I groan at that—this Zane guy likes me—and Jenna whispers, "Don't be talking loud about it now."

  Through the house. A bunch of color, faces. Cookies on the counter!

  We're out in the night. "The bugs are loud," I tell her.

  "Crickets."

  "I know."

  Her arm is around me. "Hate that this is uphill for a minute." Up the driveway, through the bushes...my apartment is the complex right beside here. “Wanna stay?" I ask her.

  "Can't. I got that super early class that's way across campus, out on the east side. Never get there on time walking all this way."

  "I gotcha."

  "So how did you meet him? The influencer?" she asks.

  Influencer? Oh, she means Dom Bryant. "Atlanta."

  "Were you with Daniel?"

  "Yeah."

  "This drunk?" she asks as we move through the bushes.

  "Shut up, Jenna."

  I feel sicker now. As my shoe soles touch the dark asphalt of my apartment parking lot. As the pine trees all around us sway in moonlight. Everything around me doesn't seem real.

  "Joshie?"

  We stop walking, which makes my brain slosh. I blink at her face. "Yeah?"

  Jenna's hand comes to my face. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah." My voice is a whine.

  Her fingertip touches my eyelid, dropping a black veil over the top half of the apartment building. "What did you take?" she asks, quiet.

  "Just stuff. Nothing weird or anything," I throw in.

  Her arm goes around me again. "Let's go slow. You're really hot and breathing kind of fast. Do you feel funny? Sick?"

  "I feel good." I put my arm around her, too, and Jenna leans her head against my shoulder. "I love you, Joshie. You're one of my favorite people on this planet. Whatever you did tonight, don't do it again, okay? You promise?"

  "Okay."

  Maybe Jenna's right. I feel so sick as we go up the stairs. Like the blood’s leaving my veins and my body might crumple like a balloon without air in it. I can't get my key into the lock, so she unlocks it for me.

  When we get inside, she looks around—it's messy—and then grabs hold of my hand. She frowns up at me.

  "Josh?" I force my eyes to stay open, so I can look back at her. "You don't look good. Your hand is so...clammy. And cold."

  "I'm fine." I need to sit down. I sit on the couch and put my head in my hands. I feel sick and sweaty. It'll pass, though. Always does.

  I feel Jenna's hand on my back. Making me feel sicker...but I don't want to hurt her feelings.

  Then I know I'm gonna barf, so I rush toward the bathroom. I don't know what happens till I'm on the floor. My chest hurts. I can't breathe. And then I'm puking—on the floor—and Jenna's saying something but I can't catch my breath. So much puking.

  I can't breathe!

  My eyes drip and my head throbs. I can feel my heart beat behind my eyes. My throat burns. I try to roll away from where I am...but I can't. I just can't stop throwing up.

  "Josh!"

  Jenna—

  Hands on my head. And then I'm panting, and I'm crying. My throat hurts. And then I'm dry heaving again. Can't hold my head up.

  Ezra.

  "I want Ezra,” I choke. More dry heaving. My chest aches. I can't see straight. "Jenna?"

  "Josh, I'm kind of scared now." Her fingers on my eyelids, blurry living room and stinging throat. "Josh, are you okay?"

  I can't stop dry heaving. Shaking. I can tell by how I'm weak and dizzy that it just...hit too hard.

  Need to...tell her.

  Will wear off.

  Just can't stop...dry heaving. I feel a pass out coming like it did...one other time. My body powering down. Flickering. Shaking.

  The last thought I have is: Maybe Carl will tell Ezra.

  * * *

  I know as soon as my bleary eyes focus on my mom's face that I fucked up. Pretty bad, from what it looks like.

  Her mouth opens and her eyes stretch open wider, and she's standing by my bed. Hospital bed.

  I look at her, feeling sick, my eyes sore as fuck as I shift my gaze to the green curtain.

  "Oh, Josh." My mom sighs. Her makeup is smeared and her face is anguished as she leans over the plastic railing. "You scared us half to death."

  I look around for Carl, finding him in a chair near the foot of my bed. He looks tired. Unhappy.

