“I know how this looks. But—”

“Don’t be silly, Spence. You know your brother looks at me and sees just another sibling. He’d rather pluck out his own eyeballs with a cocktail fork than look at me that way,” Remi said sweetly. There was fire beneath that sugary surface, and Brick was afraid it might burn him alive.

“Good thing I never thought about you that way,” Spencer said smugly. “Thanks for taking my virginity, by the way.”

“Hey oh!” Remi smirked.

They high-fived, his little brother and his…whatever the fuck Remington was to him, in his kitchen as if it were all some hilarious joke. And maybe it was. But not to him. Brick wished he could just lock them both out of the house and go back to his nice, quiet life.

“Well, I should get going. Thanks for letting me soak up some of your lights, Brick,” she said, starting for the door.

“No,” he said again. And when she didn’t listen—because the woman never fucking listened—he had to grab her by the hood of her sweatshirt. “You’re staying here.”

“You know what that means,” Spencer announced. “Sleepover! I brought popcorn and beef jerky. We can light our farts on fire and tell ghost stories.”

“Boy sleepovers are gross,” Remi observed.

* * *

Brick played dirty. While Spencer went upstairs to change, Brick hid Remi’s boots in the dining room so she couldn’t sneak out before they’d had their little talk.

He bided his time through the inevitable catching up portion of the evening. Through the popcorn making and the ensuing rounds of competitive Jenga. Nostalgia slapped at him. The three of them had done just this in this exact room. A fire roaring in the fireplace. A movie no one paid attention to on the TV. His grandmother providing the popcorn. His grandfather, the commentary.

His grandparents would have approved.

It felt…right. Like they all belonged here. But anyone could stick around for the good times. That wasn’t the true test. And Brick knew from experience that most wouldn’t stick through the bad, the hard, the inconvenient. The new, shiny adventure would always beckon to some to shake the dust off their shoes and move on.

Spencer seemed good, happy even. He worked in sales in a complicated position Brick had given up on understanding years ago. He kept them entertained with stories about Detroit and his friends, razzing Remi, reminiscing with Brick. The mood was light like it always was with Spence around.

But every few minutes, Brick would lock gazes with Remi and the smolder there threatened to ignite again. He couldn’t ignore it. And if he wanted answers out of her, he was going to have to embrace it.

So he waited until Spencer was snoring in the recliner. Remi was curled in a ball on the end of the couch under a throw his grandmother had knitted. Brick occupied the opposite end, his feet propped on the coffee table. Something his grandparents would not have approved of.