something that to him would seem so small. When it would have been within his rights to get fed up with me.
But what if I’d really forgotten the anniversary? What if I’d gone on a nice date to the lake and forgotten entirely about Parker’s death?
I’d never be able to forgive myself.
I lay back on my bed, sprawled out onto my back, and closed my eyes.
At least this part I was used to. Coping on my own.
Sure, I’d told Brennan about Parker, more than I’d ever really told anyone before—I’d introduced him to the kids at the hospital, even told him about the charity. But that didn’t mean he really understood what it was like. He didn’t understand the weight of the grief, how I felt the ache in my chest every time I saw Heath’s face, every time I saw a teenager skateboarding, every time I walked through the doors of the hospital.
At this point, I didn’t know what it would be like to lean on someone else to help me carry that weight. I knew, deep in my gut, that if I told Brennan about the anniversary, he’d be there for me. But I didn’t know how to tell him. I didn’t know how to explain how much it hurt, or how much I needed this day every year to build up the strength to get through another year without my brother.
And what if Brennan decided I was too damaged, too difficult to be with if I unpacked the full weight of my baggage with him? I couldn’t risk that kind of rejection. It’d kill me.
I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes hard, then went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. That helped—I felt a little more clearheaded until I focused on my reflection. I frowned; I looked exhausted.
But I couldn’t just stay in here and hide from my club all night. And I’d have to see if maybe I could make plans with Brennan for next week, tell him I needed more time, but do so in a way that he’d know I wasn’t trying to push him away. That I still wanted him.
Plus, I had to try to fucking figure out if I needed to redo the sign or not.
I left my room and descended the stairs.
To my dismay, the common area was no longer empty. In fact, it was fairly full now—with a lot of the inner circle lingering by the big table in the center of the room, looking up at the stairs like they were waiting for me.
I resisted the urge to turn around and bolt back to my room. I really didn’t fucking need this shit—not now. This looked like some kind of intervention. I bit my tongue before I said something that’d really set them off.
“Where’s Brennan?” I asked, glancing around.
“He left,” Heath said shortly. “Didn’t tell any of us either. Except Jonah.”
Fuck. Brennan was probably upset with me. That only made the guilt swirling in me worsen. God, I was such a fucking asshole.
“Shit,” I said, as I stalked to the fridge and grabbed a beer just for something to do. “Okay. I’m gonna—”
“I really hope you’re not fucking things up with him,” Heath said, interrupting me. “He’s a good guy, and if you’re just jerking him around, you need to stop.”
“Heath,” Jonah said warningly.
The guilt and shame bubbled inside me, churning like the sea in a storm until it roared into anger. I knew exactly how good of a guy Brennan was, and exactly how much I didn’t deserve him. I didn’t need criticisms right now—especially not from Heath. I already felt like I failed Parker, and I couldn’t fucking bear to have his doppelganger sounding so disappointed in me. He wasn’t Parker, but the tone in his voice and the concerned expression in his eyes made that old wound feel pulled open again.
I slammed the fridge door. “How about you mind your own fuckin’ business? The fuck do you know about me, or about Brennan? Why don’t you go back to Junee and run your mouth there?”
“Whoa,” Dante said, straightening up. He took a few steps forward, standing partially in front of Heath, between us. “What the fuck? We’re in the same club as you, Joker, and we’re concerned about you.”
“What, so you can’t let Heath speak for himself?” I snapped, shoving at Dante’s shoulder. “Why’s it so unbelievable that Brennan likes me, huh?” I nearly shouted over Dante’s shoulder at Heath.
“Joker,”