My father's hands are worn, there is nothing delicate about them. They are strong, they always have been. They are working hands, hands that have held me when I fell. Hands that fixed scratched knees, broken refrigerator doors. Hands that brought in the groceries.

His hands are worn and they feel weak. It is cruel, the way this disease steals from us.

I look into my father’s eyes and search for recognition.

Something. Anything. He smiles and I will not cry. This cannot happen.

“I love you. A million miles and back.” It was always our thing to say. My sister repeats the saying, seated next to me, gripping my hand. She has been back in Burlingame with me for two weeks.

My father's eyes stay on mine. A smile plays on the corner of his mouth, then his eyes drift over my shoulder.

He was mine for a second. Now he’s gone. Lost in the conversations going on around us.

I hear the home director tell the other residents they can join her outside for lunch. It’s cooler today, in the 60’s. It’ll be good for them.

I stand, never letting go of my father’s hand. Sasha goes to his other side, laces her arm into his.

When we make it outside he drops my hand, walks over to Clarice, another resident.

Anne, the home director, makes her way to us. “He will have good days, and he will have bad days. He will have days in between. You never know what you will find.”

“Is he happy here? Truly? It's hard for me to tell. This isn't any normal I thought I would ever have to accept. I know him at home. Being in charge. Being in control.” My sister's voice is aching.

“I believe so," Anne assures. "It’s not the life he had, but he can never go back to that. And it would only frustrate and confuse him.”

“So it’s kind of like a clean slate here?” I feel no relief, but I try to mask that. No happiness finds me when I cling to the past, so I am trying to let go. One visit at a time.

My father loved to take care of himself, his sister, my sister and me. Until we left. Left him to fall victim to this disease.

We tell Anne goodbye, hug my father, and walk out of the courtyard. Home is a few blocks away. I grab my sister's hand as soon as we hit the sidewalk. We say nothing the whole walk, listening to our feet on the ground. I know she will get back to the house and call her girlfriend. She has a family back in New York to turn to. I wish I had someone to confide in like that.

Before I get to my house I let go, I tell Sasha with my eyes, where I'm going. She nods and lets me, bringing Beau in from the front porch for me.

Bryan's truck is parked on the lawn still, beckoning me. I am tired of his cold stare, his fire tongue. Two weeks of this game has been enough.

I walk into the school, my ears opening, searching for the sound of a hammer, a saw, anything. I hear banging above my head.

My legs burn as I take the stairs, two steps at a time. I find him in the old auditorium. My home. My place in this school. The only room I felt like I belonged in.

I enter through the back, my fingers trailing the worn audience seats.

He is on the stage, bent low, a hammer in his hand.

I watch the muscles in his back work, he is unaware of me, and it takes me back. All of my unknown watching.

I find the door to the left of the stage, turn the knob carefully. It probably isn’t smart to sneak up on someone while they are using a hammer, but I can’t stop myself.

He pivots, glancing over his shoulder when I step onto the stage. It always creaked.

I still, drop my hands. They had been clasped, pulled close to my mouth.

“What do you want?” He sounds tired. Tired of me and my presence.

“To fight with you.” It’s an honest answer. I like watching his face take it in.

“You want that?”

“No. I don’t like fighting with you. But I need it right now. I need to be mad at someone. I need a place for my anger to go.”

“Let’s have it then.” He drops the hammer to the floor. The clatter echoes around us.

When he stands, he turns to me. I eye his sweat, his twitching jaw.

I want to touch him. I always want to touch him.

“Why do you hate me?” I know he doesn’t, but it seems that way. The reasons for the hate I assume he holds, they don't compare to what I have in my chest. To my resentment.

“I don’t. I just wish you would go away. This town isn’t yours anymore.”

“Was it ever?” I laugh, and it is not kind. “It’s always been your town and Aurora’s town and your friends helped you rule it. Try again.” And the one I won't speak of. He helped them rule. I blow out an angry breath, circle him.

“God." He sounds defeated. "Just leave me alone.”

“I can’t. Do you know why I’m here? Good fucking God, dude!” I know he knows. This town has ears, and though I have been hiding out since my return, they know I am back. The town always knows.

“I know. I do. But you wanted to fight so I am going to tell you every ugly thought you need to get this going, okay?”

“Just the sight of your face gets me going.” So many meanings, I am unwilling to let my face show him the truth of it.

“Oh, I have no doubt I get you going.” He catches me and he is all smirk, white teeth. He needs to stop.

“Quit changing tactics.” I roll my eyes. They damn near fall out of the back of my head.

“No, maybe this one will work better.” He steps toward me, and I back away.

“Maybe what will work better?” I am a live wire, frayed at the edges, bit off.

“A reminder. A reminder that you can puff your chest out all you want, throw me your anger, all that shit. But we both know it’s because you can’t stop wanting me. I could throw you down on this theatre floor and fuck you if I wanted to. I could spread your legs, take it all.”

I’m embarrassingly wet, already. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.” My jaw is hard, tense.

“Please, we both know it’s true. And we both know I’m not going to do a damn thing. I’m not going to touch you. I got everything I wanted from you back then. A kiss. A kiss was enough.”

