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Chapter Twelve
JOHNNY
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“WHAT THE HELL are youdoing?” Rock stands in the doorway of the bedroom where he’s been letting me crash.
I shove handfuls of clothes into my duffel bag. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Chickening out.”
“I’m leaving.”
“That’s what I said, chickening out.”
The old dresser rocks when I yank open the second drawer. I grab a handful of my briefs and socks. “Screw you.” I point my fistful of framers at Rock as I walk by him.
“You’re angry ’cause it’s true.”
“What the hell do you know?” I jerk the bag open and rip the zipper. “Shit.”
“I know you love Bexley Gratton.”
My hand freezes inside the duffel bag.
The floor creaks under the weight of my brother. He sits on the bed beside my bag. “I suspect she’s afraid you’re going to leave.”
I slant my head at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Johnny, we’re all afraid you’re going to leave again. And that we won’t see you for another ten years. You took off. You didn’t look back. I get how she feels.”
“Fuck.” The bed groans when I sit on the opposite side of my bag. I rest my elbows on my knees and scrub my hands over my face. “I didn’t mean to be such a dick.”
He reaches across and squeezes my shoulder. “The first step is admitting it.”
“Yeah? What’s the second step?”
