Lupine Dreams Pt. 03 Ch. 08-10

Author's note: You definitely will need to have read the previous parts first, FYI. There is also some rough sex in this batch of chapters. I don't know that it rises to the level of needing a heads-up, but if you appreciate a heads-up about that kind of thing, let me know and I'll be sure to do so again if similar situations occur in the future. Enjoy (:

~~~

Chapter 8

Da Vinci stopped licking himself and looked over at Andrew suspiciously. The cat liked his routines, and this was TV-and-grading-papers time -- not stare-at-the-phone-for-a-few-silent-minutes time.

Andrew's eyes flicked back over from the cat next to him on the couch to the text he was having trouble processing.

Hey! :) Did I see you at moonlight the other night??

Mal's profile picture winked up at him.

Above it was the last text she'd sent him, over two years ago. She'd asked him if he was coming to the meeting between their attorneys. He hadn't gone and he hadn't responded.

But... he kind of wanted to now, even though he knew very well what just seeing her had done to him, sending him into a spiral of self-destruction and self-loathing.

Maybe it was the dumb, black-and-white sci-fi movie he had on in the background that he liked to use as noise to fill the vacuum while he graded papers. Mal had never liked them, even as silly filler. He knew from their still-shared Netflix account that her preferred noisemaker was more along the lines of reality TV.

Even so, it brought back the moments she'd chided him, rolled her eyes at cardboard sets and cheesy dialogue, even while staying to do her own work next to him on the couch. Andrew knew he was self-selecting the good parts of his memory... but didn't the good parts happen, too?

When he closed his eyes, he could still see her, smell her, feel her against him, the two of them barely out of college with the world in front of them, just waiting to be tamed. She'd always been daring, and had always had that irresistible, electric smile and eyes that drew you in, no matter who you were. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end just thinking about it.

They'd met in college, and she was way out of his league. But Mal paid attention to him, enjoyed his company. They hung out at the college radio station -- either proper hipsters or just wannabes, he wasn't sure anymore.

He remembered the thrill of her grinding into him while he was in the on-air booth late at night, how she'd unzipped his pants right there under the desk -- that deviously adventurous smirk sending shivers up his body even now -- while a few others were in the office outside the door. It was the first time anyone had ever given him a blowjob. The grin on her face never went away, practically vibrating and humming on its own. Nobody had a smile like hers.

And she'd picked him.

Haha yeah

It wasn't her spontaneous sexuality that he missed though -- although yes, he did miss that a little.

She was always on, like she was always playing a part for someone -- including for him. He knew that. He'd known that even before they'd gotten married. Only, he... he thought he'd known where the character ended and she began.

Turns out, I don't think even she knows.

What he missed were the moments she couldn't fake. The way she would cling to him at night when she was barely awake, nuzzling closer to him. That hadn't been an act. He was sure of it. She really did love him, probably right up until the end.

Maybe even still....

She hadn't responded yet. Would she?

This was the kind of thing he couldn't get wrapped up in, the traps that had been so hard for him to overcome just to get to this point.

He cringed as those memories flashed by, too. Of how pathetic he was. How much he'd been propped up by his sister, by Paul, by Heather.

So why had he insisted he could handle seeing her that night on the dancefloor? Paul had told him they should leave. But Andrew had insisted, "no, no, I can handle it." And he really thought he could have. He couldn't spend his whole life avoiding her, right?

But he... couldn't take his eyes off her. Couldn't stop watching her body move so freely, so easily, out there. She was still beautiful, sexy, daring -- all the things she'd been when they'd split three years ago, when he'd finally worked up the nerve to... well, to completely disintegrate on the way out of their crumbling marriage.

His phone buzzed and his eyes snapped to it immediately.

Niiice, look at you go dancing queen! I bet you're back to grading papers tonight though huh ;)

He smiled.

Nailed it, haha

Quickly, he added more.

Watching Return of the Parazoids, too. Just like old times

He didn't have to wait long for a response.

Bahahaha, I expect no less! God forbid you grade papers in silence! : P

Btw, I'm back in town. Thought maybe we could get together? Talk?

Andrew froze. He wasn't sure what to say. He looked at Da Vinci next to him, who licked his paw. Andrew took that to mean the cat knew damn well he was being an idiot -- just like always -- so why bother. Or it might've been complete disinterest.

He held the phone in his hand, agonizing over what to say. Did he actually want to meet with her? Talk things over? The divorce had been stretching on for three years. Sometimes because she was dragging her feet, but -- Andrew had to admit -- mostly because he was, even though he'd initiated it.

What did she want to talk about? Finalizing the papers? Or... did she... want something else?

His phone screen went to sleep while he thought about it. Did it matter what she wanted? Shouldn't he say no either way? That's what Paul would say, that's what Heather would say, and that's what his sister would say.

Actually, they'd hit me over the head for responding at all and confiscate my phone.

Da Vinci made an annoyed noise and sauntered onto Andrew's lap, taking his time curling up. If Andrew wasn't going to actually grade papers, then there was no reason he couldn't sit in his spot, he must've figured.

Andrew sighed. As long as she didn't text him again, he knew himself well enough at this point to know that he was going to be paralyzed into inaction the rest of the night and not respond at all.

Yeah, I know, Da Vinci. Shocking the divorce still isn't finalized after three years, right?

Da Vinci nuzzled against him. He took that as agreement.

