19. Freddie

FREDDIE

NOW – JUNIOR YEAR – JANUARY

I ’m hunched over my laptop at our sad excuse for a kitchen table, scrolling through another batch of soul-crushing job listings. Every posting reads like it was written by the same corporate robot: “competitive salary” (translation: we’ll pay you just enough to keep breathing), “industry-leading” (we’re exactly like everyone else), “innovative solutions” (we have no fucking clue what we’re doing).

My eyes are starting to cross from staring at this shit. Each listing feels less appealing than the last, which is impressive considering they started at the root-canal level of excitement. But I keep scrolling because that’s what good sons do, right? They find stable jobs, take care of their families, and definitely don’t think about how much they’d rather be doing literally anything else.

My phone buzzes, and my stomach drops when I see it’s Megan. No warning text about calling, no “Freddie, I need to tell you something in 5,” nothing. She always sends those—says it helps with her “call anxiety” or whatever. The last time she called without warning was when Dad collapsed at work.

“Freddie!” She’s practically screaming before I can even say hello. “Freddie, oh my god, you’re not going to believe it!”

“Jesus, Meg, breathe,” I laugh, but my stomach’s already doing backflips. “What’s up?”

“I got it!” She’s definitely crying. “The scholarship! University of Denver! They want me, Freddie! Full ride!”

Holy shit.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The relief hits me so hard, I sink deeper into my seat, slumping back as if the weight lifting off my shoulders has finally, mercifully, let me breathe. Okay, maybe I collapse a bit more than planned.

“Are you serious?” My voice cracks like I’m thirteen again, shaky and raw. “Meg, that’s... holy shit, that’s amazing!”

She laughs, but her voice is thick, trembling with what I’m pretty sure are happy tears. “I know! Coach called Dad this morning. They saw me play at regionals, and—God, Freddie, you should’ve heard him! He actually cried!”

I can picture it as if it’s playing out in front of me: Dad’s tough-guy act cracking wide open, emotion flooding past every effort to contain it. The thought alone makes my throat tighten and burn.

“Of course he cried. His baby girl’s gonna be a Pioneer.” I’m not crying. No, there’s just... something in my eye. Both eyes. “Mom must be going nuts.”

“She’s already planning what to wear to signing day,” Megan says, a grin almost audible in her voice. “I think she’s more excited than I am, if that’s even possible.”

I tip my head back, staring up at the water stain on our ceiling—a vaguely smudged outline that kind of looks like Nicolas Cage if I squint. All those nights spent lying awake, staring at this same ceiling and wondering how the hell we’d manage to send Meg to college. The extra shifts I took, the sleepless nights, the backup plans... all of it.

“Fred?” Meg’s voice softens. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I’m just... I’m so damn proud of you, kid.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Bullshit,” I say, managing a laugh. “This is all you, Meg. Your talent, your grit.”

“No, I mean it.” Her voice catches. “All those times you drove me to practice when Mom and Dad couldn’t, the equipment you helped pay for... You never let me give up, even when I wanted to.”

Christ. When did my baby sister get so grown up?

“That’s what big brothers are for,” I say, my voice rough, definitely not because I’m wiping my eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

“Yeah, well.” She pauses. “You did good, big brother.”

We hang up, and as I set my phone down, I’m saved from completely losing it by Troy ambling in, a hoodie slung over his shoulder.

He stops mid-stride when he sees my face. “Dude, you okay?”

I nod, still finding my breath, words just out of reach.

“Megan got her scholarship,” I finally manage. “Full ride. Denver.”

For the first time in months, it feels like I can actually breathe.

You did it, Meg. You really fucking did it.

Troy’s face breaks into that mega-watt smile. “No shit? That’s awesome!” He claps me on the shoulder. “This calls for celebration. I’m talking shots.”

I check my watch. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he shrugs, already heading for the cabinet where we keep the good stuff. “And your sister’s gonna be a Pioneer . That deserves tequila.”

I watch him pour the shots, my mind spinning. My baby sister’s really doing it—getting out of Goldbend, chasing her dreams. The thought of her not needing her big brother anymore is both a massive relief and fucking terrifying.

