I glance back at Ryke and Loren. Her brothers. They talk to her every week, and I wonder if she’s brought me up. I’m not going to ask though.

Should I?

I feel like that’s prying.

They’re her brothers, not mine. They’re not unbiased or anything. Not that I need someone on my side. I think everyone should be on Willow’s.

Swiftly, I look back again. This time not discreet enough.

“If you have something to fucking say, just say it,” Ryke says. His tone is softer than his words. “We don’t bite.”

“I do,” Loren adds with a bitter smile. “But count yourself lucky, I won’t bite you.”

I don’t believe that.

But I do believe that if he lashed out at me, I’d probably deserve it.

I slow down just to walk beside them. Taking a deep breath, I just let it all out. “You both talk to Willow a lot—I’m sure about me—and you can probably gauge her feelings, right? Honestly, I don’t need a ten-page-long synopsis or diagram or anything, but I just want to know the percentage you two think Willow will want to break up with me in the next few years.”

I must be a masochist to want to know. But I do.

Ryke’s brows furrow. “Don’t you two fucking talk to each other?”

“Yeah, but do you even know what it’s like being in a long-distance relationship? I can only say I love you so fucking much. It’s not the same as…” I take off the blinking baseball hat, hot all of a sudden. “It’s just harder.”

I want to hold her. I want to be with her. How do you do that if you’re physically separated from someone? And that physical part of a relationship—she could get it so much easier from a guy like Salvatore.

But even thinking of my girl with another guy—God, stop.

I focus on the question I asked: What percentage do they think Willow will want to break up with me?

“Zero percent,” Loren says, not even really hesitating.

I jerk back. “Zero percent?” I glance at Ryke. “Is he good at math?”

“Am I good at math,” Loren repeats like I’m a toddler. “I can count to ten. One, two, my sister is too good for you, four, five, you both will survive.”

I take that in, focusing on the important part. “You realize you didn’t reach ten, right?”

Loren swings his head to Ryke.

Ryke flips me off. Two middle fingers.

It’s his go-to move, and really, I earned it. I’m nearly smiling. “What percentage?” I ask Ryke.

“Zero,” he says, “but I don’t know what you’ll fucking do.” Wait…what?

I frown. “Why would you think that I’d want to break up with her? I’m worried about her breaking up with me.”

“That broken heart fucking thing,” Ryke says.

Shiiiiiit.

My mouth falls in realization. I filled out that questionnaire months ago, but maybe it’s been in the back of their minds. “You saw my Tumblr questionnaire?” Frustration surges. “How? You don’t even use Tumblr. You’re internet inept!”