Page 16 of High Hopes

“Helping her out?” His tone shifts, something guarded creeping in. “And what’s she offering you in return?”

I frown. “Why’s it matter?”

He lets out a low hum, the kind that makes my stomach knot up. “Just be careful. Some people will do anything to get what they want, especially when Dad’s involved.”

I bristle. “I know I’m not great at reading people, but that doesn’t mean I’m some easy target.”

“Didn’t say you were,” he says quickly. “Sometimes you don’t see things the way other people do, and that can make things tricky.”

I grit my teeth, the familiar frustration bubbling up. I’m a twenty-one-year-old man, not some clueless, naive kid. Just because I don’t play the same games as everyone, forget social niceties once in a while, doesn’t mean I can’t see through bullshit when it’s there.

“Why are you acting like Dad?”

James has made a lot of offhand comments over the years—telling me to think before I speak, hitting me upside the head, putting me in my place, typical big brother stuff. But he’s never made me feel less than for being the way I am. I don’t know why he’d start now.

He blows out a long breath. “I just don’t think—”

“I know what I’m doing,” I cut in, eager to shut this shit down.

Birdie’s been clear about her intentions. She’s looking for a way to get ahead, an easy in, and I’m fine with that. I know she’s not interested in getting to know me for me, and honestly, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. At least she’s not pretending it’s something else.

And it’s not even aboutherspecifically; it’s about people always assuming I’m a step behind. The fact that my parents—and now James—think I need looking after, that I’m somehow incapable of handling myself. I’m tired of it.

“Alright, alright,” James mutters. “Just keep your head on straight, okay? I don’t want you getting screwed over.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “I’ll try not to trade in my trust fund for magic beans.”

He snorts, but it’s forced, more out of habit than humor. We chat for a few more minutes, mostly surface-level stuff about baseball and the rest of his season. Common pleasantries that make me want to bang my head against this railing.

When we finally hang up, I sit there for a minute, staring out into the yard, trying to shake off the weirdness. James is beingneedlessly overprotective. It’s a new development that’s come out of nowhere, like he’s suddenly decided I needmorepeople telling me I’m deficient when I’m not.

I ignore social cues, so sue me.

I know who I am. I know what I’m capable of. And I don’t need my big brother telling me otherwise.

I’m lyingin bed on Monday night, tossing a half-empty water bottle in the air, letting it fall back into my hand, over and over. It’s something to do, at least, while my brain runs circles around itself. It’s late, too late to be awake, but I can’t shut off.

Too busy with my big brain and my even bigger impulse control issues.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I grab it, squinting at the bright screen.

Birdie

You awake?

Liam

What’s up?

Birdie

I’m working on my proposal and completely stuck. my brain is fried.

Liam

want me to come over? help you work through it?

The words are out before I can think twice. A little too eager, maybe. But whatever. It’s not like I’m doing anything useful. IfI could sleep, I would, but this tossing-and-turning routine isn’t doing me any favors.

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