“Hate you,” Quinn grumbles. “You aren’t in NASCAR, bro.”

“But I could be.” Ambrose grins.

“You’d crash into a wall during the first lap and go boom, but sure, everyone needs a dream.”

“Someone’s cranky.” Ambrose must find joy in it.

Quinn rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well Satan rose up from Hell and decided to join us in second Hell, and I didn’t get to kiss a hot girl today, so forgive me for being cranky.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot.” I tease.

Ambrose growls. “Not the time.”

“Possessive of your foster sister much?” Quinn grins at Ambrose through the rearview mirror.

Ambrose glares right back.

Quinn holds up his hands in surrender. “Wow, it’s worse than I thought.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Quinn’s silent and then. “Oh nothing, just that I know Ambrose better than he knows himself, and we tend to have the same… appetite.” I gulp nervously. “I mean, we both like pizza and yogurt. Stop panicking.” He winks.

Liar. He meant me. I can see it in the way he looks me up and down like he’d pick me over pizza any day.

Ambrose reaches across the consul like he’s going to grab my hand, only he pulls it back and clenches his hand into a tight fist in his lap while he keeps the other on the steering wheel.

The tension is palpable in that expensive sports car. Finally, we reach the house and pull in.

It feels lonely even with two people. I think I’d prefer a shit apartment that felt like home instead of a mansion that felt like a museum.

The boys are quiet again as we grab our bags and walk into the house. Ambrose puts his on the floor next to the door like he has zero intention of doing homework today, and Quinn does the same like they’ve done this a million times in this house. I suddenly feel almost like I’m the third wheel, even though I know the tension between them is still super thick.

I can’t get over what Quinn said earlier, and the fact that Ambrose won’t speak about any of it makes me super uncomfortable, like how long can you keep that sort of heaviness inside your soul until you snap?

The words might make it real-but words disappear instantly once they’re out into the world. The more you keep them in, the bigger they get.

At least, that’s my experience.

Ambrose grabs a water from the fridge, slams it shut, pounds it, then tosses it to me. “Want some?”

I catch it mid-air, then toss it back. “I’m good, so um… should we talk about why everything was chaotic at school?”

“No.” They both said in unison.

I drum my fingers across the white countertop. “So what you said after class, Quinn?”

“What?” Ambrose stands up straight rather than leaning against the countertop. “What did you say to her?”

“Leave it.” Quinn grits his teeth at me.

“What the fuck did you say!” Ambrose yells.