Charlie is the only one who agrees with my new plan.

That should be a red flag.

Jane and Farrow have excised themselves from the situation “on principle” while the cousin I’ve been feuding with for years has joined my party of one.

I reply: Got it.

We don’t see eye to eye on this issue, and it’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. But it does twist me up knowing the two people who should be in my corner have left it. My fingers hover over my cell, trying to think of something to say.

I land on this: OK. Love u. I text back.

Soon after that text, another pops up.

It reminds me of his feelings about my sling. I took it off permanently one week earlier than all the doctors advised. Bad idea, wolf scout. We kind of had a fight about it.

A short fight, but Farrow shook his head at me and said, “Give me a second.” He went into the bathroom, and I could tell he was upset. My stomach felt like it dropped out of my body, and I didn’t know how to course correct.

I wanted him on my side, but I also recognized that we’re two different people. And we won’t always agree. As he came out, he checked my shoulder, and the quiet tension strung between us just grew and grew and grew.

And he said, “I wish I’d been here.”

“You wouldn’t have stopped me.”

Farrow looked at me, his eyes reddened. “That’s not why…” That’s not why he wanted to be with me. He just wanted to be with me. And I heard his voice in my head: it’s as simple as that.

Pushing out that raw memory, I take a shallow breath and lean against my parent’s mailbox. Wind whistles inside the gated neighborhood, but the air is a little too hot for early June.

Last night, Farrow was working at the hospital, so I joined in on a movie night with my family. Instead of going home to an empty bed, I ended up crashing in my old room. It was supposed to be my second chance to talk to Xander.

The do-over.

He finished his LARPing costume. A fantasy elf-inspired look: a fur-lined hood, long trousers, a distressed red tunic, leather armguards, makeshift bow and a leather quiver for his arrows. He dressed up, and even let me take some pictures like a mini photo-shoot. Just thinking about that night, my eyes sting.

Because he was happy.

And I didn’t say what I needed to.

I couldn’t do it.

Maybe that makes me a coward, but I’m protecting the good days he has. It’s all I can think about. I just want to ensure that he’s okay, and I feel like if I say something, I’m pushing him in the “not okay” territory.

Farrow is right about one thing. I can’t do nothing.

Which brings me to my new plan. A different plan. I don’t know if it’s better, but it’s something.

In the distance, I spot Charlie ambling down the street, crutches underneath his armpits. He makes slow work of it, so I kick off from the mailbox and meet up with him.

“I thought you were going to take the golf cart,” I say while I pull my Ray Bans to the top of my head, and he stops walking, out of breath.

“I was.” He squints from the sun. “Until I learned Tom and Eliot took the golf cart on a joyride and crashed it into Aunt Daisy’s porch.” I knew that happened, but I thought the golf cart wasn’t too fucked-up to drive.

I nod a couple times. “I heard about that.”

He cringes. “Of course you did.”

I try to stay calm. “Please don’t make this hard today. I’m already tense. You have no idea what it’s like going against Farrow and Jane’s advice.”

Charlie stares at me blankly. “Not Farrow, but Jane, yes. My sister has offered plenty of bad advice that I’ve ignored.”

I glare. “Alright, let’s start over.” Otherwise, I’m going to throw a fist, and just the thought of hitting my cousin is making me sick to my stomach. “Which house is Easton’s?”

“According to my brother, the stucco mansion two streets over.” Charlie rotates and hobbles forward using his crutches.

Keeping pace with him, it’s slow, but I don’t run and leave him behind. Even if I’d like nothing more than to rip this off like a Band-Aid. In my head, confronting Easton Mulligan is the second-best solution to the problem. He’s the neighborhood kid asking my brother for pills, and once he stops, this will all be over.

It’ll be good for Easton who shouldn’t be taking other people’s meds and for Xander who needs them. On top of that, Xander won’t have some asshole teenager coming around who he feels the need to impress.

Only problem is that Charlie’s entire right leg is wrapped up in a cast, and despite being out of a sling, my right arm looks weak and lifeless. I can’t lift or stretch that well.

I tell my twenty-year-old cousin, “We don’t look threatening.”

He stares straight ahead as we pass the Cobalt Estate. “We don’t need to threaten him.”

I stop abruptly on the pavement. “That was the fucking plan, Charlie.”

He faces me. “That was your plan—”

“This is about my brother,” I snap. My fingertips squeeze onto control of this situation because I need it. And want it. Giving Charlie the reins wasn’t on my to-do list for the day. He’s here as backup. Support. I’m taking lead.

My brother is in trouble. It’s all I think. My brother is in trouble. And I have to help him, and Charlie is unpredictable. As much as I love my cousin—and I know you may think I hate him, but I love him too damn much—I can’t see where his head is most of the time, and I have no goddamn idea what he’ll do in charge. I’m not playing a chess game. I’m dealing with people.

Real people and lives—and my brother’s life.

I don’t want either of us to move Xander around a board like a rook on H-6.