Troy plops down in the chair across from me, sliding a shot my way. “Hey, I know that look. I had the same one when Tara decided to come here.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Ethan tell you about my reaction?”

I snort. “Said you threw a bitch fit.”

“I did not throw a bitch fit,” Troy protests, but he’s grinning. “I was justifiably concerned about my reputation.”

“What reputation? Campus beefcake?”

“Har har.” Troy rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. “Point is, it’s weird, you know? Watching them grow up, become their own person. But it’s kinda nice too. Like you did something right.”

I let his words sink in, thinking about Megan’s voice, all excited about Denver. Maybe Troy’s right. Maybe this is just part of growing up and not fucking everything up.

“When did you get so wise?” I tease.

Troy puffs out his chest like a peacock on steroids. “I’ve always been wise, young padawan. You’re just now noticing my Jedi-like qualities.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Right, because nothing says wise Jedi like the guy who thought twins actually had telepathic powers.”

“Hey!” Troy protests, his face flushing. “That was an honest mistake. I don’t know shit about babies, man.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Fuck you.” He flips me off as he struts away.

My thumb hovers over Alex’s name in my contacts. When did texting her become so difficult? I take a deep breath and type out a message:

Hey Alex, we should prob set up a time to meet about the project. Tomoz work for you?

I hit send before I can pussy out. Her reply comes so fast I know she was on her phone.

"Fine. Library. 3pm."

Three clipped words. About as warm as Alfie on a Monday morning before his first coffee, which is saying a lot.

“Damn,” Troy whistles, leaning over my shoulder, his breath faintly tinged with mint gum and zero regard for personal space—because that concept’s just a rumor in this house. “Ice queen much?”

I shrug, willing the tight, sour knot in my gut to ease up. “It’s fine. Professional. That’s what we need to be, right?”

Ethan stumbles in, hair askew, heading straight for the coffee maker. “Who’s professional?”

“Freddie’s project partner,” Troy explains, and he doesn’t even try to hide the sympathy bleeding onto his face. I bite back the urge to wipe it right off. “Still can’t believe you two got paired up, man.”

Neither can I.

“Alex?” Ethan’s face lights up faster than a dog hearing the crinkle of a treat bag. “Man, I miss having her around. Remember when the little dude tried to make us all go vegan?”

“Yeah,” Troy says, like he’s reminiscing about an old flame rather than the girl who once gave us lectures about recycling and air-dried us for leaving the lights on. “Or that clean-up day she organized? Place was spotless, even if it only lasted a week.”

I shift in my chair, the rim of my glass cool against my fingers as I tap it absentmindedly, torn between ordering another tequila shot or just leaving altogether. It’s been months since Alex was a regular fixture around here, but the way they talk about her… it makes it feel like she never left. And it fucking hurts.

Alfie materializes from whatever dark corner he’s been lurking in. “Speaking of missing people, anyone seen Tara lately?”

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Troy’s head snaps around, his gaze sharp, narrowing into a glare. “Why are you so concerned about my sister?”

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, tension thick enough to cut through. Alfie’s eyes widen, instantly realizing what he’s just stepped into.

Before Troy can go full protective brother mode, Ethan jumps in, his voice loud and uncoordinated. “Hey, remember that pizza guy who always hooked us up with extra garlic sauce? Now that was a real one.”

The random-as-fuck comment actually works. Troy snorts, the dangerous edge fading from his eyes, while Alfie looks ready to kiss Ethan for his timely intervention.

I tune out their inevitable descent into pizza topping warfare, my gaze fixed on my phone. Three fucking words from Alex, and I’m right back where I started. The guys miss her, sure. But they don’t miss her like I do. They don’t lie awake at night, remembering how her whole face would light up whenever she got excited about saving the planet. They don’t catch themselves looking for her every time they pass CC’s.

Tomorrow’s gonna be a shit show. Three hours of carefully not talking about anything real, pretending we’re just two random students stuck together for a project. We can do that, right? Be professional. Not bring up all the fucked-up history between us. Not think about that night when?—

Nope. Not going there, Ford.

I need to focus. Get through this project without killing each other or doing something stupid like telling her I miss her laugh. Her passion. Her ? —

Fuck.

This is going...