“What happened to him?” I was afraid he’d close up, that I’d ask one too many questions and destroy this fragile openness between us.

To my surprise, he answered bluntly, almost numbly, “He’s in prison. Been there for thirteen years.”

His tone was so even that it didn’t hit me right away what he’d said. Then my eyes widened, realization dawning, and I blurted out, “Thirteen years? What did he do?”

That question had required far more tact than I’d given it. I gasped the moment the words were out, grasping for an apology that I’d gone about this all wrong, but Lucas didn’t seem bothered.

His voice remained detached as he explained. “He fell in love with a girl. I guess an older kid had a thing for her too; I’m not sure. A lot of the court case was…” He paused, rubbing the back of his head. “It was a lot. I was little. I didn’t really get it. But apparently…” He frowned, as if he didn’t fully believe what he was about to say. “Apparently, Benji was really possessive of this girl, and he didn’t like this other kid being into her. So he…” His frown deepened. “He lured the kid out of his house, hit him over the head with a brick, took him out into the woods…and killed him.”

He said it so calmly, but the words washed over me with a cold chill. “Oh my God…”

“They put him away when he was fifteen,” he said. “They kept saying he was so dangerous, but he was just my brother. He liked rock music, and Pepsi, and he could create shit like no one else could. He was an artist. He was patient. I never even heard him raise his voice.” He exhaled heavily through his nose, shaking his head. “But they said he did it. Locked him up. The whole community knew, there was practically a target on my back at that point. So my dad took me with him, and we left. Mom got sicker…”

I didn’t know what to say. My little sister could be a pain in the ass, but I couldn’t imagine her being taken away. And for something so heinous, at such a young age…it was horrific. It was unimaginable.

I laid my hand on his arm. He was very pointedly looking anywhere except at me, but it was because the shield over his face was gone. I could see the sadness in his eyes, the confusion. As if he knew the story but refused to believe it was real.

“Do you miss him?” I said, and he finally looked up. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I miss him. Every damn day.”

The sound of the front door opening made us both jerk our heads toward the hallway, footsteps tramping heavily into the house.

“They’re back,” I said.