“Here, look what I found.” I see his hand waving me in his direction, so I make my way over, careful not to trip on the fairy lights.
He’s sitting on a tiny stool with an open box of photos laid out beside him.
“Look, that was Max’s first ever football trophy,” he says, holding up the photo.
I laugh, taking it from him, remembering how the day before he lost his front tooth and the sight of blood nearly had me passing out. Anyone would have thought it was my tooth.
“Yeah, he got two pounds from the tooth fairy that morning,” I reply. He split the money with me at the corner shop. He really was the best brother.
My dad fingers through some more, stopping and pulling out loose ones to show me, and my stomach sinks like it always does, knowing that every new event or memory, he won’t be there to celebrate it with us.
And there’s a hole in my heart where he should be.
He wasn’t just my brother. He was my best friend. We were as thick as thieves growing up. I can’t ever remember arguing with him. I’m sure we did, that's what siblings do, but I mostly recall how he was always so patient with me.
Some of the photos are just of me from various school plays and performances, but he hardly gives them any mind, so consumed by the ones of Max, not that I blame him.
“Dinner,” my mum calls up from somewhere downstairs.
“I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick,” I say to my dad as I make my way down the ladder and across to the bathroom.
I lock the door and lean my back against it, closing my eyes. Concentrating on my breathing, I count back from twenty and then pull my shoulders back before heading into the hallway, trying my hardest not to glance at Max’s bedroom door but still honing in on his name plaque.
Unlike most times, it's partially open, and I find myself moving closer. I swear it still smells like him.
Peering around the door, I poke my head into his room, and my eyes scan over all his belongings. My parents never packed up his stuff—a shrine to him. Mum still dusts and vacuums in here. If I weren’t so worried about their reaction, I’d suggest packing it up. I don’t think it’s healthy. But who am I to judge? He was their son.
I look over my shoulder and listen to ensure they're both still downstairs, and then I carefully pull open one of his drawers and pull out his Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. I used to steal it from him all the time. Bringing it to my nose, I close my eyes. How it still smells faintly of him four years later, I have no idea. But I’m not complaining.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I fold it as small as possible, quietly make my way downstairs, and slip it into my bag on my way back to the kitchen.
ChapterNine
NATHAN
One of the things I hate about living on my own is the quiet. It gives me too much time to get stuck in my head, and I hate it. It’s probably why I prefer to be surrounded by people, whether at the gym, club, or bar. Even if I’m by myself, it’s easier to ignore when you’re in a sea of people.
“You want to come over for dinner?” Meg asks as I wipe down the equipment from my workout.
“What's on offer?” I ask, which is ridiculous. I’ll eat anything, except for liver. That shit is nasty.
“Chicken fajitas.”
Before she knows what’s coming, I grab her, picking her up off the floor. She laughs.
“I take that as a yes.”
A deep grunt sounds from behind me, and I already know without looking that it’s Henry. Placing her back on her feet, I kiss her cheek.
“Mine,” Henry growls, clipping the back of my head before pulling her into his arms.
“Yeah, whatever you say, man, but she’s making my favourite.”
He leans down and kisses her like they’re alone, and I find myself turning away.
“Okay, cut it out,” I say, flicking his arse with the towel in my hand. “I’m going to hit the showers. I’ll meet you back at ours… I mean yours.”
That’s still taking some getting used to, I think as I walk away, not even sure if they heard me anyway.