  I look down at myself. Thick white blanket. Tube for oxygen taped to my fucking face. I feel...sapped. Like I couldn't even lift my arm if I tried. My stomach hurts bad and my throat feels so raw. I swallow, and the pain is so bad, tears well up in my eyes.

  "Joshua. What are you thinking? Do you want to come home? We weren't sure that you should do this, given...spring. But this is college. You worked hard to get here. We're so fortunate you didn't have a second seizure after the one last fall, and now this?" Mom sweeps my hair—damp hair—off my—clammy—forehead. It makes me shiver.

  She rubs the blanket over me, which makes me notice the square sticker things with little wires stuck to my chest. I think it’s heart monitor stuff.

  There's an IV in my hand. I look away from it, down at my legs, but I see Carl that way. I close my eyes.

  Mom strokes my hair again.

  "We're not angry with you, honey. We don't know what to do. What do you need? What are you not telling us?"

  Gee, I don't know, Mom. Maybe that your stepson fucking wrecked me?

  "Was it me calling?" She sounds, and looks, horrified at the prospect. "I was worried that mentioning him might set something off. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  I swallow again, which hurts so fucking bad I get a cold sweat.

  "If your throat is sore, that's because the doctors had to put a tube in your throat. It was in there for almost six hours." My eyes flip open at that. "They stuck a tube down your throat to help you breathe. Just like when you go to sleep for a procedure. If Jenna hadn't called the ambulance, you might have died."

  "She called the ambulance?" Oh holy fuck, it hurts to talk. I grit my teeth as more tears pop into my eyes.

  "Yes, she did," my mom says curtly. "She said she tried to get you off the floor, but you were much too heavy. Completely passed out."

  I think I remember that.

  I look at Carl.

  "How ya feeling?" He stands up and comes to the other side of the bed. For some reason, since Ezra left, Carl is the nicer one of he and my mom. He always seems like he cares how I feel. Whereas my mom mostly seems panicked, furious, shocked, or upset.

  "Not that good." I try it in a whisper, but it still hurts.

  "I'm sorry, bud." Carl ruffles my hair, and my eyes fill up with shimmering tears.

  I want to say I don't remember anything before right now. I remember lying on a bed inside the fraternity house and looking at the ceiling. I think I remember walking down the frat house stairs with Jenna. But that's it.

  No...that's not it.

  I remember thinking that I hope Carl tells Ezra.

  Thinking of that makes the tears fall. My mom hands me tissue, and I wipe them up and don't shed anymore while she and Carl visit. I tell them I was drinking something strong, and since I haven't drank since March, that time I wrecked my car, my tolerance was low.

  "I really hope that's true, Josh," my mom tells me. She looks angry again. I swallow, which makes my eyes water.

  I can't fucking blame her.

  "We met with a social worker while you were asleep," Carl tells me. "What he recommended is for you to set up with a counselor. Do some sessions. Just until you're feeling better."

  "I feel fine." I know it's stupid to claim that, but I can't help myself. I don't want to talk to someone. What the fuck would I tell them?

  I loved someone, and he left, and he's never talked to me again? What a fucking loser.

  My dad left, and my mom doesn't like me now that I'm a fuckup?

  Shit...the only person I like anymore is Carl, but he's Ezra's father. Even though Ezra didn’t keep in touch with Carl, Carl is his next of kin—his blood relation. I hate Carl for that just a little.

  My throat tightens up, but Mom's talking about this little puppy she and Carl got the other day, so that distracts me. The two of them hover around my bed until the nurse pulls out my IV and a doctor comes by to give me a talk about the perils of “binge drinking.”

  I point to my sore as fuck throat and tell her I'm never drinking again. Mom is looking looser by the time I'm getting discharge papers. She assures the social worker, who drops back by, that we'll do counseling. I sort of want to fucking scream that that won't help me—nothing will—but I nod and pretend. It's what I'm good at now.

  I try to convince Mom and Carl that I want to clean my place up alone. That I'll catch an Uber, call a friend, but they won't have that. It takes energy to act like I feel mostly okay as I walk to their car, parked way out the fuck in a side parking lot.