~~~

Chapter 9

[vibe track: river - bishop briggs]

Cameron could feel his dick rubbing against her slit.

Why the fuck is he taking so long.

She turned her head, sending him a glare as she bent over in front of him in her room. He had probably 100 pounds on her, all muscle, some guy she'd connected with on Tinder. She thought his name was Jorge, but she wouldn't swear to it.

"Fuck me goddammit!" Cameron growled out the command, but knew he wasn't going to hear her over the pounding music, not even at point-blank range. He seemed to get the message though and she felt his latex-covered tip start to press into her. She wasn't very wet, but she didn't care.

He was big, and she grimaced as he pushed inside her, a little too gently for her liking. She worked herself back into him to try and get him to just fucking shove it in already.

Finally he did, slamming it in the last few inches, making her grunt at the sudden feeling of his cock stretching her out. She nearly fell over, saved only by the wall right in front of her.

She couldn't feel where he ended inside her -- she was still trying to adjust to his size when he took her hips and started thrusting in earnest. She let out another groan that no one but her would know she'd made.

Her whole body tensed from her jaw to her toes, steeling against the cock that felt like it was still growing with every thrust. He was picking up his pace, not even close to as fast as the song that was thumping in her ears, but his dick was sliding into her more easily now as he got a head of steam going.

It hurt -- and she focused on that feeling, like she was being ripped apart inside every time he rammed deeper into her.

Cameron's groans didn't make any noise, they were just open-mouthed screams, and he got into a rhythm -- finally -- pounding into her harder and harder. His fingers dug into her narrow hips, painting bruises in real time.

Without warning he slapped her ass, making her yelp and then moan -- long and deep from somewhere primal inside her.

"Harder! Fuckkk -- harder!"

Maybe he heard her, maybe he didn't. Either way, he answered by throwing himself into her, his chin almost to her spine, and moved his hands up from her hips to her bare ribs. She could feel the pressure from his fingertips on her bones as he gripped tighter, pulling her body into him as he shoved his cock forward again and again and again.

His tempo was matching the music now, so fast, so hard that she could barely feel each thrust -- just the throbbing soreness inside her interrupted by the sharp pain of his cock tearing into her.

It was exactly what she wanted.

"Yeessss, YESSSSS! FUCKKK! FASTER!" she screamed, more out of satisfaction than pleasure. This wasn't about pleasure.

He was getting close now, she could feel it. Underneath the pulsing music, she could hear his long, sustained grunts as he kept it up, close to exploding.

She felt his sweat dripping onto her own, pooling in the small of her back as he yanked her into him. Her body was nothing in his hands. He could've thrown her across the room if she'd let him.

As he found another gear, she knew this was it.

Fucking bring it, fuck me you fucking pussy. FUCK ME.

Everything that had been numb emerged into sharp focus -- his cock too deep, too big. Her entire body gritted, trying to accommodate the pole she'd demanded impale her over and over.

All at once, he reached up and grabbed her throat, squeezing in time with his thrusts. Cameron's breaths came shallow as she gasped for air, and she felt him bend over her back and groan -- loud and long. She jerked and growled involuntarily as his grip on her throat tightened and he emptied into the condom inside her.

