The arguing from the kitchen is muffled, but it still bleeds into your room like poison. You’d slipped into your bedroom when Neil’s focus has shifted onto Billy and made the impulsive decision to call Steve.

The moment Billy Hargrove storms down the hallway with that usual thundercloud look, and you follow behind — cool, collected, California-sunkissed. His twin. His carbon copy. His shadow. It was easy for Steve to identify you weren’t like him. You didn’t want to be like him.

That’s how you ended up in his BMW, driving without a destination. You watch the houses blur past, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

You weren’t going to cry. You told yourself Neil was just another temporary interruption in your life — you just had to wait him out. But you didn’t really believe it. Things were changing too fast. You weren’t crying. But almost.

Steve glances over. “You good?”

It’s a dumb question. He knows you’re not. But it’s his way of giving you space—inviting you to say something if you want, or to stay quiet if you need.

There were things you wished you could be kept safe from — but none of them were the kinds of things Steve could do anything about, no matter how hard he tried. The way he seemed to think he could help you by keeping you out gave you a hollow feeling.

“We don’t have to talk ‘bout it,” he adds softly. “We can just sit in silence.”