  They get me some fried chicken from Zaxbys on the way home, and I pretend I'm hungry for it. The meal comes with toast, so I choke that down. Twice, as Carl's driving, his eyes meet mine in the rear view.

  They park right beside the stairs in my apartment's lot, and Carl puts a hand on my back as we move up the stairs. I'm worried what the place will look like. I'm prepared to eat crow again, wallow in the fact that Mom and Carl both know I'm a total fuckup.

  But...the place is clean inside. I find a note from Jenna. She's got the spare key from where I keep it on my bike.

  "It's not as messy as I feared. Given the state of your room before moving,” Mom says.

  I nod, mentally thanking Jenna. "I've been trying harder."

  "Sometimes fraternities can push you into drinking," Carl tells me. "You can say no."

  I almost laugh—I'm sure I’m the only one from over at the frat house who went to the hospital last night—but I don't want to be a dickhead.

  "I know. Thank you. I'm sorry I scared y'all."

  "Well, you did." Mom lets out a soft sigh. She narrows her eyes at me. "You seem okay. You need rest, and electrolyte drinks. Why don't we go get you some? We'll be back in a half an hour. What about a grocery trip?"

  They end up going out to get me groceries. I lie on the couch, too fucking weak to get up and change into fresh clothes. I text Jenna.

  'Thank you. I don't even know what to say. Thank you.'

  'You're not mad at me?' she asks.

  'Hell no. If you called 9-1-1, I know it had to be bad. Not sure I want to know how bad...'

  'You passed out, like stone cold, and your whole body was white and sweaty. You were breathing sort of fast, and you kept dry heaving. Even though you were passed out. I honestly thought it was a seizure.'

  'Oh God. I'm so soo sorry, Jenna'

  'It's okay, Josh. I told everyone who asked that it was something from your epilepsy. I hope you don't mind......'

  'I don't'

  What was she supposed to tell them? Miller is popping Xanax like it's fucking Pez and guzzling hunch punch?

  'I'm not upset,' I add. 'You did everything right. You're the one who should be upset.'

  'I'm not. Promise. I just wish you would talk to me...'

  'I talk to you every day' I send a little kissy face—the cat one, which looks casual and cool, not like it's laid up on the couch in barf clothes.

  She doesn't reply for a long time. So long that I think I should drag my ass into the shower. As I'm getting up, my phone's screen lights up.

  'You know what you said to me after I called the ambulance?'

  My heart beats a little too hard as I wait for her to tell me. But she doesn't. I text, 'No'

  'You were still dry heaving, but you begged me to call Ezra'

  I don't talk about that shit with Jenna. Not with anybody. She knows what happened. I don't need to tell her more about it.

  'Glad u didn't. Smart.' I add the smile emoji with the glasses.

  'Maybe you should talk to someone, Josh. A therapist or something. You were really sick last night...'

  Another text is coming through, but I slide the phone under my pillow, run the shower. Before I get in, I open up the bathroom drawer and pull one of my little magic bars out. There's this guy that sells them a few doors down. Don't wanna stop taking the Xannie and stop drinking all at once. Could cause a seizure.

  I smirk to myself as I step under the hot water. Then I chew the thing and wait for it to ease the knot in my chest.

  Fourth Quarter

  One

  Ezra

  August 16, 2019

  Dear Miller,

  MY Miller. I don’t know if you’re my stepbrother Miller or just some other guy named Miller. But if I knew you well enough to write your name on my arm before getting my brain zapped, I guess it’s okay if I write you this note. Don’t worry, I won’t ever mail it. Like I know who I would mail it to…

  Anyway.

  I’m in Tuscaloosa. Living in the athlete dorms.

  Football’s going okay. Honestly it’s going really well, except I’m tired all the time. But I sort of like it.

  I went on a drug-hazed pilgrimage to see the TV pastor Luke McDowell and his husband Vance Rayne. And their baby. It was- really fucking weird. But awesome?

  They’re some really nice guys. It’s hard to explain. I feel lucky that it happened, even though the way it started wasn’t great.

