Page 11 of Changing Lanes

He stands so suddenly, he almost knocks over the barstool. “Yeah.” He snaps like he just remembered. “A date. Where we eat. At a restaurant. So, eating this…would be rude. Sorry.”

I narrow my eyes, treading behind his mad dash to the door. There’s practically skid marks on the tile. This idiot really hates veggies.

“Fine, scaredy cat. Wait until I tell Ty. He’s gonna roast your ass for running from a salad.”

He ducks his head back in, screwing his face up. “I don’t give a shit. I can still beat Ty’s ass.”

This is undoubtedly true. Jesse pulls no punches—literally. But again, I can’t tell him that.

I pretend to scoff, saying, “I don’t know. I saw him lift my dresser without breaking a sweat. He’s a beast. He probably eats his greens.” The last part barely makes it past my lips without me cracking up.

“Good. Have him finish that pile of slop you’re trying to force on me.”

I follow him out to the hallway. It’s open on both ends with two sets of concrete stairs on either end—one to the parking lot, one to the pool out back. It’s not suffocatingly hot yet, but still, it’s warm. Warmer with the air getting stuck in the concrete cage and no airflow.

“And he can take you to work, too.”

“Whatever. Ungrateful ass. I’m just trying to keep you healthy.” Something in me jerks to a stop, screaming to keep him here. To show him what he means to me. To make him understand. Without thought I wrap my arms around his middle from behind, pressing the side of my face into his back and whispering hoarsely, “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re too important.”

He freezes, sighing, like he knew this would happen. Like he knew I’d never want to let him go.

He’s right. I don’t.

Like a good coach, I need all my boys, my team, lined up in front of me, following the carefully laid out plan—together. Not off scrambling with their own half-baked ideas—alone.

I need my family like plants need water. I’m not a fucking cactus. I need them. A person can go without water for three days but my throat’s been aching from my mom’s diagnosis two years ago and I’m still reeling. It triggered a drought I’ll never be able to remedy. At least not by myself. I need the boys’ support like they need mine, otherwise I’m scared we’ll all dehydrate.

Jesse turns around slowly, his guarded eyes meeting mine, and we share a look that holds things neither of us want to say aloud. Things we don’t even want to admit to ourselves.

I wrap my arms around his trim waist tighter, saying, “I love you.”

He folds his over my back, letting them hang a little looser.

“I love you, too.” It comes out chopped up worse than our abandoned salads. I never claimed they were good. Just healthy.

He pulls back, staring down at me and I can tell it’s over. Over his head. Over this moment. Just over. “Now, how are you going to fix that bike?”

“What’s wrong with your bike?”

Our heads turn to see Beckett’s daunting figure taking up half the hallway. I didn’t even hear him approach. With feet that big, it’s quite the, well, feat.

Although the question was aimed at me, he hasn’t taken his eyes off my brother still wrapped around me. Jesse stiffens, slipping into full brother mode as he pulls away, returning my roommate’s merciless stare. I miss him immediately. Everything. I miss everything about him.

Except this domineering shit.

I clear my throat but neither one so much as notices and I roll my eyes hard enough to see the cobwebs swaying from the outdoor ceiling.

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t start this morning,” I tell the unfriendly giant.

His eyes finally touch on mine but return almost instantly to my oldest brother. “Where is it now? I didn’t see it in the lot.”

There’s an invisible wire holding each man in place but it’s getting wound tighter the more words are flung through the air and they both start to shift toward the other. Jesse’s not the bulkiest of my brothers but he’s definitely the meanest, having basically raised three other boys himself. He’s also incredibly smart using any weakness in his opponent to get the upper hand. He taught me that skill before I entered high school. It came in handy enough times for me to hone the skill into a fine point.

Looking Beckett over, I’d say his weakness is mental, not physical, but I don’t know him well enough to know what that is just yet.

“What’s it to you? Are you the roommate or something?”

“The roommate?” Beckett chuckles deeply, taking a step in our direction and I swear he doubles in size, enough to eclipse the sun at his back, casting a shadow over us all. “There’s more where I come from, bro.”