Lexi’s face was still buried in her hands. He cleared his throat. She didn’t move.

"Lex," he said quietly.

"Go away."

"Lex," he said again, firmer.

She still didn’t move.

He sighed, and then moved her hands away from her face. Finally, she looked up at him, her face red—from embarrassment, this time.

He tugged on her hand to get her to stand up. She did, but her eyes were huge with shock. He sat on her chair then brought her back down on his lap, whispering something in her ear.

She nodded.

Good for them, I thought.

***

That was as far as they went. She sat on his lap, with his arms loosely around her. They didn’t make out; they didn’t even kiss. At one point, I saw her flip his cap backwards so their faces could be closer when they whispered, or talked quietly to each other.

I had to turn away then; it was too much.

Too familiar.

He sat back in the car after walking her to her door. It was nearing four a.m. and we were heading home to Mom’s house. "I’ve always like her," he mumbled. His head fell back against the headrest.

I watched him for any sign of amusement or mocking—there was none. "Yeah? What took so long?"

"She’s your best friend."

"So?"   

He sat up and faced me, motioning his head for me to start driving. I did.

"I heard her once—telling you that she wouldn’t date a guy that she couldn’t be around whenever she wanted. She said she had trust issues, and didn’t know how you did it with Tyson."

Tyson. My heart hurt. I wonder where we’d be . . .

"Sorry." He pulled me from my thoughts. "I shouldn’t have mentioned it."

I glanced at him and smiled. "It’s fine." It really was. Tyson wasn’t a sore subject. "What makes you think she won’t make the exception with you?" I asked.

"Because." He took off his cap. "I just asked her. She said she’s happy to fool around, but she doesn’t want to be anything more—not when I’m there, and she’s here. She doesn’t want an emotional attachment, or whatever. She says she doesn’t trust me."

"So that’s that?"

"That’s that," he confirmed.

2

It had been a month since we went home for Tristan’s birthday. A month since I ran into Dylan, and a month since I’d decided that I was no longer going to live my life in a state of post-Logan depression, again.

I was going to live my life for me, and only me.

Ethan was the only one that was stopping me from doing that. He never left the house anymore. He was in class, or home, and that was it. I was never home alone. He never dated, he never partied, and he never went out. If I wanted to go somewhere, he was with me. Like my bodyguard. Only he wasn’t. He was my brother, and he shouldn’t be living his life like this.

So, that’s what I told him.

He just stared at me, unblinking.

I raised my eyebrows.

He sat up on the recliner and rested his elbows on his knees. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat, and then he let out a long sigh. "No," he said, his voice firm.

"Ethan." His name came out like a whine. "I’ll be fine."

"No," he repeated, coming to a stand. He pointed two fingers at me as he walked past. "And we’re done talking about this."

He walked into the hallway, and seconds later, the sound of his door slamming echoed through the house.

I let out a frustrated breath, got up and walked to his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the floor. "E." I tried to get his attention.

"Quit it, Dim. I mean it," he warned.

"You have to stop doing this. It’s not your job to protect me."

He stood up. "Get out," he spat, pointing at his door.

"What?" I reared back in surprise.

"Don’t talk to me about what my role is—or whatever." He was pissed. "I know what I should be doing. I know that I should be protecting you." He was shouting now. "You don’t think I fucking know that? I’ve failed you how many times now? First with Greg, and now this shit. Don’t fucking talk to me about—"

"Holy shit," I cut in. "Ethan, none of this is your fault." I took a step closer to him. "You can’t blame yourself."

"Shut up, Dimmy. You don’t fucking get it. Dad’s not around anymore. It is my job." He sucked in a huge breath, sniffed back his emotions and ran his hand through his hair. I watched his chest rise and fall, trying to regain control of his breathing. He walked to his desk and leaned back on it. "I’m sorry," he finally said. "I’m just . . . I don’t know what I am, but I shouldn’t be yelling at you."

I stayed quiet. I didn’t know what to say. Ethan had always been protective, but not like this. I’d never considered Ethan’s feelings. I’d never even thought of him, or how he’d felt when Dad left, or when that shit had happened with Tyson and Logan and Greg, and now this. "It’s not your place to be Dad, E. We have a dad; he’s just an asshole. But you’re not it. You’re not him, and you never will be. You couldn’t have done anything—"

"Amanda." My real name leaving his mouth made me pay attention. "I should've been there to protect you. I'm your brother."