her brother, and if she can just do this, then maybe…maybe it won’t hurt somuch. Maybe she’ll have a part of Jace back. Maybe she can hold onto a part of him and never let go.

“I’m so sorry, Aspen, but whatever we do isn’t going to bring him back.”

Her eyes flash. Even when I’m trying not to be an asshole, I apparently still suck. “I know that! He’s dead. My brother is dead. I’m never going to see him again, and neither are you, which makes this even more important. He wrote this, planned it, wanted it for us. I think that’s something. So, real or not, I think we should at least attempt it. You don’t have to like me, and I don’t have to like you, but we could try for a few weeks, and then that’s that. At the very least, we could get to know each other and try to be friends, even if we’d be the least likely of friends that ever existed. Because that’s what Jace wanted. He wanted you to look after me. And me to look after you. He wanted neither one of us to be alone. If he thought we needed this, then I’m not going to say he was wrong.”

“Even if he was?”

A quick lighting strike in a sea of blue anger. This girl might look sweet and young and innocent, but she’s got the same fire driving her that her brother had. I bet she’s like an old rusty nail that works its way right through the sole of your boot until it stabs you through the foot. Hella persistent and stubborn. Something you never saw coming and impossible to just pluck out and forget about.

“He wasn’t wrong.” Her fingers clamp down so hard on the paper that it crinkles, and she looks down in surprise and horror and quickly smoothes it out against her chest.

“Are you sure it’s not a joke?”

“It’s not a joke!” She gives me thewhat in the ever-loving hell is wrong with youlook. “He wouldn’t joke about something like this. I don’t care if there aren’t two people in the world less suited for each other. He wasn’t kidding.”

“Less suited.” I can work with that. “You’re right. We’re completely unsuited to each other. From what I know about you, you’re sweet, good, and kind. You’re the kind of sister who drops everything and wrecks her life just to honor her brother. You’re brave. Bold. You’re probably funny like him. You’re beautiful. And then there’s me. We’re just not…trust me. We would be a disaster together. It’ll be much better if we remain distant friends. You can add me to social media. I’ll create a profile just for you.”

“Fuck off,” she snarls, shocking me with her ferocity. “You’re not the only one who has social media. I might be younger than you, and I might be smaller than you, but I’m no less—”

“I’ll take care of you, I promise. That part, I’ll fulfill. I’ll give you some money right now. Then you can go off and live your life however you want. Do anything you want to do. Give some money to your parents and make sure they’re okay too. Jace’s mom as well. I just—”

“Jace’s mom and my parents were the recipients of his life insurance policy. They’re fine. Not rich, but fine. Anyway, what the nuts? He wanted something else for us besides money. If you think I’d accept that, then you’re a real poo pants.”

She tells me to fuck off with enough venom to stop my heart, and then she uses words like poo pants? God, who is this girl?

“No. I don’t accept,” she adds with finality.

Rusty Nail. That’s who she is.

I have this terrible, sinking feeling that if I don’t agree to this, she’ll never leave me alone. She’ll never stop hounding me and guilting me. God knows I already have enough guilt. Am I afraid of her? Fucking rights, I’m afraid of her. I’m afraid that even being around her will tarnish her shine. I’m afraid that all the messed up, ugly parts of me will come to the surface, and they’ll coat her like an oil spill. Like stepping into a pit of tar. They’ll go all over her nice, clean, pristine soul, and they’ll wreck her.

I might be this mostly harmless-looking dude who hides out in this house during the day and climbs the walls at night, caged in, but I’m so far from harmless. I’ve done things I can never talk about, but they’ll always be stained on my soul.

What’s worse? Two weeks of a fake marriage to fulfill Jace’s last hopes and wishes and then a very distant friendship, or having to put up with his little sister pestering me, guilting me, and hounding me until I lose what’s left of my mind?

I have enough guilt already. And enough regrets to fill up this house until the walls expand and burst.

If I could go back and stay instead of coming home, I would.

But I can’t. This is my reality now.

It doesn’t have to be Aspen’s present, and it doesn’t have to be her future. I can do this for Jace. I couldn’t save him, but I can honor this despite what I think about it. What I think doesn’t matter. Jace was the only real family I ever had. If he’d asked me to do this when he was alive, I would have promised him that I would. Never mind me. I’m nothing. I haven’t been anything or anyone worthy of much at all in a long time. I was good at one thing, and that’s over now.

But this?

I can do this for Aspen. What’s two weeks out of my life? Out of my time? I play nice for two weeks and then I never have to see her again. I’ll treat it like any other dangerous, fucked up mission I’ve been on. I have the skills to get through it. To survive it. I’ll do it because I have to, and then we’ll both be free, but especially her. She’ll be free of me, the obligation, the doubt, and the tormenting guilt. She’ll be okay. I’ll make sure she’s okay.

If I say no…well, it’s not an option. She won’t let me say no. Under all her sweetness, I think she’s built of steel defiance and more sohonor.

“Two weeks?” She picked that number, not me.

She folds up the letter and places it very neatly back in an envelope that has already been worn all over the creases, down to frayed softness. When did she get the letter? Likely just a few days ago. Probably at the same time as I did. Yet it already looks like it’s a hundred years old.

When she looks back up at me, her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. Please, not tears. I can’t deal with tears. They turn my insides into a dumpster fire-style wreck. “Two weeks,” she confirms, swallowing thickly, swallowing all of it back. “We get in, we do this, we get out alive. And then I’ll create whatever fake social media crap you want, or we can be pen pals.” She caresses the envelope in her lap again, touching it with so much love that it makes me feel winded. “If one letter has the power to change a whole life, maybe there’s something to that.”

Chapter four

---