To Trent’s credit, he doesn’t complain as he single-handedly heaves Jack into the house. I stand at the front door and watch as Jack crumples back onto the living-room couch with a groan. My work here is done.

“Thanks,” I say to Trent, because I honestly couldn’t have dragged Jack into the house by myself. “Later.”

I’m at the driver’s side door of the van when Trent catches up to me.

“Hey! Where are you going so fast? Stay for breakfast.”

Unless he’s undergone drastic changes in the last three years, breakfast is likely going to be rubbery scrambled eggs covered in ketchup. I point to Miss Cynthia’s wrapped-up sandwich in my front seat. “I’m good.”

“All right, stay for coffee, then.”

“Trent, I’m really good.” I slide into the front seat. When I roll down the window, he’s standing there with his arms crossed just glowering at me.

“You should come around more,” he tells me. “Your brother’s been having a tough time.”

I know that Trent’s telling the truth, but he’s always been good at telling the truth in the most painful way possible. He’s honest, but not kind. That’s probably why we were so drawn to one another back in the day. We used to have that in common. I, on the other hand, have been working on the kindness part these last three years.

“I’ll call him this week.” I start the van, but Trent puts one hand on the rolled-down window to keep me from driving away.

“He thinks you hate him.”

That takes some of the wind out of my sails. I don’t hate my brother. I could never. It’s true that even before Eliot came into my life recently, I’ve been taking some steps back from Jack. I love him forever. But the man is draining. Frustration is boiling in my gut right now, and Trent is the very last person I want to be talking to. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve just needed a break from his drama for a while.”

I realize a second too late that I’ve said that very same sentence before about Trent himself. To his face. When we broke up.

His face pulls tight. “Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry that it’s true.”