Chapter 4
ALFIE
Ishove my hands into my jacket pockets as I slam my car door.
Right on cue, I hear the scuff of paws against pavement.
The neighbor’s golden retriever tilts his head, big brown eyes locked on me like I am his entire world.
I don’t slow down.
“Not today, Baxter,” I mutter.
A thud against my leg.
I sigh. “Really?”
Baxter tilts his head up at me, his tail swishing against the pavement like he already knows he’s won.
“I don’t even like you,” I mutter.
Baxter wiggles with barely contained excitement.
I hesitate for exactly three seconds before reaching into my pocket and handing over the treat like it isn’t the highlight of my damn day.
Baxter immediately sits, ears perked, waiting.
I keep my gaze on the street like this isn’t happening. Like I don’t keep Baxter’s favorite brand in my jacket pocket.
The dog finishes, then nudges my hand, looking for more.
Greedy little bastard.
I rub behind his ear just once.
His tail whips against my leg in gratitude.
“Yeah, yeah.” I step back, clearing my throat. “Go home.”
Baxter wags his tail one last time, then trots back toward his owner’s front porch.
I wait until he’s out of sight before shoving my hands back into my jacket and continuing down to the house.
Like none of that ever happened.
I shove the door open to our house, the wood rattling against the frame as I step inside. My jacket hits the floor. I don’t pick it up.
Troy and Ethan are sprawled across the living room couch. The TV’s muted on a basketball game neither of them is watching.
Troy looks up from his book, unimpressed. “You look like you killed someone.”
I grab a beer from the fridge. “Not yet.”
“Cool. Just don’t get blood on the couch.”
Ethan, lying upside down on the armchair, barely acknowledges me. “We’re out of eggs.”
I exhale sharply, pressing the cold bottle to my forehead. Anyone else would be clearing the room. These idiots don’t even flinch.
“Why do I live with you?” I mutter.
Ethan shrugs. “No one else would put up with you.”
I grunt. Fair.
“So?” Ethan sits up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “Any footage of me?”
I shake my head, dropping my keys in the bowl.
“Nah, you’re in the clear,”
“Wahoooo! Thank fuck.” He karate chops the air before he flops back down, grinning. “I knew those ninja moves would come in handy someday.”
“You’re welcome,” I comment on the fact we didn’t turn him in.
He looks at me sincerely, holding his hand on his chest before closing his eyes and bowing his head.
“I am forever indebted to you, my dear friend. I am your Samwise. You are my Frodo. I will give my life for yours when the time comes.”
Ignoring his monologue, Troy chimes in.
“Why did they have you and Tara in?” He’s sitting upright with tension in his shoulders. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”
“The security cameras caught me and Tara in one of the hallways. We must have lost you guys somewhere before that.” The lie sits heavy in my throat. “It was just, just bad timing.” I stretch my arms above my head, avoiding Troy’s eyes. “Got sixty hours of community service, but that’s it.”
“Together?” Troy’s question hangs in the air.
“Yeah.” I force myself to meet his gaze. “The dean’s got some buddy system policy.”
Troy studies me for a while, and I can tell he’s grappling with the same protective instinct that led him to always make sure either he or one of us accompanied Tara home from parties over the last two years. But he just nods, turning back to his phone.
“Could’ve been worse,” Ethan pipes up. “In high school, I took vodka in a water bottle and drank it in English class. I got suspended for a week!”
“It’s good to know you’ve always been like this.” Troy sighs.
“I’d say that’s a suitable punishment for underage drinking on school property,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
“Where’s Freddie?” Changing the topic seems like a good idea.
“Facetime,” they answer in unison.
Of course. Freddie’s girlfriend – and Tara’s best friend – Alex has gone to California for summer, just as the two of them finally got together.
I like Alex. She’s fiery and stubborn and makes Freddie stupidly happy.
The kind of happy that makes him walk into walls because he’s too busy texting her.
Sometimes I watch them together, or catch Troy talking about past relationships, and it’s like they’re speaking a language I never learned.
They understand something instinctively that I have to study like a foreign concept.
They give love so... freely. So openly. As though their well won’t run dry, as though caring deeply won’t eventually hollow you out.
The closest I’ve seen to genuine love was my grandpa with his telescopes. Maybe that’s why I understand stars better than people - at least their patterns make sense.
