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“That’s three words.”
“Fine,” he countered, not missing a beat. “Here’s two words for you: teen pregnancy. Have you seen the girl lately? She looks like she’s ready to pop.” His eyes bulged for emphasis. “If it can happen to Joey Lynch, it can happen to anyone of us.”
“Not me.” I smiled sweetly up at him. “Because I don’t possess a penis.”
“Yeah, well, your pillow pal certainly does.”
“Hugh,” I said as calmly as I could, while I tried to wipe the smile from my face in order to comfort my big dope of a brother. “I promise Gerard and I are just friends. Same as always.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, not sounding one bit comforted. “Friends that been getting awfully close since Cap left for tour back in June.”
“We’ve always been close.”
“True, but it’s been different this summer, and you know it,” he pushed, and I couldn’t deny the hint of concern in his voice—or his eyes. “Come on, Claire. I’m not thick. I can see it, same as everyone else, and contrary to popular belief, I’m not trying to control your life. I’m just… I know Gibs better than anyone, and he…and you…” He shook his head and blew out a breath before adding, “Look, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Hugh was right about one thing.
It was different us this summer.
We were closer.
It was more.
“Why would I get hurt?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
“Because he’s fucked in the head.”
“Hugh!”
“Stop it. Don’t look at me like that. You know I love him like a brother,” he hurried to explain, looking flustered. “I would take a bullet for him, lay down my life for him in a heartbeat, but he’s damaged, Claire. I’m talking seriously damaged here. What happened to him when we were kids seriously screwed up his brain. He hasn’t been the same since he was seven and we both know it.”
Yeah, I knew it, but it wasn’t nice to hear it out loud.
“Oh my god, Hugh, stop, will you?” I shook my head in disgust. “Half of our friendship circle is damaged. That hasn’t stopped us being friends with any of them, has it?”
“Yeah, but you’re not just friends with Gibs,” he argued. “You’re in love with him.”
“So?” I’d given up denying it a long time ago. Besides, I was a terrible liar. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re not damaged,” he urged, tone laced with sincerity. “And I don’t want that to change.”
“And you think it will?” I pushed, folding my arms across my chest. “If I get too close to Gerard?”
“I’m afraid of what could happen if he gives in and it gets too deep and goes too far,” he admitted, brown eyes locked on mine. “I’m afraid of the aftermath, Claire.”
His words rattled me in a way they never had before.
Because I could hear the concern in his tone.
It was genuine.
It was valid.
But his warning would fall on deaf ears because I had a Gerard Gibson–sized blind spot on my heart.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I have never seen or touched Gerard’s penis for sexual reasons?” I decided to throw my brother an olive branch by saying.
“What? No, Claire,” Hugh groaned, looking thoroughly disturbed. “That wouldn’t make me feel better at all…” He shook his head before quickly backpedaling, “Hold up, so that means you have?”