FUCKKK YESSSSSSSSSSS.

She couldn't say it out loud. She couldn't say anything. She couldn't breathe -- only try to gulp for air that wouldn't make it past the vise around her neck.

His iron grip squeezed her throat as hard as he could while he spasmed again inside her, and the black edges of her vision closed in, her lungs dry-heaving for air that wouldn't come. Her body tingled all over and she felt adrenaline pumping through her, warning that she was about to lose consciousness.

So... closssseeeeee....

Then the world shook, her eyes fluttering open and closed, and she let go of everything that had been building inside, surrendering into a full-body orgasm that shuddered to her toes.

Cameron's knees buckled and she tried to catch herself as he let her go, but her body didn't respond. Her teeth bit into her tongue as her chin rebounded on the carpet, but she barely felt it over a pain that made her want to scream when she felt his cock rip its way back out of her tight hole.

But she couldn't scream. She couldn't make any sounds at all. All that came out were coughs and sputters. She didn't do much to help her lungs as they gasped and gulped for every bit of air they could get. She didn't particularly care.

With every rasping wheeze, the air they inhaled was as filthy as the carpet, tasting of sweat and stale cigarette smoke and weeks-old alcohol wafting from so many untold corners of the apartment.

The music was just as loud, but the buzzing pressure in her head had started to recede and she felt like she could hear herself again. She just didn't have anything to say that she wanted to hear.

I don't feel better.

Cameron lay there on the carpet, all the pain she'd put off feeling now dully throbbing through her, the bruises beginning to form on her hips and her ribs, a radiating soreness between her legs.

As the music lulled for a moment, she heard the snap of the condom from behind her as Jorge, or whoever he was, took it off and tossed it into the trash. She hoped it landed in the trashcan, anyway.

Her breathing was still ragged as she looked up at the dented door in front of her, pocked with evidence of years of her tantrums and frustrations. A dim glow leaked in from underneath it.

This usually clears my head. It's usually all I need.

Why do I feel worse?

She'd spent the past couple of days constantly doing shit she didn't wanna do. At the coroner's office, trying to prove she was poor and that her dead mom was poor, too. She didn't have any of the documents she needed to have. And she had no idea how to get them, especially her mom's.

So she'd stuffed down her pride -- something she was doing way, way more often lately than she was comfortable with -- and gone to Gram.

Gram would fix it.

Gram always fixes it. But I'm 23 years old. She shouldn't have to fix it.

She'd been more of a mother to Cameron than anyone ever had been, even if they didn't call it that. Asking Gram for help burying a woman who had done nothing for her -- it filled her with a guilt she was still feeling, just one more of the many inside her screaming for attention that she was determined to ignore until they gave up.

The frustration she'd been trying so hard to get away from was already back, already building again, drowning out her body's physical pain just thinking about it. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Not even while she was getting fucked by Jorge.

With a grimace, Cameron slid her head to see him behind her on the floor. He was as naked as she was, but lying on his back comfortably, scrolling on his phone and looking satisfied.

"Get out," she said, her tone threatening and even. She wasn't totally sure that she'd said it until she felt herself growl it out again, this time a little louder. There was still no way he could hear her over the blaring music -- another deep, hard, heavy beat that exploded into angry, sharp focus again and again. Exactly like she felt.

Ignoring her body's protests, she got up so he'd notice her.

"GET THE FUCK OUT," she yelled, pointing toward the door. He looked confused, but got up slowly, making his way to his clothes. He was slow-rolling it, typing out a text.

Cameron felt the fury stoking inside her. She couldn't stop it now, and she didn't want to.

Leaping around him, she picked up the lump of his clothes and strode to the door, yanking out the doorstop and hurling it at the closet. It struck with a satisfying SMACK that she could hear over the track's building crescendo as she swung open the door and tossed his shit into the hallway. There wasn't any music in the hallway, no party in the living room. Not on a Wednesday night.

"What the fuck!" she saw him say, reading his lips. She lunged at him, just trying to make contact with any part of him that she could while he ducked under his arms.

"GET THE FUCK OUT MOTHERFUCKER! FUCKING MOVE!" She kicked at him as he scrambled, naked, into the corridor, calling her a crazy cunt and a thousand other things. Cameron didn't care.

