Page 95 of The Step Bet

“Apology?”

“I’m sorry, Walker, for all those days when I was complaining about my stepbrother, and telling you what an asshole he was and a jerk…and about the fight he started at our frat party. You know, all those hours of complaining I’ll never get back.”

“I mean, I stand by some of those complaints. But admittedly, might have been some biased reporting.”

He snickers. “I bet. No, but seriously. I’m happy for you, kid.”

He doesn’t give me any more hell about that before heading off, and I’m about to slide my phone in my pocket when my phone buzzes. That was quick for my little Titan, but as I check the notification, I see it’s not from Atlas. It’s BRO.

Did my heart stop beating?

I pull up the message.

Bro: Hey, hey, little man. What’ve you been up to?

It’s enough to make me dizzy. On the one hand, some part of me enjoys seeing Brandon texting like everything’s totally fine—it’s a hope, a dream. On the other hand, it’s horrifying when I know how not fine things really are. His words suggest he’s texting like he would any other day, but the messages above it, all from me, tell a different story:

Me: Merry Christmas!

Me: Happy Birthday!

Me: Just wanted to check in.

They go on and on like that, desperate attempts at eliciting a response. Texts. Photos. Videos.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he’s asking how I am?

I glance around the garage uneasily, almost guiltily. Like I’m gonna get caught reveling in the hope that maybe this time it’s different. Is it so wrong to hope he could mean it?

“It’s just you and me, right?”

He was my hero, my best friend. My everything.

I push aside my skepticism. I’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, I have my shot at reaching him, so I need to be quick and smart about my response. I know better than to say anything that might scare him off. I’ve learned that lesson from past attempts. When I’d question him, he’d go MIA for weeks…then months…

Me: Hey, man! Been up to a lot! What about you?

That’s good. Perfect.

I want to tell him how I was struggling in Thermo but then fucking killed it. How much I love my job. But most importantly, I want to tell him about Atlas. I can just see his blue eyes lighting up and that big smile on his face, like he’s happy simply knowing I’m happy.

Bro: I’ve been doing great! Been getting some help and got a new job!

Some help? A new job?

I should believe him, and yet I shouldn’t. I’ve heard too many lies. To me. To Mom. He told me he was getting help when I loaned him that money I know I’ll never see again. And I hate that part of me is hoping he’s about to let me know he can finally pay me back. Not that I need the fucking money, but just that it matters to him to honor his word.

That would’ve mattered to him once.

Even with all that, I let myself hope. Maybe this time is different. Maybe after all the bullshit in my life, this stuff with Atlas is the beginning of a new chapter. Some sort of cosmic justice to make up for all the crap. I’ve lived enough to know that’s not how life works, but I’m desperately reaching for anything that could bring him back.

Me: That all sounds great. So proud of you!

Bro: Thanks. You’ve always been there for me, bud.

Bro: I’d love to meet and catch up if you have a chance.

I find myself gasping with relief. I know better than to be too excited. It would be easy for him to forget and to go MIA all over again.

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