Page 188 of The Long Way Home

He frowns. “Yeah.”

“Do you really?”

“BJ.” My brother shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

“I cheated on her. And then I fucked around. Did drugs. Partied harder than she liked. Then I cheated with her. I know she thinks I’m a fuck up—”

“She doesn’t,” he interrupts me. Looks sad.

“Don’t lie to me.” I roll my head back. “I am a fuck up.”

“Beej,” he sighs. “You fucked up. You’re not a fuck up.”

I roll my eyes, don’t really want his semantics at the minute.

“Just tell me Hen, I want to know — as her friend, as someone who loves her how I know you do — if I wasn’t your brother, would you think I’m good enough for her?”

And it’s just for a second, the smallest pause — flickers across his brow, don’t even know if he’d know it was there — but I see it: the truth.

I’m not, and apparently we all know it.

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