Page 16 of If the World Was Ending

“He ditched tennis for golf,” Bonnie sighed and folded her arms over her cotton sundress. It was a low-cut pink thing, and short. Not her normal style. Bonnie usually wore calf-length dresses and little cardigans, even in the summer. The sleeves just got shorter if it was hot out. She looked fine but different. “Apparently, all the ex-pro athletes play golf nowadays. He goes out three or four times a week with some retired hockey players and a guy who used to be a first baseman for the Dodgers. They all live in San Diego, of course, because your dad is still the only retired athlete in Oceanside… and he likes it that way.”

She whispered that last part with a roll of her eyes. Andy Keaton was an attention whore, and everyone knew it, even Andy. They used to joke about it with him when they all lived under one roof. Well, before the incident. After the incident, no one did much joking. At least not with Colby around.

“I’m going to go find Atlas,” Colby told her, and she reached out and squeezed his bicep, but her eyes studied the cut on Colby’s head. Hunter and Colby both agreed it probably needed stitches, but the butterfly Band-Aid Hunter put on it was holding well. “And before you ask, my head is fine. I’ll be back.”

The bartender finally handed Colby his bottle of Corona with a lemon wedge, which he must have gone inside to get from the kitchen. Colby thanked him and smiled at his mom. She smiled back. Neither was natural. Briar was now holding a glass of pink wine by the buffet table. She grabbed a toothpick with something that looked like cheese and popped it into her mouth. Colby made his way to her because he suddenly realized he’d forgotten to get an answer about where the golf simulator was located.

He glanced into the pool house behind the buffet table. The door was wide open, but there was no simulator inside. “Brodie refuses to get it. I can’t believe I ever wanted to stick my tongue in his mouth.”

Colby read his back. “You did?”

She smiled sheepishly and reached for another toothpick with cheese on it. “Yeah. For like all of junior year and part of senior. Until you told me what happened. Your brothers are almost as hot as you, and they don’t feel like my brothers, you know?”

“You need a sister I can pine over. Pay back,” Colby mutters.

“Sorry, I do have a hot male cousin but… You wouldn’t be interested in that. Right?” Briar said and stared at him.

He stared back. “And prove them, right? Fuck no. I’ll be back. You good?”

“Yeah. Good. Gina Hollanov is here. Do you remember her? She was my cheerleading coach. I’ll go say hi.” Briar pointed toward a woman with long blonde hair in a champagne-colored dress that Colby vaguely recognized.

He headed into the house and went out to the garage, passing the kitchen that was bustling with catering staff. The golf thingy wasn’t in the garage. Like a lot of California homes, they didn’t have a basement, so he headed upstairs. There were four bedrooms and an office up there. He figured maybe his dad set up the simulator in the office, which was just a museum to his brief career and never really used for much. The walls and shelves were covered with pictures. His old uniform top, baseballs, and awards from the juniors. But then he heard noise coming from the other end of the hall. Men talking and laughing.

That end of the hall, past a massive window, had the bedroom he grew up in—across the hall from Atlas’s room and next to Brodie’s. And that’s where the noise was coming from because that’s where the golf simulator had been set up. He stopped abruptly at the open door. There wasn’t a lick of anything that had been left in his room when he moved out. He glanced behind him, through the open door to Atlas’s room. He could see the familiar blue paint and the striped duvet Atlas had always had. The oak base of his bed was also visible. He’d bet Brodie’s room was untouched too.

But this room, which had been his sanctuary and the only place in this McMansion where he felt he belonged, had nothing left that proved he’d ever existed in it. The walls, which had been a deep green, were beige now. His artwork, his posters of the Eagles and Joni Mitchell, were gone from the walls. His vintage stereo, which he’d saved up for and hunted down after visiting endless flea markets and antique stores, was nowhere to be found. There was a plain white couch and a teak side table against the far wall and nothing else.

Atlas stood in the middle of the room with a golf club in his hand. Two other men stood behind him, holding glasses of beer and talking about his last swing.

“You really have a hell of a form. You’ve never taken lessons?” one guy asked approvingly.

“Nope. Maybe I’ll quit baseball and go into golf,” Atlas said with an easy smile. He looked relaxed, tanned, and confident. He also looked older. Colby hadn’t seen him in over a year, but he looked like it had been three or four. It was hard to explain, but he looked more like a stranger than Colby had anticipated.

“Don’t even kid,” the other guy said. “You’re on the brink of getting your shot. Of course, knowing you, if you switch, you’ll win the Masters next year.”

“Shut up,” Atlas chuckled, but his chest puffed out at the compliment.

He handed the club to the taller of the two guys, who took it and said, “You don’t get two sports and a hot wife, dude. Leave something for the rest of us.”

He turned, and that’s when Atlas noticed his younger brother. The smile on his face fell, and his shoulders tensed. “Oh. Hey Colb.”

“Hey.” Colby stared at him, and then his eyes pinballed around the room again. “Where’s all my shit?”

He sounded like a defensive child, and he knew it, but… what the actual fuck? When he left, he asked his mother if he could come back for his stuff one day, and she’d said yes. Atlas shook his head. “I think Brodie said they boxed it up and put it in the garage. Or the pool house. I don’t remember. But they didn’t toss it.”

“Why?” Colby swallowed down the rest of that question, which would have been “why my room?” But they both knew the answer to that, and neither had the balls to say it aloud. “Why are you getting married?”

It was a bad pivot. Atlas’s friends stopped talking and looked at him. Atlas frowned. “Because I met a woman I want to marry.”

Colby gave him a look that screamed bullshit. Atlas let out a loud breath and turned to his friends. “Guys, this is my youngest brother, Colby. Colb, these are my boys. Wyatt is the catcher on my team, and Domingo’s the first baseman.”

They both tipped their heads toward Colby hesitantly. Yeah, because I’m the problem, Colby thought angrily. But he bit back the urge to ask which one of them knew Atlas was gay. He wasn’t about to out his brother. As angry as he was at Atlas for what he’d done to Colby, two wrongs didn’t make a right. Atlas turned to his buddies. “Can you guys give us a second. I haven’t seen Colb in… forever.”

Domingo blinked, and his expression changed. He pointed at Colby. “You’re the brother who lives in Los Angeles and sings.”

Colby nodded, kind of stunned that they knew anything about him. And now Wyatt looked interested too. “Right! Yeah. Atlas played one of your songs for us. You’re fucking good.”

“Th… thanks. Thank you.” Colby turned a confused gaze on Atlas.