Page 82 of We Can't Be Friends

She comes around when she wants. She’ll call or drop in, asking to see Riley. Sometimes, she’ll whisk him away with her husband—thankfully Miller and Sara never married—to wherever she’s at.

I admire my brother. As a professional athlete. As a single dad. Every side of him.

I wish he had a partner, someone he can rely on and love. There’s so much in him to give—even if we don’t see eye to eye.

We’re getting breakfast to work on that.

“Sara picked him up yesterday. She’s in the city for a long weekend.”

“Was he excited to see her?”

Miller’s head drops and he kicks a rock on the sidewalk. “He’s getting older. At some point, new toys and cool places aren’t going to be enough for him. What will he think when he’s in school and in the band, getting the lead role in the school play, or scoring a game-winning goal after getting an A on a science test and his mom isn’t there? I’m not prepared for that day. I’m barely prepared for anything with raising a kid alone.”

I rest my hand on his forearm protectively. I can feel heat radiating off him through his winter coat.

“Sara is convinced that her pop-up appearances are beneficial. They aren’t. They hurt,” he adds. A strand of hair falls across his forehead. His gray eyes, a mirror of mine, are cloudy and pools of the destruction she’s caused in his life.

“Have you tried talking to her about this?”

“Of course I have. Goes in one ear and right out the other.” He blows out an exhale.

“Did Riley mention anything today? You aren’t normally bothered by her.”

My brother sighs, shoulders tensing.

I’m trying to keep it cool. Miller isn’t a fan of when I go all guns blazing and let my ‘claws,’ as he calls them, out.

But Sara sucks, andIhatethat he allows her to get away with this.

Aaron and I both did. Sara has been a bloodsucker since she met Miller freshman year. Gold-digging puck bunny. She only ever saw money signs when it came to him. His potential, kindness, and big heart were never more than a means to a paycheck for her.

“No,” Miller sighs. “He’s got too big of a heart.”

“Takes after someone I know.” I nudge his arm.

“I don’t know about that anymore, Chlo. I think—I’m exhausted.”

“We don’t have to hangout. You can go home and sleep.”

“It’s not that.” He laughs, and even as pathetic as it sounds, it makes me happy momentarily. “I’m exhausted from doing this alone. I’m lonely. The only time I feel cared for is. . . well never.”

“Miller. . .” Guilt hits me, ringing joy right out of me like I'm a rag.

“Don’t.” His tone has my heart slamming on the breaks as if I’m the one that’s about to run the stop sign. “It’s not your fault, Chlo.”

It is though.

“But I haven’t been around. I—”

“I get it. I know why you left. We all handled it in our own way.”

Does he? Does Miller know why I left all those years ago?

There’s a pit in my stomach.

He can’t know. If he did. . . he wouldn’t be here right now. Miller wouldn’t be anywhere near me. I know his anger with my bolting has settled, but it doesn’t change the animosity that has lingered between us.

I swallow down the discomfort, biting back the grief that’s trying to push forward. The guilt and shame that fueled my leaving.

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