A montage of every touch, every bit of skin we bared flitters in my mind. “You did more than kiss me.” He can’t lie to me. We both know the truth. No one else does.

“Yeah, sure, some. But it all boils down to a kiss.” He dismisses it, and the images swirl away. Angry orange and stifling, like this room.

“A kiss. Yeah, a kiss you started, buddy.” I can still feel it. My bottom lip is burning.

“One you wanted, though.” He is too close to me.

“And you.” My words come out soft, mirroring my resistance. “You wanted it, too. That’s the part you’re leaving out.”

“Everyone knows it. The town knows it. You know it. My wife knows it.”

“If everyone knows it, why are you still beating yourself up for it?” It's in his tone. Self-loathing, leaking out all over the floor between us.

“I’m going to beat myself up for it until the damage is gone. Until everyone stops reminding me. Until you stop reminding me. And you’re going to remind me of it, every time that movie plays. Every time you show up.”

“Don't act surprised. You knew I was going to show up again. You’re like a fucking magnet, dude.”

“Are you going to keep doing that?”

“What?” It was an old trick. A fallback.

“Calling me dude, buddy. It’s shit women do to remind a guy they don’t want him. But it’s just a little mask you’re using, and we both can see right through it. So stop. How long were you in love with me?”

“In love?” I blanch. "Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You know what I mean.” His shoulders go up and down, like he meant no offense, but holds no regret. His mouth is still mean, mischievous.

“I don’t know. I think maybe freshman year is when I started to notice you.” I am softening. This isn’t the fight I wanted. It has dissipated, fading like the red in my veins.

“Yeah, well, for me, it was kindergarten. That’s when I noticed Aurora. Fucking five years old. And I even knew her before then. Maybe it was the comparison, and I was a little boy with a million crushes. But she was the cutest. The prettiest. She was already my best friend. Our grandmothers were best friends, and then they had daughters. They became best friends. It’s almost like we were designed to be together.”

Is he still trying to give me what I asked for? Barbs and a cutting edge? Or is this opening up? “So it was fate?” I never knew this, and I wish he wasn't telling me this story. The bite in my voice, the tremor, returns.

“I don’t know. I know I liked you back then. So much. And then finally, finally she wanted me. Everything I wanted since I was a damn five-year-old was there, ready for me. You didn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don't know. I knew I never stood a chance with you. And I think you’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if Aurora didn't want you. Even if everything lined up and we could have been together, we wouldn't have. You wouldn't have chosen me or dated me. You wouldn't have taken me to prom. I wasn’t popular. I wasn't as pretty as the other girls, and I didn't wear the coolest clothes, I didn’t play sports. This isn’t some teen rom-com. I wasn’t going to get some makeover, and you weren't going to tell your friends to fuck off. You were going to go along with what everyone wanted you to do. Because that’s what you do. You listen to others, and you let them lead.”

“Thank you.” He walks away, to the edge of the stage.

“For what?” I follow him.

“For confirming every fear I’ve ever had about myself. For showing me you can see it. The weakness.”

“I’m sorry. I was just, I was trying to show you I knew. That it never was going to be a thing with us.” He takes a seat on the edge of the stage, in front of me, so I lower myself down next to him.

“Maybe in some alternate universe.” He stares down at his worn jeans, his worn shoes.

“Thanks for that.” I blow out a puff of air, half agreeing, half resentful.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m only desirable in a world where Aurora doesn't exist.” Now he is confirming my fears.

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

"Quit backtracking now. It’s the spine thing. Like I said back then. You don’t have one. You’re caving now.”

“You said that back then? No. No way. You weren't like this back then, you know?”

“Yeah. I know. It’s called growing up. Confidence. It’s called realizing that there is a big world out there and you can be whoever the fuck you want to be. High school doesn't mean anything. It’s just a blip on the map of your life.” I was more me, more in my skin than I had ever been. I liked this me. Would he?

“I feel like I never left. I’m friends with the same people, and I’ve been with the same girl, and I see the same teachers. Hell, I’m in the same damn school. Every day.”

“How creepy is it? You live here, right?” I couldn’t tell, with his truck always on the lawn, never moving. But at night, I saw lights on until late.

“You have no idea. So many sounds at night.”

“Where is your room?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. They sound like a come-on.

If he notices, he doesn’t show it. “The principal's office. It was the first room we finished. The closet is his old safe. So if there’s ever a tornado in Burlingame, that’s where I am hiding.”

The principal's office is at the front of the building. You can see the window from my front porch. I know I’ll be watching now.

We sit like that for a while. The sound of our breaths, in and out, signals the passage of time. It’s so awkward, and I have no idea what to do. I’m about to speak when the auditorium lights directly over the audience seats light up. They flicker and sputter, groaning. I pull my arm up and shield my eyes, registering Bryan rising to his feet, a flurry of curse words rising with him.

“What the hell are you doing in town?”

I pull my arm down and see a guy about our age walking down the aisle, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. I like his Vans, his nylon shorts. He’s tall, and his hair is a little shaggy. A pair of aviators pushes it back, off his forehead. He looks familiar.

When he speaks, I recognize the voice. One of the last I heard before I left town.

“Hey, brother. Sev. Let me walk you out?” He winks at me, then turns his gaze back to his brother’s. “Aurora is on her way.”