Ethan sat on the edge of his old bed, elbows on his knees. On the bedside table, the photo frame caught the light. Him and Jake at ten years old, both grinning with missing teeth, arms slung around each other’s shoulders after winning some dumb soccer trophy. Jake’s dad had taken the picture. They’d been inseparable back then.
He picked it up, thumb rubbing over the glass. “s**t, man,” he muttered under his breath. “How the hell did we get here?”
The bruise on his jaw throbbed when he talked. He set the frame back down, face first this time. Couldn’t look at it anymore.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Ethan? Honey, you in there?”
He didn’t answer right away. His mom’s voice sounded tired. She’d been circling him ever since he showed up days ago with a split lip and a black eye, duffel
