Chapter 4

Four

Ezra

I f he's with his friend Daniel, Miller's at a big, brick frat house at the bottom of a sloping hill about a block from campus. The driveway is a thin ribbon of concrete rolling like a red carpet alongside a thick wall of pine trees. Out to the right of the driveway, a cloud-covered moon reflects pale light off the flat surface of a pond.

It didn't take me long to find this place; it’s the house Mills has been at for a few months.

Before I left my car, I pulled a ball cap over my head and threw on a hoodie. Now I'm one of maybe two dozen shadowy figures walking down the driveway toward the bumping bass of party music. As I walk, my heart racing and my hands stuffed in my pockets, someone lights some tiki torches around the pond one by one.

I blink at them with tears in my eyes. Then I swallow, blink again, and lock my jaw up.

Might not even be here, I tell myself.

I curl my hands into fists and flex them in my hoodie pocket, spreading the fingers out. Maybe I shouldn't surprise him—if he is here. I’m pretty sure the apartment complex next door is his. I could probably find him if I looked hard and was willing to ask around. I could wait there.

But the thought of that makes my blood run cold. What if he didn't come home tonight? What if I can't find him?

I want to check out every lead I have. I thought of calling...and I guess I still could. But I don't want to do this in a phone call. Ten bucks says he won't even talk to me. Not after what happened.

Tears again.

Keep it on lockdown, dude. You've got this.

I'm just gonna find him. Try to. If I have to pull my hat off and use my face to get people to talk to me...I'll do it.

Deep breaths.

The driveway flattens out. There's a bunch of people on the lawn, some girl doing a handstand. I see some stuff glint near the pond and realize...it's kegs? I try to picture myself chilling as an Auburn student, drinking beer and sitting by this pond—but I can't. Football is my world.

Football and Miller.

Bass is bumping somewhere behind the house, making the humid, cold November air vibrate. As soon as I get to the porch, two guys spill out the door, talking loudly. I'm trying to look nonchalant as their eyes swing to my face. One of them opens his mouth like a fish out of water. The guy beside him laughs.

"Well holy shit. What have we here?"

I tip my hat at them. "Just looking for a friend."

"You got no friends here, Masters."

Then they both start laughing. A third guy comes out the door, making my stomach lurch, but they fill him in without getting overly loud about it, and that guy says, "Who ya looking for, Bama? Fuck you for running it in at the end of second. "

I ignore that bit and just say, "My friend. Josh Miller?" My voice is raspy from how nervous I am.

The one in back nods. "Yeah. Miller's one of our new guys. He should be around here. You guys know each other from high school or something?"

I nod. "Same town."

Two of the guys nod, but the one in front frowns. "I know,” I explain. “My press stuff says Virginia, but I lived down in Fairplay for a year with my dad."

"I saw those sick reels, bruh. Fairplay Tigers," the tall one in back drawls.

I nod.

"This dude's modest," one of them laughs.

For a second, all three of them talk about how I seem like a normal guy. They ask if I'm drinking.

"Not tonight."

"I thought y'all all ride back together after games,” the middle one says.

I explain that we usually do.

"Well, shiiiit," one of them drawls.

"You sure you don't wanna tap one of those kegs? We got a bunch of stuff."

"Yeah, thanks. Maybe later."

"Bruh, Miller's in there.” The middle guy tips his head back. “I just saw him out there underneath the back porch."

I can't breathe as I step slowly into the house. The front door leads into a massive living room with a two-story stone fireplace. There's a flatscreen taking up the lion’s share of one wall, set to ESPN. I see myself on the field, and it’s surreal.

I glance up, noticing a railing; this room is two stories tall, and I guess the guys' rooms are upstairs. Does Miller live here?

I put my head back down, following a long-ass rug down a narrow hall, passing rooms I don't look up to see, and passing people. Lots and lots of drunk, War Eagle people.

The hall leads to a massive kitchen—which is really more a mess hall. I start feeling like I can't breathe, so I stop for just a second, fixing my eyes on a long table...counting the chairs.

What if he gets mad that I'm here?

I guess, to him, I'm someone he knows well. Someone who evidently just fucking left him. To me, Josh Miller is almost a celebrity. Someone I've fixated on for months, but I don't know him. Tears again. I rub my aching forehead. It's starting to throb from that hit to my back.

Deep breaths.

I can see the deck through a few big-ass windows. Guess the music's out there, because the floorboards under my feet trembles with the beat.

How do I find him? What's he wearing?

I breathe deeply and then move onto the crowded deck. Holy hell, it's packed. People trying to dance, but they can't because it's too crowded. Lots of little red Solo cups. Little shrieks and low male laughter.

I step out and just freeze. Then I spot a railing at the deck's edge and walk toward it. I have to push my way through the crowd, but it's okay. Once I'm there, I'll look for Miller. His dark hair, his little tired, nighttime smiles.