Charlie’s golden-brown hair blows in the wind. “I’m not seeing many volunteers here to accompany you on this excursion,” he says. “So we do this my way.”

I shake my head. It can never be easy with us. “This is bigger than the bullshit between you and me.”

Charlie looks annoyed. “You think I’m here for some petty reason, but maybe consider that I’m the only one by your side because I actually understand.” He steals my Ray Bans off my head and slips them on his eyes.

Those last three words cave my chest. I actually understand.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Charlie shifts his crutches beneath his armpits. “Nothing.” He glances at the Cobalt Estate, pink tulip trees lining a driveway that leads up to a regal fountain and ornate mansion. It’s nothing like my childhood house that I just passed, which is stone and brick with a fir tree in the front yard.

“It’s not nothing,” I say, failing at softening my tone. I’m trying. I’m trying. I know I need to try harder for him. “Charlie, I want to understand.”

He’s quiet.

“I’m fucking sorry. Please.”

He hooks my Ray Bans on the collar of his button-down, the leg of his slacks cut to make room for his cast. Charlie looks tormented, his features fracturing in emotion that I can’t pick apart.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Charlie…” Something happened.

He pinches his eyes, then he puts his weight back on his crutches. And I remember that any act of “heroism” on my part causes him pain and frustration.

And it’s plunging a knife into my gut.

I drop my hand, and we don’t continue our trek yet.

Charlie stays still. “I’ve thought about telling you before now…” He struggles to make a decision, staring up at the sky. “My brother needs more than me to care about him, and you’re the logical choice because you’ll care excessively to the point of stupidity.”

I ignore that last insult. “Which brother?”

Charlie takes his weight off his crutches again. “My twin brother.” This is serious. “Every night Beckett is on stage, he strives for perfection in ballet. It’s an impossible goal, and he’s worn his body down to the point of pain. A couple years ago, he found a fix.”

A lump makes its ascent in my throat.

“Cocaine,” Charlie says plainly, clearly.

I didn’t know. I doubt many people in our families do. “Charlie,” I breathe, so much tunneling through me. Concern for Beckett, for Charlie, and wanting to console them both, but I don’t know how in this instance. I don’t know what they need.

So I wait and listen.

“He’s a beautiful dancer,” Charlie says, clearing his throat, almost choked. “One of the best in the world, and it won’t take words from me or anyone else to convince him to stop. Not even you.”

It slices me open for a second.

He winces. “And now that you know this, there’s a sick part of me that loves that you’ll be hurting with me.” His chin almost quakes, and he drops his head, dragging his gaze across the cement.

Then he ambles forward.

“Charlie, wait.” I’ll hurt with him if that’s what he needs. I’ll share in his pain. I’ll do anything for him…I know that’s partly the problem. Heroism.

He stops. Looks up at me.

“We’re doing this together?” I ask. “Don’t leave me behind.”

Charlie takes a breath and nods. “I understand watching your siblings make a mistake and not having the ability to shake them. And all you can do is search for a solution. Any solution.”

Everything clicks. “The auction,” I realize.

He slips the sunglasses back on and pulls at his hair. “I convinced Beckett to do the auction because I knew he’d have to take leave from ballet again. He missed Swan Lake, and he won’t return until rehearsals for Cinderella begin. He’s clean for now.”

That’s good. “Who knows?” I wonder.

“Me, Oscar, and Donnelly,” Charlie says. “Now you, and I’m assuming Jane and Farrow won’t be far behind. But don’t let it go further than them.”

“I won’t.” I’m surprised that Charlie’s bodyguard knew. If I remember correctly, Farrow told me that Oscar didn’t know anything. Since Farrow never lies to me, I’m assuming that Oscar lied to Farrow.

Charlie supports himself on his crutches. “So now can we do this my way?”

I fight every instinct in me that says to hold on to the figurative wheel, but I nod once and relinquish control.

* * *

We ring the doorbell on the stone stoop of a stucco mansion, a welcome mat beneath our feet. Hanging ferns flank the wide front door, and Charlie leans most of his weight on one crutch.

We wait.

A few tense seconds pass before the wooden door swings open. I prepared to meet Easton’s mom or dad or maybe even a sibling—it seemed more plausible—but the face staring back at me can’t be older than sixteen.

First impressions: messy chocolate hair, long aquiline nose, pale sheet-white skin and pinpointed hazel eyes. A navy blue Dalton Academy honor society shirt hangs on his lanky frame. Definitely not built like a jock, and for some reason, I thought he’d be buffer. Older.

He just seems young to me. Really young.

I don’t know what it is with me and kids around my sibling’s age, but it fucking gets to me. Like there’s a part of me that just wants to protect this boy. And I don’t know him—but I do know he’s a wrench in my brother’s life and I know Xander is partly to blame—but I also see a human being in front of me.

I never forget that. I can’t.

“Are you Easton Mulligan?” I ask, ready to solve this crisis with Charlie.