She slammed the door closed behind him. Her whole body heaved with each breath, coming in heavy gulps now. She couldn't get enough air. Each time she exhaled, she felt her body rattle with a groan from deep inside. Or maybe it was a scream.

Filling her lungs, Cameron released the scream, trying to outdo the speakers, letting out everything she'd tried to bury or fuck away with a stranger's dick.

WHACK.

Her fist slammed into the door as hard as she could swing it. It didn't hurt. Not even a little. Not yet. Whatever part of her brain was still able to think about a time after this knew it would hurt later.

Let it.

She punched the door again. And again. And again, as hard as she could. With every one of her heaving pants, she turned another piece of her fury and frustration into a fresh dent on her door and another scream no one would hear.

Until finally, there was nothing left inside her.

Cameron slumped down to the carpet, her bare back rubbing against the flimsy, splintering wood of the door she'd beaten the shit out of. She didn't care. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her head. Sweat dropped onto the carpet beneath her, and she felt more cold droplets sliding down her body.

Something warmer leaked from her mouth and she wiped it away with a finger. It came away red. She traced it to her tongue and, looking down, saw that it had been bleeding for a while. Crimson smeared on her palm as she rubbed under her chin, and was still dripping from the wolf's fangs on her neck into a line down her bare chest.

Her mouth was still open, but made no sound. No fury was left burning her from the inside out. She expected to cry, but no tears came. There wasn't any sadness to make them.

As she sat slumped on her filthy floor, the rough wood digging into her back, Cameron didn't feel any way at all.

Hollow?

She'd begged Gram not to pay for anything extra, just to take care of the paperwork for her. Part of her hoped Gram would ignore her and pay for it anyway, to give her mom the kind of respect Cameron couldn't even give her now that she actually wanted to.

Isn't that what I said? That I was gonna be better? Then I fucking remembered I don't even know how.

She didn't know what she actually wanted Gram to do.

None of it, was the answer. Why was she responsible for all of this? Wasn't it bad enough her mom was dead? Shouldn't it be anybody's responsibility but hers?

Why don't I feel better? This always resets me. This was... this was supposed to clear my head.

Did I say that already?

Instead she felt...

Empty?

Jorge wasn't the company she'd needed. She'd thought he was. Around Gram, she just felt guilty, inadequate. And Kendra?

Kendra doesn't know what to do. She'll just wanna hug me and say, "heyyyy babygrlllll, it's all gonna be a-okay."

She scoffed at her terrible impression of her friend. But it didn't help.

Nothing did.

Wrapping her legs tighter in her arms, naked on her filthy floor, Cameron finally pinpointed the feeling she couldn't shake, couldn't distract from, couldn't pound into submission.