  They found me someone Luke wants me to talk to here in T-town. About- you know. Since I’m never sending this shit, we’ll pretend you know. I should call the therapist soon. I’m going to.

  I’m going to tell you something that sounds crazy, okay?

  I used to have these nightmares, but I’m dreaming about other shit now. When I wake up, I’m really sweaty- drenched. Like, worked up. The weird thing is, I wake up feeling hopeful. Not even hopeful… like a sense of bliss. Fucking elated. Sometimes I feel around the covers, and I’m wanting something.

  I think that I’m feeling for YOU.

  I know. It can’t be real, at least I don’t think so. We’re stepbrothers. But you’re gay so…I dunno.

  Of course, I’m in the closet. But- you seem like someone anyone could like. Maybe I came out to you?

  Did I?

  Did you let me in your bed- and if you did- did you hold me the way I dream about?

  It’s embarrassing to even write this shit down.

  I feel like…a girl. And- that’s sexist. So yep, I’m a sexist asshole, too.

  What I’m trying to say is this- When I wake up, I wake up wanting you to hold me. Miller with the freckles and the tired, blue eyes. Miller with those lips. Goddamn. You’re so beautiful. I could look at you all day, and I do. (Thank you Snapchat and Instagram).

  That’s why I’m worried, too. You seem a little different lately. All your snaps are you walking the campus sidewalks looking hot (both over-heated hot and actually hot) and dog tired. Sometimes you stick out your tongue or tip your head back like you’re trying to look cool, but you look tired. I wish I knew you outside my weird, twisted fantasies so I would know if you are tired.

  I wish I could hold you when you sleep.

  I’m not a girl- but I am kind of in love with you.

  If it’s not real, I hope it fades. Because I don’t think about anything but football and you.

  It feels right, though. You make me feel things, Miller. Even if you are only my stepbrother. Sleep for me.

  * * *

  Ezra

  August 19, 2019

  Dear Miller,

  I did something crazy today. I know- you’re so surprised. Not Ezra Masters, the guy who had his brain fried, spent a month locked in a closet, then got diagnosed by real professionals with all different types of mental illness.

  But yeah, man.

  This guy…went down to Auburn.

  I sort of know your schedule because you snap so much. Since you snap a lot in math when your teacher dresses like the Auburn Tiger, I knew the time and date for that class, and I guessed the building based on Auburn’s campus map. I waited outside, and dude- you came out.

  You were there, and I was there, and Miller- my whole body flushed like I got hit with a shot of adrenaline. It was so strong, I felt like I might fall over. My head buzzed. My face was red hot. I felt like I might start crying.

  I was so freaked out, I pretty much ran back to the bus and went straight back to T-town.

  But then I got this wild idea:

  As soon as I got back to my dorm room, I called AT&T, my cell phone carrier. It took forever, but I finally spoke with this guy, and I told him about my ECT. How I don’t have my cell phone. I told him I needed to access the old data from it, but I don’t remember any passwords. I asked if I could get a new phone and restore the old one’s data to it. I was worried Mom had taken my phone off her plan, but nope. The number’s technically there. I guess my mom has my phone. Maybe she knows all the things I don’t. I’m not asking her.

  The guy on the phone said he thinks he can do that. If I go to an AT&T store here, they could maybe get me a new phone and move my old data to it.

  I’ll be honest with you, I don’t really want to do it. Not yet.

  I’m 50/50 that I’ll find out all of this is just me losing my grip on reality. Some kind of sick, post-trauma wish fulfillment bullshit.

  If it is, Mills, I don’t wanna know.

  I love this. Almost every morning now before I wake up, I can almost feel you wrapped around me. Do you know how good that feels?

  Everything I need. It’s everything. I’d die to really feel that feeling.

  In fairness, I guess I’d die for a lot less. I’ve been wanting to die- intermittently, at least- since Mom found out what happened on the bus. And even more since Alton. I don’t want to be part of a world that hurts people like that.

  Do you? Like, fucking seriously. I don’t want to play the game if all the rules are bullshit. I don’t want this all to just be pain.

 

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