I stand there sweating from anxiety for what feels like an hour. If he's out here, I can't see him. As soon as I have that thought, someone yells, "Miller!"

I look over the railing to the grassy lawn below. There's maybe a hundred people down there. I push back through the crowd and go down the stairs, my legs weak and shaky from the strain of the game.

I stop at the bottom, stand under the deck and listen. I don't hear him. I don't see him. Some girl catches my eye, and I step over to her, asking her if she's seen him.She’s never heard of him.

I start around the house to the front, not wanting to cross that fucking deck again. I force myself to slow walk up the side lawn’s grassy incline.

It's okay .If I can’t find him tonight, I’ll keep trying.

I'm at the front door again, stepping up over the threshold again. This time, the living room's more crowded. Someone's standing upstairs at the wrought iron railing, hurling a football down. I head to the kitchen, which is also more crowded now; as soon as I stop in the doorway, some dude’s eyes pop open wider, and I duck my head.

There's a dark hallway off the left side of the kitchen, so I go that way just to get away from everybody.There are a few doors slightly open, showing sliver views of frat boy bedrooms. I pass four and then the hall turns at a ninety-degree angle, and there's an open space with a staircase at the other end. I hear murmured voices, and my throat goes tight and aching.

I don't know how I know, because I can barely hear them, but my body flushes and I feel lightheaded as I walk toward the staircase. When I get to the bottom, I look up, and everything is in slow motion. Josh is standing near the top, facing sideways, his back pressed against the wall. There's a guy in front of him—a husky guy whose hair and face are hidden by a cap. At first I think the guy is trying to strangle Miller.

Josh’s hands are on the guy's elbows, trying to push him away. I hear "no," but the guy leans in, going for Josh’s neck with his mouth, and I realize he's trying to kiss him!

All the blood leaves my head. I'm an apparition, just a booming heartbeat, straining my eyes in the dim light to see if Miller's really struggling.

He says something in a raised voice. Then he gives the other guy a light shove. I take the stairs two at a time, and as the other guy grabs for him again, I catch the fucker by the throat and toss him back against the stair rail.

Josh

It all happens in slow motion. One second, that dickbag Zane is trying to hump me on the fucking stairs, and I'm worried someone will see. I try to shove the guy away, but he bounces back up like a giant car-lot inflatable, swaying like he's drunker than I am.

Then the guy is off me. I hear, "What the fuck is this?" at the same moment I see Ezra.

Ezra holding Zane's shirt collar. Ezra with his burning lake eyes on me. My body shorts out, going icy cold then white hot as my stomach bottoms out and my throat closes. My heart starts to pound as Zane frowns from Ezra to me.

"Ezra Masters?" he gapes.

"Get the fuck out of here."

Zane looks at me, wide-eyed. Then he staggers down the stairs, moving so fast he almost trips and has to grab the bannister.

My legs feel like they might give out as Ezra's gaze lands on my face. Fuck, my head is spinning so hard.

"Why are you here?" I rasp.

His eyes are just...holding mine. They won't let go.

"I need to talk to you." His beautiful, familiar face, suntanned and aged up a year, looks both different and the very same. Looking at him, being near him, makes my body flush and buzz, and every second that I’m here beside him, I feel like I’m buzzing harder.

"I don't owe you anything." It's all that I can manage. Even as I say the words, I know I'll give him anything he asks for.

"So it was real," he whispers, his eyes wide. His face takes on a look of shock. "We...weren't just stepbrothers."

A weird cold feeling moves through my limbs. "What do you mean? "

"Did we…love each other?"

I blink, and black spots swim in my eyes.

"I don't understand," I whisper.

Ezra comes in close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I can feel the pressure of his warm chest pressed against mine. I can smell him, feel him breathing. Ezra! His arm loops around my back, and my head feels so hollow that I wonder for a second if I’ll pass out. "Come with me, Josh," he rasps.

When I don't move, he looks at me, all eyes and alarm—and then something like determination. He wraps me up against him again, lifts me off my feet, and hauls me like a piece of furniture into the nearest bedroom.

I feel hot, disoriented, like I'm on a bad ride at the carnival. Ezra's in front of me. He's crouching down a little, frowning up into my face. Then he's standing. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom’s bathroom.Gray tile. Goldfish on the shower curtain.

I watch his gaze flick to the goldfish, then to my face again. "Sit down," he says, pulling back the shower curtain. I sit on the tub’s ledge, and he starts opening cabinets. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and he looks bulky. He’s wearing a hat. He pulls it off. Shorter hair—a shorter buzz on the sides. All the blond is gone just like the picture on the stadium screen showed.

My heart is climbing up my throat, trying to get out and throw itself at his feet. Jordans. They look new. Did he ask me if we loved each other?