I head toward the back door, needing air.
“Hey, Alfie!” Ethan calls after me. “Can I look through your wardrobe later? I’m going to a funeral and need something to wear that doesn’t make me look fat – OW!” he yelps, presumably Troy has thrown something at him. Troy is a smart man.
His laughter follows me as I flip him off without turning around, but I’m grinning to myself anyway.
Later that night, I find Troy outside in the back yard, sprawled in one of our beaten-up lawn chairs with a joint dangling from his fingers.
Inside, Ethan’s still trying to beat Freddie’s high score on Mario Kart, their shouts echoing through the house.
The smell of Troy’s famous fajitas lingers in the air.
It’s our last proper house dinner before they leave for summer.
Troy and Ethan were supposed to leave on Saturday but claiming to be “too hungover to survive,” they’ve extended their stay until tomorrow.
“Here.” Troy holds out the joint, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond our yard. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
I take it, sinking into the chair beside him.
The night air feels heavy with everything we aren’t saying.
Troy’s been my best friend since freshman year - the one who showed up when Father went on his rampages about my “waste of a degree,” who let me crash in his room that Christmas I couldn’t face going home.
But now there’s this edge between us, sharp and unfamiliar.
It’s been building since I got back from the dean’s office. Since he found out about the community service. About Tara. My pathetic attempt at explaining why the cameras only caught us in that hallway still hangs in the air.
“Listen,” he starts, and something in his voice makes my chest tight. “About the community service—”
“We were just trying to get Alex’s poster.” The lie comes automatically now. Easier than explaining how I’ve been thinking about kissing his sister since that first party. “That’s all.”
“Right.” He takes the joint back, exhaling slowly. “And you just happened to get caught with my sister.”
The way he says sister makes it clear exactly what he’s thinking. What he suspects.
“She got that job at Luzia,” he blurts. “Starts this week.”
I nod, tasting copper from biting my cheek.
“Oh yeah?” I keep my voice carefully neutral, but my fingers tighten on the armrest.
“Yeah.” He pulls at the hair on his scalp. “Won’t listen when I tell her it’s not safe. You know how she is, she thinks she’s invincible. The world is beautiful and all that shit.”
I did know. It was one of the things I liked about her.
That fearlessness. But Luzia isn’t some college bar where the worst thing you’ll deal with is frat boys trying to get free drinks.
It attracts a different crowd, trust fund kids over summer spending a shit ton of money, entitled executives who think their black cards buy them whatever they want.
People who I know well. I grew up with them.
Tara’s sweet in a way that could get eaten alive in a place like that. But she’s also smart and capable, and I’ve seen how she handles the guys at college parties. She can hold her own.
I understand Troy’s point and he’s right, the people there do usually suck. But it’ll be good for her. She needs to see that side of things, learn how to handle herself around people.
But another part of me, the part that remembers some of the people I’ve met at these kinds of places, wants to keep her far, far away from them. She is too good for them. From people who’d try to dim her light just because they can.
“I’m sure she can handle herself,” I say instead of voicing any of this. Because Troy doesn’t need to hear my complicated thoughts about his sister, and I don’t need to examine why I’m having them in the first place.
He nods and passes me the neatly rolled joint. I take a drag.
“Hey, while I’m gone... keep an eye on her? Just, you know, make sure she’s okay?”
The irony of him asking me, the guy who was making out with her two nights ago, to protect her isn’t lost on me.
“She’s been through some shit,” he continues, staring into the darkness. “With guys, I mean. Won’t go into details, it’s not my story to tell. But her heart’s more fragile than she lets on.”
My chest tightens. “I didn’t know.”
“No one does. She acts so tough, you know? Like nothing can touch her.” He takes a long drag.
“But I’ve seen her put herself back together too many times.
After that thing—” he cuts himself off. “Just... she deserves better than guys who see her as some manic pixie dream girl or a challenge to conquer.”
The guilt hits harder now. Because whatever this thing is with Tara—this spark, this attraction—it can’t happen.
Not just because she’s Troy’s sister, but because she deserves better than someone like me.
Someone who can’t even handle his own family drama.
Someone who’s probably just attracted to her because she’s everything the Spencers would hate—bright and loud and unapologetically herself.
“I’ll look out for her.” I promise. And I mean it, just not in the way he thinks.