“I won’t say it gets better; it doesn’t. It just gets easier.” I hold his stare and feel a little sorry that I maybe dashed a flicker of hope. “It’s an amazing collection.” I change the subject and look toward the bookcase again. Tory follows suit. A heavy breath lifts and collapses his chest.
“All of these are my dad’s. If he leaves permanently, they’ll go with him. But I won’t be here anymore, I guess, so it’s whatever.” His gaze shifts to me for a beat, then to the floor. He sits forward and brings his hands to his lap as his legs fold together. Right now, we’re two kids playing records, but the longer we sit in silence, Janet marching along in the backdrop, simple leaves the situation and complicated seeps in.
“My brother treating you right?” His head cocks his head to the side and his eyes level me with a look that feels like it’s hiding more.
“Yeah,” I say. Nervous energy jolts at my insides, so I shift my position and tuck my legs under my body, leaning to one side. I’m careful to keep my focus on the floor, on the albums, on my own fingers and knuckles and skin. The song fades out, a new one begins, and I rush around mentally in search of something new to say while also silently begging Tory to ask me easier questions than the ones I fear are dancing around his head.
“He’s a good guy,” he continues.
“Uh huh.” I nod.
My pulse is drowning in my ears, the beat heavy, leaving me dizzy. I spare a quick glance up to meet Tory’s gaze, hoping maybe he’s looking elsewhere. Or maybe simply smiling, happy to see his brother happy. Me happy. But that’s not what I get at all. My chest squeezes when our eyes lock, his mouth a soft smile that hints at regret. My lips part and I draw in a quick breath, thinking for a moment that I’ll say something—anything—that acknowledges there is something unspoken and heavy in the room.
“Hey, I heard the music.”
Lucas’s welcome presence breaks the tension, and I take the out, climbing to my feet and putting more distance between Tory and me. Tory stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles, tipping his chin to grin at his friend.
“Just dusting off some of my dad’s gems,” he says.
He and Lucas seem to speak without words, staring at each other with knowing smiles that verge on the cusp of words, as if they’re about to trade insults with each other or something.
“Right, well . . . I’m going to take off and thought since I’m leaving, maybe Abby needs a ride home?” Lucas turns his attention to me, his eyes wide in a way that signals I’m to leave now. It feels oddly parental, but also . . . he’s right.
“Sounds good, yeah. We got through a lot. Just let me get my stuff in the kitchen,” I say, moving toward the stairs. I get a few steps down before pausing and making eye contact with Tory again, his expression erased from any of the strangeness from before. “Hey, thank you, by the way. I feel really solid on this now.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tory says, moving his focus back to Lucas so they can continue whatever weird-ass staring match they have going on. “We can pick it up again Saturday.”
My mouth pops open, ready to turn down the offer, but before I’m able to push out the words, something inside me makes me stop. I say nothing and instead descend the rest of the way into the kitchen, shoveling the script into my purse and hooking it over my shoulder in a smooth, brisk move through the rest of the house. I’m sitting in Lucas’s truck before I take another breath. Lucas, however, doesn’t come down for another fifteen minutes.
9
Tory
I didn’t need a lecture. I knew exactly what I was doing, where the line was, and how I was walking all over it.
Lucas gave me one anyway. I guess that’s his job, though. I’m used to getting different kinds of lectures from my best friend. Usually, he tells me not to eat something that says fire hot or drink one shot too many before jumping from the roof into the pool. Dumb shit.
Abby’s a different story. I know what I’m doing, and I know it’s wrong. My feelings are wrong, the goddamn dreams I’m having are wrong, and this animosity