Page 52 of More For Me

I shake my head. I’ll just have to ask Bodhi about it when we get home. For now, I promised him I would keep him company, that I would support him, and that’s what I’m going to do. Even if it seems like he’s barely aware of my presence.

I visit the downstairs powder room, giving myself a moment to try and get my spinning thoughts in order. On my way back to the dining room, something in the den catches my eye.

It’s the leather book Bodhi brought inside. He’d set it on the side table when we came in, and no one had mentioned it. Realizing that I’m snooping but unable to stop myself, I cross the room to the table. Nothing about tonight is making very much sense. Maybe whatever this book is will help me figure out what I’ve walked into.

I open the front cover and immediately smile at the full-page family portrait. It was taken when Bodhi and Nisha were young. I smile at the sight of Bodhi’s gap-toothed grin. He must be about six or seven here—then my stomach sinks as I realize he’s not the only little boy in the picture.

Nisha and Bodhi are standing in front of their parents, holding hands. The other boy stands behind them. He’s a bit bigger than the other two, maybe a year or two older than Nisha, with a mischievous little smile. I’ve never seen him before, but he and Bodhi have the exact same eyes.

I flip to the next page and see another, smaller photograph of the same little boy. A school picture. He looks to be about the same age in both photos.

I stare down at his face, my arms erupting in goosebumps as something cold fills my veins. I’ve never seen a picture of this boy before. The wall next to the staircase features yearly school pictures of Bodhi and Nisha through the years, from kindergarten all the way through college graduation. Zayne’s kindergarten photo has recently joined the line-up. But this boy’s school picture is most definitely not there.

Besides for the stairway, the Lakras don’t display many photographs at all. Definitely not a portrait of the whole family. And nothing with the mischievous smiling little boy.

“That’s Ari,” a low voice says behind me, and I turn to see Bodhi standing in the doorway. His face is closed off, his gaze locked on the book in my hands. “My brother.”

My stomach drops out. I’d assumed that was the case, from the posing of the portrait, but—

“You have abrother?”

“Had. I had a brother.” He still won’t look at me, the monotone of his voice making that awful icy feeling in my blood even worse. “He died on his eleventh birthday.” He finally meets my eyes and I honestly wish he hadn’t. There’s very little resemblance between the blank, shut-down man in front of me and my Bodhi.

“Today, actually. Twenty years ago.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that bombshell. Bodhi had a brother? How is it possible that I don’t know this?

My best friend stares at the book in my hands for a moment before turning around, leaving me staring at his back. “I need to get back to my mom.”

Before I can say a single word, he’s gone.