“She’s going to kick you in the balls whether you go there now or you go there tomorrow,” Jacob said. Leaning forward, he folded his hands in front of him. “You don’t want her to go to bed remembering the last words you said.”

“Can you take me to her?” I asked.

And now, here I am, standing in the middle of her living room.

“Don’t cry,” I say, not moving for fear she’ll let me go.

“I never wanted you to find out like this,” she whispers and sniffles. I want to sit down and have her tell me the whole story. “I never ever wanted you to know.”

“Stop crying, please,” I say, and she slowly peels her arms from around my neck.

“Sit down,” she says, and then she steps back. I watch her walk into her kitchen and go straight for her secret stash of whiskey. I know she doesn’t like whiskey, but she bought it for when I come hang out.

“I don’t want anything to drink,” I say, putting up my hand. She looks so beautiful and tiny. Her brown hair perfectly curled even though I know she hates when it’s all done up. She likes it straight and up on her head. Her blue eyes look darker in the dim light than if we were in the sun.

“It’s not for you,” she says, unscrewing the brown cap and grabbing a glass. She pours the amber liquid into the glass and takes the shot, wincing and coughing after. “I don’t know how you drink this.” I want to laugh, but all I can do is watch her. She takes another shot as I sit on the couch. Bringing the bottle and the glass with her over to the couch, she sits on the couch facing me and then sets the bottle down and the glass beside it. She pours more into the glass and looks at me. “Liquid courage.”

“Before you start, I want you to know that I didn’t mean it,” I say, having to get it off my chest. Secretly, I want to tell her she is worth everything. She shakes her head, and I watch as the tears fall from her eyes, and it takes all my strength not to get up and go to her. To reach over and wipe her tears from her eyes while I tell her that nothing will change how I feel for her and nothing will ever come between us. But instead, I remain sitting, holding my breath as I wait for her to tell me the story. She looks up at me, and when I see the tears running down her face, I have this fear that my brother did something that I might have to kill him for. If he forced himself on her, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.