I sat in my car, the engine long since turned off, the silence pressing against me like a weight. The sprawling mansion of my parents loomed ahead, its golden lights spilling out into the night, mocking the storm brewing in my chest. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as I took several deep breaths, trying to slow the frantic thud of my heart. I needed to psych myself up for this—walking into that house, seeing her again, watching her be kissed, touched, claimed by another man. A man who wasn’t me. My brother, Max.
My fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, my pulse refusing to steady no matter how many times I told myself to calm down.
Three deep breaths. That was the deal I made with myself.
Three slow, deliberate inhales to remember who I was — and who
