“No.” Liam made me promise never to tell her until he was ready. I swore I’d take his secret to my grave. “I told you I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Ha. Like I c-c-can t-t-trust you,” he screams. “You’re n-n-nothing b-b-b-b-but a liar.”

“Christ, man. Get a grip,” Cole yells. “Stop acting like a maniac and destroying Jace’s stuff.”

Liam glares at his twin. “He k-k-kissed, Dy—”

“Yeah, I know. But Dylan was never yours, dude.” He snorts. “Did you really think you had a shot with her?” He rocks back on his heels. “A blind person could see she’s been into Jace for a while now. But even if she wasn’t, no way would she ever date someone like you.”

My fingers curls into fists. “Cole.”

Despite my tone and Liam’s tears, he continues.

“No one likes you, Liam. Not even your own family.” His features twist in disgust. “You’re embarrassing. Always looking for attention with your crying and stuttering—”

“That’s enough,” I growl, winding my fist back. “Say another word and I swear to God I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Whatever. Screw this.” He looks at Liam. “Screw you.” He flips us both the bird. “You assholes sort your own shit out. I’m done.” He starts walking but pauses when he reaches the frame. “I wish it was one of you who died instead of Mom. Maybe then this family wouldn’t be such a disaster.”

With that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Three siblings down. Zero to go. Awesome.

After clearing a spot, I sit down on my bed. “I’m sorry, Liam. I know you’re mad. You have every right to be. But I didn’t mean to hurt you. Dylan and I—”

“Yes, you d-d-did. Otherwise you w-w-wouldn’t have d-d-done it.” Tears cloud his eyes. “You k-k-know how m-m-much I l-l-love her. S-s-she w-w-was the only g-g-good t-t-thing in m-m-my l-l-life.” His body starts shaking with sobs. “N-n-now she’s g-g-gone. J-j-just like M-m-mom.”

I feel so helpless it’s all I can do not to scream. I didn’t want to take Dylan away or upset him like this.

For once, I just wanted to be happy…which is exactly what Dylan makes me.

But as usual, I don’t get that privilege. Liam’s my little brother and I have to make things right between us.

It’s what Mom would want.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I utter, “Tell me how to fix this. What will it take for you to forgive me?”

My mother always told us nothing in life was broken beyond repair. With enough determination, everything could be mended and restored.

However, the inconsolable look on Liam’s face deflates her theory.

“You c-c-can’t, a-s-s-shole.” Anger radiates off him in waves and he goes back to smashing my stuff. “I’ll n-n-never f-f-forgive you f-f-for t-t-this. You’re a b-b-backstabber. The w-w-worst b-b-brother in the w-w-world. F-f-fuck you.”

Dammit. I’ve tried to stay calm and be understanding, but I’ve had about all I can take. I could turn myself inside out and roll over every broken piece of glass in this room, and it wouldn’t matter at this point. He’s determined to make me suffer.

Why should I care about him when it’s clear he doesn’t give a shit about me or my happiness?

Standing, I point to the door. “Get out. I’m not your punching bag.”

His jaw clenches. “No.” He smashes the frame containing a picture of me and our mother on my nightstand. “I hat-t-te you.”

Whatever thread I was hanging onto snaps. “Fine, but hating me and smashing my shit still won’t make Dylan like you.” Rushing toward him, I snatch the bat out of his hand. “Get the fuck out of my room, crybaby.” His eyes widen and he freezes, but it’s too late. He’s already pushed me to my limit. There’s no going back now.

Taking hold of his arm, I begin hauling him toward the door. When he struggles, I grab his hair and drag him across the room like an animal. It’s exactly what he’s acting like. “Congrats, you just lost the only friend you ever had.” Opening the door, I shove him past the threshold. “Actually, make that two friends. Because you bet your ass I’m telling her everything when she comes over later.”

“Jac-c-c—” He starts to say but I push him so hard he falls.

“Shut your mouth, because I am done listening.” I slam a fist into my chest. “I refuse to be miserable just because you are. Dylan makes me happy and I make her happy.” My throat tightens to the point of pain. “Which is something you’ll never be able to do.”

With that, I slam the door in his face.

Seconds later, I kneel down next to the shattered picture of me and my mom and bury my head in my hands.

I wish like hell she was here to help me pick up the broken pieces of my life.

But a small part of me is thankful she’s not…so she can’t see the mess I’ve made.

The sun peeking through the curtains is like a laser zapping through my skull. With a grunt, I roll over and stuff my pillow over my head, attempting to block out the light.

The events of last night come rushing back like a tsunami.

Dylan.

Liam.

The room my little brother destroyed that took me four hours and seven garbage bags to clean up.

On impulse, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.

It’s off.

Turning my head, I eye the window.

The one I locked last night.

The hand on my phone twitches with the need to call her and explain.

No.

Not until I talk to Liam and hash everything out.

Family comes first.

No matter how much the three of them piss me off—and Jesus Christ, they do—taking care of them has been my sole responsibility ever since my mom died and my father became a ghost.

No matter how much I want to throw in the towel and say fuck it some days, I can’t.

I’m all they have left.

The fight with Liam last night was bad, but it’s not irreparable.

My mom used to tell me that every sunrise brought a brand-new day and a chance to start over.

After tossing the covers off, I throw on a t-shirt and some sweatpants.

It’s the weekend, which means everyone but the sperm donor is home and when they wake up, they’ll be hungry.

I contemplate knocking on Liam’s door when I pass his bedroom but think better of it because I know he—along with my sister Bianca—like to sleep in for as long as humanly possible on the weekends.

Since it’s barely seven, I jog down the stairs instead.

Cole’s already sitting at the table shoving cereal into his mouth when I enter the kitchen. It’s no surprise, since we’re the early birds of the family. It’s one of the only non-physical traits we share with our dickhead father.

“Hey.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat before he lifts the bowl to his mouth, finishing off the leftover milk.

“If you’re still hungry, I’m making breakfast.”

I grab some butter, milk, and a carton of eggs from the fridge. Then I reach into the cupboard and take out a box of pancake mix.

Pancakes and eggs are Liam’s favorite, and I’m hoping it will be a good enough olive branch for him to want to talk.