I watch as he puts a washcloth under the sink’s faucet. Then he crouches down in front of me and holds the thing to my neck.

"Miller.” His voice cracks on my name. “You don't look well."

I close my eyes. When I open them, his head is hanging, almost like he's bowing down in front of me. Then he looks back up, and his eyes look so lost that it makes my throat ache.

"Josh," he whispers. "Can you tell me how we know each other? Besides stepbrothers?"

My heart beats off-rhythm. "You don't remember?" Something's building in me, something quiet and far-off, like an approaching train.

He looks down at the floor. Then his eyes are on mine. "No," he whispers. "But I just heard your voicemails tonight." He swallows, looking back down. “Before that…” His dark brows furrow as his mouth twists downward, and his eyes come back up to mine. “I’ve been obsessed with you. I followed you on Snap and Insta, watched your stories for months." He swallows, his cheeks sucked in. "When I woke up from how I lost my memory,” he rasps, “I had your name on my arm. I wrote it...before," he whispers.

"Before what?"

He looks younger than I've ever seen him as I take in his fuller face, still with the high cheekbones and chiseled lips but now a darker tan, a harder jawline. He looks almost afraid.

My clenched stomach does a sharp dive. "Ezra, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His lips tremble as his eyes cling to mine.

“Ez?” I breathe.

“Is that what you called me?"His eyes look teary as he presses his lips flat.

"Yeah."

He drops his face into his hands as his shoulders rise and fall. He makes a soft sound, almost like a whimper. Then he’s breathing heavy. Fast. His fingers shove into his hair, clenching a tuft. I can’t help but put my arms around him. He's so big now, I can barely hold him. But I do. I hold him tight.

His face comes to my shoulder, and I notice that his arms are wrapped around himself—and not around me.

"Hey..." I stroke the back of his hair, every atom in me firing white-hot from the feel of Ezra in my arms again. "Hey, angel. Tell me what happened."

His shoulders give a little shudder. "I know I need to," he groans. Another tremor moves through his back.

"You're okay," I whisper. God, I want to kiss his cheek.

He pulls away, and his eyes are wide and haunted. "No I'm not."

I put my hand on his chest, right between his warm pecs. "You're gonna be."

His eyes hold mine as tears spill down his cheeks. “You are nice,” he chokes. “Like on your stories.” Then his face crumples like he’s going to sob. He covers it with his hands.

He’s crying so quietly that I don’t notice till I see his shoulders shaking. Then a whimper slips from his throat, and I feel like I just got punched in the gut.

"Are you saying that you don’t remember anything?” I choke. “About the two of us?" I reach for him, needing to hold him, soothe him, but my body feels frozen as I watch him move his hands off his face. Was he in an accident? How did I not know this?

"I remember you were in my car." His voice trembles, and tears are streaming down his flushed face. "I remember how I felt. I think I liked you in my Jeep beside me."

Oh God.

"You were upset." His voice breaks, and I can see how hard he’s trying not to outright sob. "In my voice messages. I didn't like that."

I look at him, at Ezra losing his shit, telling me he doesn’t know me, and I just... can't . I stand up, feeling sick and dizzy. For a long and awful second, I want to run. Then I look down at him, at his shoulders drawn in and his head in his hands. I think of Ezra waking from nightmares, looking foggy-eyed and pained and confused, latching onto me, begging me not to leave. And the wave of grief that swells in my chest hurts so much, I almost cry out.

I get to my knees beside him. Stroke my hands over his soft hair. I wrap my arms around him, and I shift so that I'm sitting with my back against the tub's side as he locks himself around me again.He’s in between my legs, on his knees. His face is pressed to my throat.

“I’m sorry. For what I did.” His body shudders. "I’m a dumbass.” All his words are choked groans.

"Hey, now. Don’t talk about my favorite person like that."

"I'm your favorite person?" It sounds half sobbed.

"Yeah you are, angel." I shut my eyes and hug him like he never left. Like I've wanted to for almost a year. I hug him like I know he needs.Like I need. Even as I try to shut my brain off and breathe around the lump in my tight throat.

"Fuck," he rasps. "I'm so fucking sorry, Josh.”

He lifts his head, looking flushed and dazed, with teary eyes. And I just…kiss him.

It's a quick, soft, warm kiss, and it shocks me so much that I sort of gasp against his mouth, and then I try to back up, but the tub’s behind me. He’s all wide eyes. His parted lips—

I kiss them again—fast and hard—and then I kiss his damp cheek. His big shoulders tremble. My whole body is misfiring. I don't want to do this in somebody's bathroom.

I move into a crouch and find his hand with my hand.Pull him up—or really, urge him up; he’s much bigger than I am now.

He looks at me. I look at him—my heart bursting with a million feelings.

“Hey Ez?” I whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”