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“What?” I said, trying hard to keep the gravel from my voice.
“If you two can’t agree, then just get both,” Wes repeated.
He hadn’t picked Win. He hadn’t picked me either. But…
He hadn’t picked Win.
Even though he should have. Even though I gave him every reason to.
He didn’t.
15
Wes
I creptinto the dim bedroom, the light snores of my brother filling the early morning quiet. The swelling in my ankle had subsided, and though I kept it wrapped, I’d forgone the crutches in favor of walking gingerly.
Day three of this “recovery period,” and I was already ready to crawl out of my skin.
Pausing at the foot of the bed, I snickered at the way Win lay belly up, head lolled to the side with his mouth open. He was not one of those people that looked young and innocent when he slept. He looked like an unmannered oaf, and frankly, I thought it was funny as hell considering everyone thought Win was just “so handsome.”
I thought for probably the millionth time in my lifetime of snapping a photo of him in all his mouth-breathing glory to post it to all my socials and let everyone know exactly what the poster child for sports medicine really looked like in bed.
I even went as far as reaching for my phone, and then I remembered I still didn’t have a replacement. I shook my head regretfully. I guess my display of brotherly love would have to wait for another day. It was just as well considering I was in here to poach the keys to his car.
Seeing them on the desk, I slid them into my pocket and started for the door. I made it about halfway when my conscience got the better of me.
“Shit,” I muttered, slightly limping over to the right side of the mattress where he lay. Kinda odd considering he usually just starfished in the center and hogged the entire mattress.
“Win,” I whispered.
He gave no response at all except for a long, indrawn snort. Through his mouth. Dude was gross.
“Win.” I tried again, this time poking his bare shoulder.
“Lars,” he mumbled, turning away from me toward the other side of the bed.
“Who’s Lars?” I wondered.
My brother’s head lifted off the pillow, chestnut hair going in every direction. Squinting one eye, he turned to face me. “Wes? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m borrowing your car.”
“What? What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
His eyes widened, and he bolted up. “I slept all day!”
“Five in the morning.” I clarified.
Groaning, he fell back onto his pillow, yanking his blankets up. “Go away.”
I was like him a long time ago. But now I was so used to being up for swim practices that I woke without my alarm. Yesterday, I tossed and turned until I fell back asleep, but this morning, I couldn’t do it. I needed out of this house. I needed to swim.
“Hey,” his groggy, sleep-addled voice called.
“What?” I whispered from the doorway.
