The elevator door opened, and we left the building without another word. Asher had parked the Jag a block down the street. We got in and sat. He didn’t make a move to start the car. I didn’t prompt him.

“I feel like my head’s going to explode,” Asher shared after a while. “It was bad enough trying to sort out these inappropriate feelings for you, but now Jay has somehow figured it out? What do we do now?”

“I didn’t confirm anything. I told him he was wrong and explained how what we did for the camera was acting, and he was out of his mind to suggest otherwise.”

Asher nodded over and over like one of those bobbleheads.

“Atti?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m freaking out.”

“I know.”

“No. I mean, I’m really freaking out.” He held up his hands to show me. They vibrated. “You’re my brother, and I just spent the day making out with you. That should revolt me, but instead, all I can think about is doing more without an audience. Then I get all panicky inside.” He waved a hand over his chest. “My heart is pounding so fast, I can’t slow it down. I feel like I need to run away, but I don’t know where to go. My throat gets tight if I think too hard, and then—”

“Ash.” I rested a hand on his thigh, trying to ground him.

“Then, when I confronted you, you didn’t put me in my place like you should have. Instead, you told me you feel it too. What’s wrong with us?” His hazel eyes were glassy when he turned and searched my face for answers.

“There is nothing wrong with us. Give me the keys. You shouldn’t drive right now.”

He handed them over, and I got out, walking around to the driver’s side.

“Scooch over,” I said when I opened the door.

Asher hopped the middle console, his cheeks pale and eyes haunted as he stared out at the road.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his mind a million miles away. “Where are we gonna go?”

“I don’t know. Aaron’s house, I guess. We need to talk, and we can’t go to Mom and Dad’s.”

He didn’t argue.

I hooked up my phone to the Bluetooth and selected “Blurry” by Puddle of Mud to kick off our drive, knowing Asher had gone through a phase a year ago when he’d played their album on repeat.

His shoulders came down away from his ears, and he relaxed back against the seat when the music began. It wasn’t a cure for his sudden anxiety attack, but it was a start. I knew my brother, and I knew music was therapeutic for him.