I turn the key in the lock and step inside.

I fear the worst—a trashed apartment, a group of drugged-up strangers, Connor passed out or worse.

It’s a relief to find no signs of damage or disaster when I look around. Everything is as it was when I left. Connor sits with his legs spread and expression dark on the sofa, a beer in his hand and several empties on the table. I hate that he drinks when he’s underage, but at least he’s indoors instead of downing beers on a street corner somewhere. The TV is on, but he’s not watching it.

He looks up when I enter and scowls. “You finally waltz back in. Have a nice Thanksgiving?” He spits the cruel, bitter words at me.

I walk in slowly, closing the door behind me. I go to the kitchen counter and lay down my purse. I turn around slowly and fold my arms across my chest.

Connor is a mess. I doubt he’s washed since the day before. The fact the place is clean suggests he hasn’t eaten, either. It looks like he’s done nothing but sit and drink since I left him the day before.

“I did have a nice time, thank you.”

“With your British fuckboy?”

I frown. “Henry and I are dating. We’re a couple.”

“Oh. I see.” He sits up, placing his bottle down loudly on the coffee table. He twists in his seat and fixes me with an evil glare. “I guess that’s it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Connor lifts his hands up in an exaggerated gesture. “It means you’re done with me. You’d rather spend your Thanksgiving fucking some exchange student than with your own flesh and blood.”

“That’s not fair,” I retort. “I asked if you wanted to spend Thanksgiving with me, and you damn near bit my head off. You can’t have it both ways, Connor.”

“You should have been here. I’m the only family you have in this world, and Thanksgiving is for family.”

“As a matter of fact, you were invited, but I decided it was better you stayed here.”

Connor narrows his eyes. “Afraid I’d embarrass you in front of the guy you’re screwing?”

“Exactly.”

I see Connor suck in the air through his teeth. I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my brother, but Connor makes it near impossible to have any kind of quality time with him. Everything’s a battle.

He’s not used to me talking straight with him, but I’ve had enough.

“You could have joined in this holiday, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. That’s fine if that’s what you want to do, but I’m done sitting around sharing the pity party.”

“I guess I should just forget about Mom, should I? I should pick up a pile of books and strut around college like my life is fan-fucking-tastic as well? Let’s pretend everything is rosy. I’m sorry I’m not quite so talented at burying my head in the sand.”

“You think I’m burying my head in the sand? I’m the one who’s getting on with life. You’re the one who gets high and lets life pass you by. It’s not what Mom would have wanted for you.”

Connor’s lips twist into a sneer. “You’re great at telling me what Mom would have wanted, aren’t you? It’s like I was never there when she was dying. It was all poor little Lissy stepping up, while her fuck-up brother dragged her down and held her back. Poor little Lissy. I know the story you tell everyone.”

“You could do anything you wanted,” I reply. I cross the room to stand in front of Connor and slowly sink down onto the coffee table opposite him, pushing aside half a dozen empty bottles to make space. “If you want to go to college, I’ll help you write your applications. If you want to get a job, I’ll help you write your resume. Whatever you want, Connor, I’ll support you. But I won’t feel guilty for going on with my life while you want to throw yours away.”

“How am I supposed to have a life? Ever since Mom died, you’ve been picking me up and moving me around wherever you want. You let everyone pat you on the back for being such a hero, while everyone sees me as the ungrateful prick you’re burdened with. You should have been here yesterday. If you’re going to take all the credit for stepping up, then you better fucking be there.”

I see red.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve stepped up. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve clothed you, fed you, had patience with you no matter what shit you’re pulling and bailed you out of trouble more times than I can count. I fought to keep you with me. I wanted us to stay together—and you’ve thrown it back in my face every day since like I’ve stolen something from you by trying to support you.”

I hold my hands up helplessly. “Tell me what you want. What can I do to make you happy? What do you want?”

“I want you to stop acting like I’m some burden. I’m a grown man.”

“Then act like it,” I snap. “I understand how much losing Mom hurt you. I’ve tried to be patient and understanding and give you the space to grieve in your own way. But at some point, you’ve got to take responsibility for your own life, and start making an effort to make something of yourself.”

Connor stamps his foot on the ground and rises to his feet, his hands curled into fists. “You’ve had this guy in your life for five minutes, and suddenly, you’re talking down to me like I’m nothing. Is that what you call loyalty?”

I can feel hot, angry tears building behind my eyes, but I don’t let them spill.

As hurtful as Connor’s words are, I also know I need to be stronger. Stop enabling him, Lissy.

“Is whether or not you make something of yourself dependent on how tightly I’m holding your hand?” I retort. “Who was there for me after Mom died? Who helped me write my applications for college? Who helped me write my resume? Nobody, that’s who. But I did it while making sure you had everything you needed as well.

“I know you’ve had a hard life, Connor, but it’s time to stop making excuses. You’ve got to stop blaming me for everything wrong in your life. If you want more money, earn it. If you want to live somewhere else, get a job and pay for an apartment. If you want a nice Thanksgiving with family, then behave like someone I want to be around.”

I haven’t seen Connor cry since he was sixteen, but there are tears in his eyes now. Don’t back down, Lissy. This is what tough love looks like.

“Fuck you,” he spits. He picks up his wallet from the coffee table and storms out of the apartment. I can hear his feet pounding down the metal stairway out of the apartment building.

I sink down onto the sofa after he’s left, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I feel awful and validated at the same time. I’m sorry the things I said hurt Connor, but I know it was time they were said.

Alone in the apartment, I sit silently on the sofa, playing over my argument with Connor in my head. I think about everything Henry and Lucy have said to me, and know that their advice is right, even if it’s easier said than done.

It’s done now.

I start to worry as the hours tick by and Connor doesn’t return. The afternoon turns into evening, and he still doesn’t come home. My mind starts to imagine all the places he could be. A jail cell. A drug den. Face down in the gutters.

As my worry takes over, I start to wonder whether I took things too far; whether I said things that shouldn’t have been said. If anything happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I pick up my books and try to study, although my mind is a million miles away. I refuse to go to bed until Connor is home safe.

It’s three in the morning when he finally rolls in. Straight away, I can tell that he’s out of his mind on something hard, although I don’t know enough about drugs to guess what’s running through his system.

He steps in and looks at me coldly. His eyes are two points of ice and resentment.

Connor watches me as my eyes travel over his dirtied face, his torn shirt, and finally, down to his bruised and bloodied knuckles. There are specks of blood on his gray T-shirt and on his jeans.

The victim or the aggressor? Deep down, I know the answer to that question. I don’t want to face it, so I turn away.

Connor says nothing. He walks through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. I hear the shower running, and shortly after, the sound of Connor stamping down to his bedroom and slamming the door.

I go into the bathroom once he’s left and feel despair at what I see. The last of the blood-stained water is still swirling down the drain. I sit down on the edge of the tub and put my head in my hands.

What am I going to do with Connor?