Alone.

~~~

Chapter 10

Seated next to him at his kitchen table, Brooke stared at her brother with a mix of concern, confusion, and tenuously restrained annoyance.

After more than 30 years, Andrew was used to that expression. Some things hadn't changed from when he was a little kid and she was a teenager -- although now that she was closer to 50 than 40, she'd definitely gotten better at disguising her displeasure.

She had a shock of white in her stylish short hair, but not much else showed that she was 10 years older than Andrew -- something he always marveled at. She was still tall, fit, still ran half marathons twice a year. She could run full marathons, but then she'd really have to focus on running as a whole thing, which she didn't want to do.

But when she wanted to do something, there was absolutely nothing she couldn't do. Brooke could always, it seemed to Andrew anyway, get the world to bend to her will -- whether it was her unlucky opposition in a courtroom, Father Time, or, of course, Andrew. Which, all things considered, wasn't that much of an accomplishment compared to the other two.

"Andrew," she said with practiced patience, "don't get me wrong, I'm glad you had me bring the papers over, but you know they haven't changed in the past six months. So if you aren't going to okay them... why did I bring them?"

He reacted the same way as he had when he was a kid and she'd given him a look like she was giving him now -- by looking down, giving a sheepish little half-smile and a shrug. "I just... wanted to look at them again and like, you know... get things moving, I guess. Baby steps, Brooke."

She sighed, but with a smile that said, "what am I gonna do with you?" Andrew knew that look too, and it still made him smile innocently right back.

Brooke was the oldest of his three older sisters, and had always taken it upon herself to look out for her scrawny little brother while he was growing up. He wasn't exactly scrawny anymore, but he was still her little brother, no matter how old they got. Andrew had found that annoying when he was younger. But now... he was thankful for it.

He hadn't even needed to ask her for help when things with Mallory fell apart. Brooke was there for him, ready to meticulously glue all his pieces back together until he could finally stand on his own again -- and she had, along with Paul and Heather.

Something caught Brooke's eye from the living room and she bent to the side, sticking out a welcoming hand.

"Heyyyy Da Vinci," she said, her voice suddenly high-pitched and inviting. Andrew could see the cat stopping in his tracks, regretting coming out from beneath the couch now that he'd been spotted. He gave it another second and a few kissing noises from Brooke until he slunk back to safety.

She shook her head, disappointed at her latest diplomatic failure. "I'm gonna get that cat to love me if it's the last thing I do, you just wait." Andrew didn't doubt her... even if Da Vinci probably would have been skeptical.

"Well," she said, switching from sister mode to attorney mode, "as I said, nothing has changed in the settlement proposal since the last revision six months ago. The bulk of the money from the house sale continues to sit in escrow until we get something signed saying who gets how much, but at least it's accruing some interest in the meantime."

He'd moved out of the house when he and Mallory separated three years ago. It wasn't a place he would ever have been able to recover -- not with the memories of their shared life lurking in every corner.

"Other than that," she continued, "you don't really have much in the way of shared assets, and no kids, obviously. Neither of you is looking for any kind of spousal support --" she coughed, an unsubtle reminder that she believed Andrew should be demanding exactly that since Mallory made far more money than he did -- "so... there's really not a ton left to haggle over."

Brooke eyed her brother, clearly still not exactly sure why he wanted to go over something that was relatively simple and hadn't even changed from the last time he'd heard it.

"As usual, the only things holding this up," she continued, raising the papers in her hand, "are you and Mallory. Seems like one month it's her who's suddenly completely unreachable or just dragging her feet -- and if it's not her, then it's you."

She stopped there, letting her unsaid question hang in the air.

Why aren't you going to sign the papers and get this over with then?

Now it was Andrew's turn to sigh.

"Yeah... I know, Brooke." His eyes drifted to the calendar on his kitchen wall behind her. Her kids had made it -- pictures of things their family got up to that year flavored for each month -- and given them out as Christmas stocking stuffers last year.

He looked back to his sister, whose sharp brown eyes were waiting patiently for him. She knew by this point that he liked to gather his thoughts, and that it took longer than it did for her. Maybe his thoughts just weren't as orderly.

"Promise not to laugh?" he said, the makings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Of course. Not unless it's really funny." She smiled, but she'd always heard him out, no matter how stupid or embarrassing his problems.

"Part of me... part of me still thinks she's gonna turn up one day and say she misses me, and that she wants everything to get back to normal," he said. Before she could cut in, he continued. "I know, I know that's stupid."

"No, no, I understand," she said. Andrew didn't think she really did, though. She hardly ever seemed conflicted about anything she did. Or at least that's how it looked to him. "But... another part of you is based in reality, right? And that part knows... that's not gonna happen?" She was trying to be gentle about it.

