My fingers curl into fists, knuckles whitening as familiar guilt twists in my chest. Jake drinking himself stupid with people who couldn't care less about him. Maybe I've been wrong all these years, trying to shield him from the truth like some misguided guardian angel—it's done more harm than good. Maybe the lies I told to protect him, pretending everything was fine while our world crumbled, make me no better than our parents. Just another person in his life dealing in beautiful deceptions.

"Let's go," I say, voice hard as steel as I turn toward the backyard.

Jay falls in step beside me as we navigate the human labyrinth. Outside mirrors the chaos—more bodies, more noise, weed smoke hanging thick as fog. The firepit blazes like a warning signal, surrounded by guys laughing too loud, bottles glinting dangerously in their hands.

And there he is.

Jake sways on his feet, beer clutched like armor, drunker than when he stormed out earlier. He spots me before I can speak, throwing his arms wide like he's center stage in his own tragedy.

"Well, look who it is!" His voice cuts through the night like shattered glass, sharp with something darker than alcohol. "The prodigal son! You just don't quit, do you?" He turns to the girl beside him, who clings to his waist like she's afraid he'll dissolve into smoke. "Kelsie, you know my brother Nate? I'm sure you've probably hooked up at some point, right?"

The girl shrinks away from his venomous words.

I clench my jaw until metal floods my mouth but keep my voice steady as still water. "Let's go. We're leaving."

He barks out a laugh that sounds nothing like my brother, lifting his beer in mock salute.

"Nah, I'm good right here, thanks."

He drains the bottle in one go, throat working like he's trying to swallow more than just alcohol, and someone hands him a fresh one like feeding kindling to a fire.

"Jake, I'm fucking serious. Let's go."

He stumbles closer, firelight dancing in his glassy eyes like fever dreams.

"Why are you even here, Nate? I don't need you to babysit or protect me anymore."

Frustration tangles in my chest like barbed wire. He doesn't understand—everything I've done, my whole life, has been about shielding him from the pain that's haunted our family like a curse. But I swallow the words. He wouldn't hear them anyway, not through the walls of alcohol and anger he's built around himself.

"Nora was worried about you," I offer instead, truth extended like an olive branch.

His smirk turns sharp as a blade. "Sure she was." He pauses, voice cutting deeper than any knife. "Tell me, have you fuck⁠⁠—"

"I'm going to stop you right now before you say something you'll really regret." My words sharpen to a razor's edge, warning wrapped in steel. "You're drunk and need to get your ass home."