Page 12 of Before We Break

She smiles wistfully, her gaze slightly unfocused. “Yeah. There’s that, too.”

“I’ll be fine. Noah’s harmless.”

Janet appears out of nowhere like a phantom. “That’s not what I heard.”

Callie startles. “Jesus, Janet. You have to stop sneaking up on people.”

Intrigued, I lean forward in my chair, setting down the worn paperback. “What have you heard?”

“Not much. I know he cut his brother off a while back. Now he’s looking after his nephew ‘cause Jonah got himself into a pickle.”

“What kind of pickle?” Callie asks.

“Jail. They’re saying he’s the reason his girlfriend overdosed last year. Now, that little boy’s practically an orphan.”

A wave of guilt washes over me at the realization that my harmless fun might’ve made a difficult time even worse. He was always a bit stoic and grumpy, but I chalked it up to first impressions. I figured his icy demeanor would thaw over time, and I could win him over, but the only time I’ve seen him soften was when he dropped Auggie off for his first day of school. I didn’t recognize that version of Noah, but I was mesmerized.

Janet continues in a hushed tone. “From what I’ve heard, Noah Weston knows how to hold a grudge. If he can’t forgive his own brother, I’d wager he wouldn’t think twice about throwing you out on your ass.”

I exchange a look with Callie.

“Food for thought.” Janet strides back the way she came, leaving me to wrestle with the knowledge that I might’ve been the asshole in this situation.

Aunt Penny taught me to live life without regrets, but that doesn’t mean skirting accountability when the situation calls for it. I fear this may be one of those times.

THREE

ECHOES OF THE PAST

♫ Cough Syrup - Young the Giant

NOAH

“Uncle Noah?”

Auggie’s solemn voice drifts into the quiet living room I’ve been sketching in for the last hour. Normally, I’d still be in the studio working on a few pieces for my clients, but with Auggie here, I have to be home earlier in the evening.

“Hey, bud. What’s wrong?”

He steps out of the shadows, his shoulders hunched. “I can’t sleep.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, rubbing at his bleary, bloodshot eyes.

My heart gives a painful squeeze. I set my sketchbook and pencil on the coffee table and gesture for him to join me on the sofa. He walks over slowly and sits on the very edge, his feet dangling over the side of the cushion. Sometimes, I forget how little he is.

My parents were addicts, which meant Jonah and I had to grow up faster than most, and my memories of our childhood are a mishmash of good times and bad.

They battled with their sobriety for years. Sometimes, they’d be gone for days on end, and we’d have to fend for ourselves. But when it was good, it was really good. Mom was a ray of sunshine, and Dad thought the sun rose and set only for her.

She overdosed when we were eighteen. Dad grieved for five days, but he couldn’t stand the darkness she left behind, so he got high and wrapped his bike around a tree. One day, we had two flawed parents, and a week later, they were gone. If I learned anything from their marriage, it’s that love is just another form of addiction.

The thought that Auggie could be just as fucked up as we were weighs heavily on my chest every goddamn day. Everything he’s going through—losing both of his parents within a year of each other—I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“You know… when me and your dad couldn’t sleep, we’d sneak out of our bedroom, grab all of the blankets and pillows in the house, and build a big fort.”

“Really?”