“Yeah…” he says slowly and looks from me to my cousin. “And you’re Maximoff Hale and Charlie Cobalt.” He hangs onto his door. “Um…so Xander didn’t say anything about you two coming over.” He hones in on Charlie’s cast.

Even with a broken leg and bent on a crutch, Charlie evokes supreme confidence. His take-no-shit demeanor intimidates the kid so much that he tries to look at me for comfort.

I’m not that soft either, but I think I’m empathetic enough that his uncertain eyes linger on me.

“We’ll make this quick,” Charlie tells him. “We’re here because you’re getting pills from Xander Hale.”

Easton frowns. “How do you—”

I raise my phone, already on the text that I screen-shotted from Ben’s phone. “You’ve been bragging about it.”

“Shit…” Easton curses again. His widened eyes flit between us.

“Here’s what’ll happen,” Charlie says, sharpness to his voice. He hands me the crutch that he’s not using.

Don’t ask me what he’s up to. I don’t know. I’m on edge, holding my breath.

Charlie slips out a piece of paper and passes it to Easton. “This is a phone number to a doctor in Philadelphia. He’ll prescribe whatever you want. Just give him a call, let him know who you are, and you can get your pills legally.”

What the fuck.

Easton frowns and reads the paper. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you’re going to stop taking Xander’s pills,” Charlie says.

Easton shakes his head. “I’m not—I mean, I am, but…” He looks to me. “You do know that Xander gets refills about a month before he’s even out. For me.”

I don’t move or flinch or react. I didn’t know.

The boy glances back into his house, then comes forward and shuts the door behind him. Fully on the front porch. He speaks more to me than to Charlie. “My parents aren’t as nice as yours…I tell my mom I’m not doing well, and she tells me it’s summer allergies.” He shakes his head. “Dude, I would never take pills Xander needed. That’d be…that’s fucked up.”

This…is not what I expected. I try to grasp onto the truth. Uncover it. Xander was helping this kid? I don’t understand, and it’s still not okay that my brother was giving someone his meds. Even if he had extra. A pressure mounts on my chest, something screaming at me: I don’t know what’s right. Fuck. I don’t know what’s right.

I crawl onward. “Why were you bragging about it then?”

His face crushes. “I…because Colton Ford found out I was getting into LARPing with your brother. He kept calling me a…”

“A pussy?” I’m guessing.

“Yeah…” He nods.

I had that word slung in my face in high school too many times.

“Your friend is an idiot,” Charlie says bluntly.

Agreed.

Easton shifts his weight. “I panicked and I said that stupid thing, and then the next day, I told Xander and apologized. He knows.” His brows knit. “And shouldn’t you know this? He would’ve told you…” Realization floods his face. “Wait, he doesn’t know you’re here?”

Charlie and I stay silent, not giving information to a stranger.

In the quiet, Easton folds the paper like a treasure. Unable to look Charlie in the eyes, he tells him, “Thanks for this.”

I’m uneasy, and I want to interject. But I can’t figure out what to say fast enough. And I wonder if the right thing would’ve been having my parents talk to his parents. Let them help him. But what if his parents are assholes and it makes his life drastically worse?

“No problem,” Charlie says, and I pass my cousin his crutch. He braces his weight on them.

Easton steps back to his door. “I have to go.” And to me, he adds, “Xander really never mentioned me?” Not once.

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my head heavy on my shoulders for too many reasons.

He nods, a little hurt, and then he slips back inside his house.

Charlie and I leave the front porch, and as he slowly descends the few steps, Charlie tells me, “Well, that was not exactly how I saw that going.”

I watch him to make sure he doesn’t trip, and when we walk across the long driveway, I keep shaking my head. “You know a doctor who’s writing illegal prescriptions, and you just gave a sixteen-year-old their number,” I say out loud.

Dumbfounded.

“And I solved the issue,” Charlie tells me. “It’s done.”

“That doctor should be stripped of his license, and that kid could use that contact for something other than antidepressants,” I counter. “If he gets hooked on opioids—”

“Not my problem.” His crutches make a thunk thunk noise on the cement.

“Fucking Christ.” I rub my mouth, distressed. Everything is wrong about today.

Charlie halts at the curb. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Did I swindle you into thinking I’d choose the moral choice? People make stupid decisions, and I’m not you. I don’t bear responsibility for other people’s choices. How do you even live with that? How are you not dying from that?”

So many emotions slam at me.

So much has changed. So much is in flux. I don’t know what’s up and what’s down. Right from wrong anymore. It’s like I have paths and choices and I keep running down the darkest one.

I’m not even sure if what we did here today was right.

And I just want to shut down.

To go numb. Really, I want to call him. To talk to Farrow. Because when my universe feels like it’s spiraling and trying to drag me under, he has this ability to make me feel lighter than air.

And then I remember his text about being unavailable.

I can’t call him. I won’t fucking disturb him at work.

So I just walk forward, shoulders locked. And I carry this weight.