"Well, 70 percent of me is water," he said, and she snorted.

"I was gonna say that, but I thought it would be too dickish!"

He laughed, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"But... yeah, I mean, I know in my head that's stupid. That she won't be coming back through that door, and even if she did... I mean... is that even something I would actually still want after all this time?"

She searched his eyes for an answer. He was hoping she'd find one, but knew better.

"Would you?" she asked hesitantly. Her tone sounded like she was bracing for the unequivocally wrong answer.

But he just shrugged.

"I really don't know," he said thoughtfully, turning his eyes from her to focus on nothing in particular. "Again, part of me would. Of course part of me would. I still love her Brooke," he said, looking back into her eyes so she would know he meant it. Really meant it. "She was the love of my life, of course I still love her."

His hand was resting on his knee, and she took it, holding it in hers lightly. Her fingers were bony and a little cold, but just as comforting as they'd been when he was a kid.

"You've got a lot of life left to live, little brother," she said quietly, but with that air of wisdom she somehow could always give off in big-sister mode.

"Yeah." He felt sheepish again. He knew logically that was true, but it didn't feel that way. "I know, I know."

They were quiet for a moment while she held his hand.

"I heard you saw her...?" she said gently.

He made a face, a little miffed, but not at her. "What the fuck, Paul!" he said, pulling his hand away. "Whatever happened to the bro code?" He shook his head in mock anger.

"Yeah... I wasn't supposed to say anything. Sorry."

Andrew hadn't really intended to tell her about seeing Mal at the nightclub. He didn't want to get into how he reacted. And he certainly wasn't going to tell her about the texts.

"I heard it... didn't go well," she said.

"It did not."

She patted his hand again.

"Andrew, I know you've had so much trouble with this that it seems like you won't ever move on -- that this is a permanent state of affairs," she said. And she was right. He looked up at her, hoping there was more to that thought. "But you will. I know you will."

Now he searched her eyes for answers. How could she know that for sure? She'd never struggled to do something as basic as move on. She hardly seemed to struggle with anything, although he was sure she did. She had to.

But how can she really know what it's like to be someone who's... not as strong as she is?

"How do you know?" he said, more quietly than he'd intended. He cleared his throat. "Because, honestly? Brooke? I... I don't know anymore. I really don't."

He couldn't get a hold of his voice, it was starting to crack as he finally let himself admit what he was really afraid of -- what he hadn't even allowed himself to think, much less say out loud, for fear he would speak it into existence. But it was already there, hanging over every thought, whether he admitted it or not.

She looked at him with concern and kindness, encouraging her little brother to keep going.

"I know, rationally, that I've got a lot of life left blah blah blah -- but deep down? Brooke... deep down, I can't even imagine what life looks like on the other side of this." He couldn't keep the fear from his voice now. "You wanna know why I can't sign those papers?"

She looked at him expectantly.

"Who even am I without her?"

His eyes were pleading with his sister's now. Brooke had always had all the answers for him, always knew how to make everything better. But then they grew up. He grew up, really. And she couldn't answer his questions for him anymore, no matter how much her watering eyes said she so deeply wanted to -- would always want to.

"Pretty much my entire adult life has been with her. I don't know what's left of me if she's really gone, you know? I can't see it. I don't know who that guy is, and I'm so fucking scared of being forced to find out that--" He sniffed back tears, not wanting to finish and say out loud what exactly he was afraid of being forced to find out.

Brooke squeezed his hand, then leaned over and pulled him into a hug, scooting her chair closer across the linoleum. He burrowed into her shoulder, like he was 14 and Jordan Larsen had told him she didn't want to go to the winter dance with him all over again. Except while that was only a little much for a 14-year-old, it was now outright ridiculous at 36. But his sister's shoulder still felt just as safe.

She stroked his hair softly, and they embraced each other for a full minute.

"Do you remember," she said quietly, giving him the cue to pull back to his own chair, "when your dad died? You were what, 8?"

He nodded, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, 8."

"You didn't come out of your room for a week. Mom was grieving, too, of course, but she was so much more worried about you. You just shut down."

She paused, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "And do you remember what finally got you out of your room?" she said, knowing full well that he did.

Andrew felt himself blush and he snorted.

"Yeah, of course I do," he mumbled.

Her smile broke into a wide grin.

"I'll never forget seeing 10-year-old Ellie, her knobby little knees scrunched up to her face --" she took a whack at demonstrating, which, impressively, she managed to do easily in the kitchen chair, "-- tears in her big ol' eyes, asking you every single day if you'd come out and play."

Andrew looked down, self-conscious about the whole memory. He remembered being on the other side of the door, vaguely. He and Ellie were inseparable at that age. They hadn't been that way in a long time, though.

