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His lips purse.
And then he looks away, taking a quiet gasp from my lips with him.
It all happens so fast, there and gone before I can catch hold of it, not unlike that stubborn faint melody that appears in my head sometimes, just out of reach. And with every second that passes, I can’t help but think I just imagined it. All of it.
We were doing homework, and now we’re here.
A blink.
Waylon joins Izzy on the bed, and Jeremy mutters something under his breath, before turning around to busy himself with organizing his desk.
Clearing my throat, I start gathering my homework.
“Ugh, I still have to do this,” Izzy says, groaning when she sees my nearly completed set of problems. I just have one left.
I pluck the notebook from her hand, stacking it on my textbook, and she pouts up at me, batting those thick black lashes at me.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“But you got help.”
I roll my eyes, and tell her, “And now I’ll help you, but you’re not copying my work.”
She snorts. “You suck at geometry.”
Taking a seat, I lean over and pinch her side. “Not anymore, thanks to your brother.”
Waylon grunts at that from where he reclines against the headboard next to her, frowning down at something on his phone.
I cut a sideways look to Jeremy, finding him watching us with a look I can’t immediately place.
Longing, maybe?
I frown. The last thing I ever want Jeremy to feel is left out. It’s been my entire mission in life, no matter what it takes, even if I slip sometimes, lost in the vortex that is music and Isobel Montgomery.
Even if sometimes, I know—I know Jeremy would rather just melt into the shadows.
Crawling toward the edge of the bed, I reach for his arm, and drag him onto the bed with us before he can so much as make a peep of protest.
Izzy giggles and crawls on top of her brother. “We got you now, JJ.”
And I lay on top of her squishing them into the bed.
Waylon just shakes his head.
“I hate you both,” I hear muttered, muffled into the comforter, and I grin.
“Fuck,” Waylon breathes.
I roll my head to face him, and blow hair from my eyes. “What’s up?”
Shaking his head, he flips open his phone, and hits a button, before bringing it to his ear. “Hello?” A pause. “I don’t—Okay, I’ll see.” His nose wrinkles, and he screws his eyes shut. His throat works with a swallow, and he rasps, “Yeah, sir, I know. I’ll be there. Just gimme ten.”
He hangs up and blows out a harsh breath.
“Your dad?” Izzy whispers.
His pinched hazel eyes lift to mine, then shift to hers, and even before he says it, I know what’s coming. “Yeah, he needs me to pick him up.”
