“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that she’s been through a lot. Don’t say or do anything to make her feel…threatened.”
Sage shrugs. “I was only going to help.”
I nod. “I know you were.” I start to wonder if I should head back inside with her when I hear something. Voices from somewhere deep in the maze. Sage perks her head up like a bird on alert. “Oh,” I say, “Henry and the others must’ve given up on me. I’ll go get them.” I nudge her along toward the path. “Be inside in a sec.”
“You better be.” Resignedly, she hurries back toward the bridge.
I turn to face down the maze again. Ducking inside, I try to recall the times we used to play here as kids. The first turn is a left; I know that. But at the fork, my memory goes hazy. One way dead ends immediately, while the other takes you on a twisty adventure to nowhere. The third option leads you closer to the exit.
I inhale a breath and choose the path to the right. At my first step, a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
15
I scream and jab an elbow back, nailing my attacker in the stomach.
There’s a groan. “Damn it, Phil.”
I whip around. “Bram? Why the hell did you grab me?”
“I didn’t grab you! I touched your shoulder.”
I wince, the incident replaying in my mind. “Sorry, it was instinct. You could’ve said you were behind me. What are you even doing out here?”
“It got loud.” He stops fussing with his injury to rub his temples. “When are these people leaving?”
“The party just started. And you guys told them they could come over.”
“Yeah, well, Adam and Henry aren’t in there. And I’m not exactly the life of the party.”
“No,” I say, “you’re not.”
His head falls back. “And that Mackenzie girl won’t stop talking. Please come inside and make her stop.”
“I can’t. I never found Adam. And then…” This part is even more embarrassing to admit. “I lost Henry.”
“Maybe he’s avoiding you,” Bram says without hesitation.
I clench my molars. “What’s your problem?” I ask, the anger in my voice letting him know he’s gotten to me. “You’re always a jerk, but you’re not usually this…mean. And you definitely don’t drink. Tell me what’s going on.”
He backs up, his spine grazing the hedge wall, crossing his arms. “Nothing’s going on.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been self-sabotaging all night, making yourself look like the asshole these people think you are.”
He straightens now, talking a step toward me. “I amexactlywho these people think I am,” he says, each word spoken like a slap.
“That’s not true,” I argue, but he takes another step toward me, and I have to force myself to hold my ground.
The moon’s glow hits his face, casting shadows, highlighting sharp planes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says in that same bladed tone.
“I know you act like a jerk, but you care about people.”
“People like you?” he asks, his gray eyes dark and unreadable.
A lump forms in my throat, and I try to clear it. “People like your brothers.”
“Oh, like my brothers.” He laughs, but the sound is frayed. His face falls into shadow again, and when I take a step closer, I see his lips are contorted; he looks devastated.
