Page 94 of Backlash

“I know my brother,” she says.

“Do you?” I blurt out. Instantly, I regret it.

Sutton glares at me, her fingernails scratching off the label on her bottle. “Better than you do.”

“I doubt it.” There are a lot of things I’m not sure of anymore. I am certain that I know Sterling Ford better than anyone else alive. Better than Jack and Luca. Maybe better than he knows himself. That’s not saying much. But part of understanding him is seeing how much he walls himself off from the world—how much he shuts it out.

“He’s my brother,” she says. “He’s my family. My blood. Do you know what that means?”

“Family only means as much as you let it.” It’s a truth I understand all too well. “Blood doesn’t mean much more.”

“Maybe not to you, MacBitchFace.” She practically spits the insult at me, but I find it strangely fitting. “It means everything to us.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” I turn to leave before this gets worse.

Sutton jumps off her barstool and blocks my path. “What does that mean?”

She thinks she wants the truth. We’ll see if she can handle it.

“You want a family so badly you will do anything—anything—to get it. You’ll cater to every expectation. You’ll turn a blind eye. You’ll make excuses. You’ll defend them. You’ll protect them,” I say. Why force her to learn this lesson the hard way when she can have the benefit of my experience? “But family doesn’t ask you to do that. Family accepts you. Family protects you. Family expects nothing. Family doesn’t cost. Family gives.”

“Like Sterling gave when he paid for my tuition at NYU a few months after we first met? Or maybe you mean give like the time he showed up at 3 in the morning at some house in Queens to pick me up when my date tried something at a party and I was too drunk to drive? Or like how he’s paying Francie’s bills before they even make it to her mailbox because he knows she won’t take the money? He takes care of his family,” she says. “He gives everything he can to us.”

I close my eyes, wanting to shut her out, but all I find is Sterling. She knows him. Maybe not as well as I do. But she knows the side of him I fell in love with—the part of him that gives so completely. “Do you know why he’s like that?”

“Because he’s not a piece of shit, rich heiress?” she guesses, crossing her arms.

“That probably helps,” I admit. “He’s like that because he loves you. He shows up because he loves you. He takes care of you because he loves you. He does it because he wants to be loved. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”

Her familiar eyes burn. “If that’s true, why does he think he loves you? Because he doesn’t act like it. He came here hating you, and now he thinks you hung the goddamn moon! Or is that it? Are you just keeping him on the hook, dangling love in front of him? Making him think he can finally have it? He doesn’t need you to love him.”

She might be right. I think I’ve always needed Sterling more than he has needed me.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Sterling’s angry voice cuts into our conversation, but he’s not mad at me. “Are you drinking? Do you want Jack to get busted? Do you want to wind up in jail?”

“It was one bottle of beer.” She rolls her eyes and places it on the table. Then she holds up her hands like she’s being arrested.

“And you promised me that if I let you tag along, you’d behave. I don’t want to see you get in trouble.”

I back away while he continues his lecture. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before. Big brother Sterling is fiercely protective, and not because he’s trying to save face, like Malcolm. Because he’s looking out for her. Because she’s his family.

Maybe Sterling finally got what he needed. Maybe the best thing I can do is finally let him go find happiness.

I find Poppy and Cyrus sitting near the bar, heads bowed together, deep in conversation. “I’m going to head home.”

“What? But Kai should be out soon and then we’re going to grab a bite,” Poppy says with a pout.

“I have a deadline,” I lie, “and a massive headache.” The last part is true, even if it’s only a metaphorical headache.

“Do you want a ride?” Poppy asks, elbowing Cyrus in the ribs.

“Yeah,” he jumps in. “I can call my car.”

“It’s only a few blocks away, and it’s still early. I think I’ll walk.”

Poppy’s lips flatten like she’s holding back her thoughts on this plan. She keeps them to herself, but she forces a hug. “Call me when you’re home.”

“I will. Tell Kai he sounded amazing.”