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“Of course you don’t.”

He sighs, turns around, and rubs a hand over his face in frustration. “What are you doing here?”

“Considering it’s my gallery, I figure that should be aquestion I ask you.”

He frowns, his brows pulling together in a familiar way. “Yours? Your parents didn’t tell me—”

“Probably because they don’t know.” I take a drag of the cigarette, then sit on the ground, leaning against the wall. Ask me if I’m shocked he talks to them more than I do.Mom tries, though. She tries more than Dad.

“This place is yours? I don’t understand.”

“You’re smarter than that. You know what I’m saying. I moved here. I bought a gallery. Surprise. We’re neighbors.”

He closes his eyes like I’ve exhausted him already, then does the last thing I expect—walks over and sits beside me. “Abbie would want to know.”

“You’re not Ellis. I don’t need you to lecture me on how to be a better son.” My brother did it all the time, did it until the day he died. Other than not being good at football, Ellis was perfect—the perfect son, man, friend, brother, boyfriend. He tried to mold me into that too, tried to instruct me and change me.Why can’t you listen to Dad? Can’t you just try to play? Why do you talk back? Sneak out? Maybe you’d like football if you gave it a chance. If I had your talent…

But he hadn’t, much to his and my father’s chagrin. If I could have given it to him, I would have.

“I’m not trying to be your brother.”

Well, that’s probably good, as I spent my teen years both hating and wanting him. I really am a terrible brother.

“You can see the stars tonight,” I say instead of responding, then ball up my suit jacket and lie down, using it as a pillow. “Sometimes I play connect the dots.” I smoke with one hand, using the other to point to the sky and draw pictures. “You can create anything with stars.” I’m almost afraid to look at Hunter, afraid to see his confusion or annoyance at me being me. Drawing pictures in the sky is a Lucas thing—notan Ellis or Hunter thing. It’s one of those weird things about me they don’t get. “I’ll make a football for you,” I tease, drawing one.

“I don’t only care about football,” he snaps.

“I didn’t say you did.”

“It’s what you were insinuating.”

“We might not be brothers, but we fight like it.” I stop drawing, unsure why I’m up here with him at all. Why I didn’t walk away, because we both know that spending time with me is the last thing he wants. “Cigarettes and stars. The only thing missing to make this a perfect night is an orgasm,” I say, wanting to get a reaction.

“Jesus, Lucas.”

I risk looking at him. “What? You can’t pretend to be so innocent and pure anymore. I’ve seen the stories.”

They’ve surprised me. Not the women—I knew Hunter’s bisexual—but that he’s been caught out with them, that there are stories about his hookups and wild nights out in a way that never happened when he was with Ellis.Thatsurprised me. Everything about him and Ellis had always been so wholesome. Two boys who love football become best friends, then fall into a relationship. High school sweethearts who go to college together, then move to LA together when one is drafted to play professional football. Everything about them had been perfect. A fairy tale.

“Fuck off, Lucas. I don’t even know why I try with you.”

Hunter changes position to stand, making guilt tackle me…guilt, and a part of me that doesn’t want him to go because Hunter has always fascinated me. I’ve always struggled to keep my eyes off my brother’s boyfriend, which just proves the kind of person I am. “I’m a dick,” I say. We both know it’s true.

Hunter sighs and sits down again. There’s a weariness tohim he didn’t use to carry, a sadness surrounding him that doesn’t feel right. You don’t see it in interviews, don’t see it online or when he’s playing, but I’m drowning in it now. Hunter is supposed to be the boy next door—perfectly neat brown hair, blue eyes, a flawless smile and teeth after braces when he was younger. He looks like the guy who would play a superhero everyone loves.

“You’re right. I’m not the man I was with him. He would expect better of me.”

I turn onto my side, propped on my elbow, head in my hand. “There’s nothing wrong with what you do.”

“Because I’m more like you now?” He says the words to hurt me, or maybe to hurt himself, but it only makes me roll my eyes.

“You’re nothing like me. If you were, my father would hate you too.”

Hunter looks away, like my words hit a nerve. It was a joke, really, though it’s true. He hasn’t gotten to embarrassing territory yet, and if he does, he’ll feel the wrath. The seriousness on Hunter’s face speaks to how much he believes what he said, though, as if he’s not allowed to have any kind of life because Ellis is gone; as if he’s not allowed to be messy.

“Hunter…as much as we all wish it wasn’t true, Ellis is gone. You’re allowed to have a life, and God forbid, you’re not perfect.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”