"And she said, 'it's okay for now, but pwease pwease pwease come twick-ow-tweating or I'll be vewwy saaaad,'" Brooke said, doing an over-the-top little girly voice.

They both erupted into laughter.

"She didn't sound anything like that!" Andrew said while they laughed together. "She wasn't four years old!"

As they calmed down, he felt like he wasn't in danger of crying anymore, at least.

"Plus... that's not what she said."

"Oh?" Brooke responded, her eyebrow sporting a mischievous arch. "You tell me, then. What did she say?"

I should've seen that one coming.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He remembered what she'd said. It wasn't anything revelatory.

"She just said, 'I can't go trick-or-treating without you.'" He paused. "Not 'won't.' Can't."

"Ahh, yeah, that's right," Brooke said, nodding, as if she hadn't remembered exactly. "Because you two always did Halloween together. Always. Right?"

Andrew shot her a look to say he wasn't actually 8 years old anymore, and didn't need the leading questions. She smiled back anyway.

"You never said a word," she continued. "But then on Halloween night, there she was, waiting outside your door. She didn't even knock. Mom and I were looking at each other like, 'how long until we try to tell her it's not gonna happen?' But then, boom, 8 o'clock came and your door opened, and there you were -- all ready to go in that ridiculous lamp costume. You couldn't even get through the door!"

Andrew shook his head, completely embarrassed as he recalled that night.

"For some reason," he said, "she convinced me that no one would know who she was if she was dressed as Genie from Aladdin and there wasn't a genie lamp next to her."

Brooke beamed a big-sisterly grin at her little brother. Andrew could feel she was still proud of him, even almost 30 years later -- and it still made him feel good inside, too, no matter how stupid that was.

"You came out looking all sullen -- you know, like a kid whose dad had just died. Nobody would've blamed you if you didn't wanna do it. But when you saw her, you got that littttttle crinkle at the corner of your lips -- yep, that one right there!" He smiled wider and looked away, like a bashful little kid caught smiling when he was trying to be sad. "And she took your hand. And she never let go."

She leaned in and delivered what she viewed as some sort of closing argument.

"And you didn't even like candy."

He shook his head. He still didn't, really.

"So..."

"So," she said, cutting him off. "That's when I knew. You're gonna be okay, Andrew."

He looked at her blankly.

She sighed and draped her arm around him.

"You feel things so deep, little brother. I know you do. Even before your dad passed away, you always, just, felt deep. You had a lot going on," she said, tapping his heart. "I thought it meant you needed protecting.

"But when I saw you smile at Ellie and take her hand, I knew that didn't mean you were vulnerable, or weak, or anything like that. I finally understood that my little brother was the strongest kid I ever met." She turned his face to look into hers, making sure he listened.

"You couldn't stand to see the people you love hurting inside, and you were gonna make it stop, no matter what it cost you." She touched his heart again, leaving her palm there and patting it.

Her eyes were serious, and he knew she meant it. He just didn't believe she was pulling out the right lessons, and didn't hide the skeptical look forming on his face.

"I... don't think that's the positive character trait you think it is. More like it just means I'm easily manipulated," he said, turning his head away.

"No, it just means you need a little help," she responded, unfazed. "There's nothing wrong with that. But I know you're gonna get through this because there are too many people in your life who love you -- and it'd hurt us too much if you didn't."

He looked up at his sister, not necessarily disagreeing with the assessment, but still not convinced it meant what she thought it did.

"You are not stupid. You are not pathetic. You are not weak," she said, not breaking eye contact with him now that she had it again. She took his head in her hands, resting her forehead on his. "You are strong, and you will be okay. I promise you, Henry Andrew."

Her eyes were welling up with tears, an inch from his own. She wasn't the crier in the family, he was. But it felt like she needed him to believe her, to know what she was saying was true.

"I don't know when you're gonna be okay. Nobody can just wave a magic wand and make it happen. It takes work and it takes time. But if you wanna know if the you on the other side of this thing is a man worth doing all that work and putting in all that time for?"

She squeezed his face a little harder between her hands.

"I know he is. Maybe you can't see him, but I can. I see him," she said, pressing her forehead into his, like she was willing whatever she was seeing into his brain. "And you know what?"

Andrew felt a tear fall down his cheek.

"What?" he said, his voice sounding like he really was 8 years old again.

"He's okay." She pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around her little brother. "I promise."

Andrew hugged her just as tightly.

He still wasn't sure he believed her. But he knew, for the first time without a doubt, that he wanted to.

~~~

Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying getting to know the characters as much as I have. I always love hearing what you all are connecting with (or not!) in the comments, but it's especially rewarding to hear when something really speaks to you personally. I hope that as we go along, there will be plenty that does (:

Arcadia