We stood in the driveway of the Green Monstrosity, and all I could think of was the day we moved in, the sheer delight on his face at the horrible color of this house, this house that Otter had bought for us. A place we could call our own, where we’d have a home at last. Things had been so, so different then, the Kid all knobs and knees.

And here we were now, saying goodbye.

Otter took a step forward and pulled the Kid—Tyson—into a hug, spinning him around like he used to when he was just a little guy. Ty laughed, and whatever was whispered between them was just for them.

Eventually Otter set him down and stepped back. He smiled at me, jerking his head toward Ty.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stepped forward. “Keep your phone charged,” I said. “Just—it’s always a good idea to keep it charged.”

“I will,” he said, sounding amused.

“And make sure you pull over if you’re starting to feel tired.”

“I know.”

“And drink lots of water.”

“Bear.”

I looked up at him.

The day he left, Tyson Thompson was twenty years old. He was healthier than he’d been in years. His eyes were bright, and though he was nervous, I could tell he was excited. He was going out for the first time on his own. He thought he needed to prove something, and though I didn’t quite understand the why of it, I knew it was his choice. I had to trust Ty to know what he needed.

And somehow, I did.

“Okay,” I said, stopping my fussing over him and taking a step back. “You should probably head out. Wasting daylight, Kid.”

He frowned a little before he shook his head. “Right. Got a drive ahead of me. I’ll—uh. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Later.”

Otter sighed behind us.

The Kid turned toward the car.

And that was that.

I told myself that was that.

And it was.

And then—

He spun around again, a determined look on his face. He rushed toward me, and before I could do anything about it, my little brother launched himself at me. I caught him, barely, as we collided.

I hugged him as hard as I could.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely. “More than anything in this world. And nothing will change that.”

I breathed him in.

We stood there, together, for a long time.

But eventually, I had to let him go.

So I did.

He wiped his eyes as he took a step back. And when he smiled at me, though my heart was breaking, I knew then that he’d be okay. “I’ll be okay,” he said, and I didn’t know if it was for my benefit or for his own.

“I know.”

He left without another word.