Page 1 of The Other Brother
Chapter1
I spot him as soon as I arrive at the party.
At first I think it’s only someone who looks like Cody, because seeing him at Jamie Anderson’s birthday is like spotting a vegan at a steakhouse.
The Cody lookalike is sitting on the couch. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I circle the room, doing the usual amount of backslapping and fist bumping with my friends.
The party is already in its middle stages. Most people greet me with boozy grins and beer breath.
“Ryan, my man.” Oz gives me the shoulder nudge and high five combo we perfected in year eight. A random girl standing nearby stares at us. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s admiring our awesomeness, or it’s due to the fact that with the same blond hair, brown eyes and swimmer’s build, Oz could pretty much pass for my twin after a few beers. “Why are you so late?” he asks.
“I was surfing. Lost track of time.”
“Catch any good waves?”
“Yeah, some.”
Harvey ambles over, clutching a beer. “You know what they say about surfing?”
“What?”
“You should always take out insurance in case the waves start breaking.”
Oz and I groan in unison. Harvey is always good for a bad pun.
I flick another glance at the couch.
The guy who has Cody’s dark curls and lean build is facing away from me, his T-shirt riding up to show off a sliver of tan back. He turns to reach for the cup on the coffee table, giving me a glimpse of his narrow face and large eyes.
Crap. It is Cody.
A mixture of feelings bubbles up inside me. Competitiveness, rivalry, comradeship, familiarity, nostalgia, and lots of other stuff all rolled into one tight ball that lodges in my throat.
I need beer to wash it down. I head to the kitchen, weaving through the next round of people saying hello, and help myself to the haven of magnificence that is the keg.
When I come back into the living room, I can’t help glancing back at the couch. It’s not like we’re friends or anything, but I’m curious about what Cody’s doing here.
But he’s not there anymore. My eyes dart around the room, searching. I finally locate him standing up against the wall by the stairs. Actually, standing is a far too active term for what he’s doing—he’s letting the wall prop him up.
Holy shit. He’s drunk. I can tell by the looseness of his limbs and the way his gaze isn’t fixed on anything. Despite the wall at his back, he’s swaying slightly, like he’s moving to some song inside his head.
I can’t help staring. I’ve never seen Cody out of control before. He’s usually one of those people who makes Hermione Granger look badly behaved. I grab my phone and tap out a message to Mel.
Cody’s drunk. Party at 87 Sylvian Street. He needs to go home.
A small part of me—okay, okay, it’s actually quite large—is happy as I press send. Because Mel’s had to bail me out more than once, but I’m willing to bet this is the first time she’s had to deal with a drunken Cody.
Yep, it appears pettiness is my mojo for the evening.
After that, I try to get into the swing of the party, shooting the shit with Harvey and Oz, but I keep tabs on Cody the whole time. Cody, who’s still drinking. Or trying to. Only about half of what he attempts to get in his mouth actually makes it there. The rest slops down his front.
On the plus side, it’s taking him longer to get more drunk than if his aim was perfect. Unfortunately, he’s getting enough in to slide from being pretty drunk to really drunk.
I check my phone every few minutes, but Mel doesn’t message back.
Eventually, I give up and call her. It goes straight to voicemail.
Shit.
