“That’s part of your problem,” Leo says, shaking his head. “You’ve already made up your mind on how things should be. How you’re the victim. Guess what? Life’s not out to get you. Stop running from it.”
There’s a void in Wes’s stomach. It’s slowly eating his insides. And all that’s left is anger.
Wes doesn’t know if that anger is supposed to be aimed at Leo or Mrs. Rossi or Nico or himself. Probably the latter. But he doesn’t know how to stop it from striking all the innocent bystanders on its destructive path.
And Leo’s right here, glaring at him under standard-issue fluorescent lights that wash out his face and make him look like a ghost of the older brother Wes once knew.
“It’ll be fine,” Leo says, empathetic and calm.
“No, it won’t.”
Wes isn’t blinking. He knows what’ll happen if he does. Sadness, anger, unexpected joy—they all lead to the same thing. The result never changes.
There’s another reason Wes has always loved comic books. Secretly, he wants to be the hero. He wants to be the difference-maker. All his life, he’s wanted to be the person rescuing someone or something. But who rescues the rescuer?
“Wes,” Leo tries again. “This will pass. You have college in the fall. Mom and Dad will be back in a few weeks. You have friends. You have Nico.”
“I don’t,” Wes whispers, everything too heavy. He doesn’t elaborate, though Leo’s expression asks him to.
He thought he was doing Mrs. Rossi a favor. Truth is, Wes wanted this one thing for himself. One place to hide from change. One piece of his childhood just in case he makes all the wrong decisions as an adult. One constant when everything around him is moving in opposing directions.
“Thanks for nothing,” he says, scooting back from the table.
“Is that really how you’re going to leave? You’re not a child anymore, Wes,” Leo snarls.
No, he’s not. He’s stuck in this in-between.
“Wes? Leo?”
Leeann stands in the conference room’s doorway, clutching a takeout bag and her phone. She looks between them. Shock contorts her face. Wes doesn’t know why.
This has been the Hudson brothers since the beginning of time.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he mumbles, sidestepping Leeann without saying anything else to Leo.
* * *
Gulls descend on Venice Beach’svolleyball courts, searching for scraps. Wes inhales woodsmoke from nearby bonfires. He can taste the water’s salt at the back of his throat. Earbuds hang from his neck, pumping out Arrested Development’s musical collection. He bobs his head to infectious guitars of “Mr. Wendal” while seated in the still-warm sand, taking in the sunset.
From here, Wes’s problems are as distant as the sun.
He tugs out his phone to catch a photo of the ocean. He texts his mom:
To: Mom
Me and the beach miss you <3.
Sent 8:00 p.m.
Sweat cools against his brow. Two hours ago, back at the loft, he slid out of his photo shoot clothes like a yolk escaping an eggshell. Then he jogged back to Venice, which seemed counterproductive. If he and Leo were on better terms, maybe he could’ve gone from the law office to Leo’s apartment and borrowed a pair of old clothes to run in. But they were on different planets, in different galaxies, separated by light-years.
Eyes shut, Wes slowly comes down from his adrenaline high. His heartbeat matches the hip-hop on his phone—steady and loud. His fingers dig into the grainy sand. He stares at his royal blue Pumas. They’re a little beat-up, smelly, but great for running.
Wes can’t imagine replacing them. Just as he can’t imagine replacing Once Upon a Page.
He popped into the bookstore before his run. Mrs. Rossi was there, as radiant as a main sequence star, laughing with customers as she introduced them to new books. She acted as if everything was okay.No, Santa Monica, Once Upon a Page won’t be shutting its doors permanently in a month.
“It’s so good to be back,” she said to Wes. “I’m home again.”