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“I don’t give a shit.”
His clipped tone makes my shoulders jump. “Well, you should. There are more important things in life than right and wrong. You should try being his brother, and not his parole officer.”
“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t know us at all.”
“You’ve inserted yourselves into my life, so it feels like I have a right to offer some friendly advice. In fact, here’s another: He’s not your responsibility.”
“Says the one who took the blame for him.” He holds up the joint he confiscated. “I know this isn’t yours.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “You should cut him some slack.”
He towers over me as he steps into my space. “Who are you to tell me what I should do with my family?”
“Blood isn’t everything. He needs a friend.”
“How would you know what he needs?”
“Because I know what it feels like to have no one.”
James’s eyes bounce between mine as my words hang between us. I wish I wouldn’t have blurted them out, but it’s too late now. So, I pluck the joint from his fingers, take a puff, and then blow the smoke in his face just to be a brat.
His head rears back, and he lowers his gaze to my outfit. “Running and smoking pot don’t exactly mix.”
“Sure they do. They both help with anxiety.”
His eyebrow arches. “You have anxiety?”
I don’t normally go around telling strangers I have a mental disorder, but it’s easier to say that I have anxiety than it is depression.
“Yep. I’ve had it my whole life.” My eyes narrow. “And if you tell me tojust relax, I’m going to kick you in your balls.”
He grunts. “People tell you that often?”
“It’s as if we didn’t already think of relaxing. Like yes, Martha, thank you for that very helpful advice. The next time immense, uncontrollable fear seizes my body, my lungs constrict, and I stop inhaling oxygen, I’ll be sure to remind myself to fucking relax. What a revelation.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Still, marijuana is illegal.”
“Barely. And it’s your fault anyway. Two break-ins in the last forty-eight hours aren’t exactly great for my nerves.”
His shoulders droop as if I stuck a pin in his bravado. “So much for starting over, huh?”
I lift my hand and let it fall. “Look, I don’t want to fight. He’s your brother, and I’ll mind my business.” I move around his large frame, but he surprises me by reaching for my hand.
“I can come by and fix your window. Is now a good time?”
“Sure.”
James walks me to my front porch, where a pane of glass is propped against the first step. “I was going to throw some frozen pizza in the oven. You want a slice?”
“You’re going to eat pizza after a run?”
“Okay, Judgy Judgerton. You telling me I can’t afford to have some pizza?”
“No. That’s not what I meant at all. Your body is… you’re…”
My feet slow on the porch, and I turn around to meet his worried gaze.
He scratches the back of his neck as his eyes trail down my body. “I mean, you’re perfect.”
