"I need a favor," Bryant says to me, peeking his head into my room without knocking.

It's the first thing he's saying to me since our argument, so I'm stunned silent. Ellie is on the bed beside me. We were kissing when he walked in. He's lucky she didn't have her top off, or we'd be having a different conversation.

"What do you mean?" I ask with more than a little attitude.

He can't be serious right now.

"I need to borrow your car," he says, and the urgency in his tone gives me pause.

What in the hell is happening right now? Bryant doesn't ask me for favors. He takes the car for three hours on Tuesday nights, but aside from that, he doesn't touch it. It's Thursday, and if he's asking, there's good reason, and because of that, I probably should just hand over the keys. But something isn't right here. He's tense, asking to borrow my vehicle, and he seems to be in a hurry. Alarm bells sound as I sit up in bed. Ellie stays laying down where we both were a moment ago.

"Why?" I ask him.

"Because I fucking need it," he snaps.

"What's going on?" I ask him, ignoring the bite in his tone.

"I need to borrow your car, Amerson. It's not the end of the fucking world. I'm not asking for a kidney. Just give me the keys," his tone is one I've never heard him use, and while Bryant's a dick, he's usually not this big of one without reason.

I stand up, and pat my pockets, feeling my keys. I could hand them over, but somethings screaming at me not to.

"I can drive you somewhere," I offer.

Bryant narrows his eyes.

"Have I ever asked you for anything?" he snaps at me.

Which is completely fair. He's lived here for over a year now, and he's never driven the car. Technically, he should have a key of his own to the car considering my dad made him one when he made me put Bryant's name on it, but knowing the way Bryant felt about that, I wouldn't put it past him to have thrown it out as soon as he got it.

"No, which is why you're making me a little nervous asking now," I admit, despite knowing I shouldn't.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, glaring at me, and clearly trying to get a grip on his temper.

"Just give him the keys, so we can go back to what we were doing," Ellie says from the bed.

I have Ellie Banks, probably the prettiest girl in school in my bed. What does it say about me that I'm more interested in figuring out what's going on in my asshole step-brother's brain than making out with her?

"Listen to your girl," Bryant seethes.

"I'll drive you anywhere you want to go," I tell him.

"You're busy," Ellie chirps from the bed.

Bryant seems torn about how to feel about Ellie in that moment. He's probably glad she's trying to keep me from leaving but aggravated she keeps inserting herself into the conversation.

"You're busy," he repeats as if Ellie just made his point.

I open my mouth to refute him, but he cuts me off before I can even talk.

"Kyle, I'm asking for a favor. It's a favor because I get something out of it, and you don't. Just, please," he says, and he says it like the word costs him everything.

I want to argue, but he's looking at me with pleading eyes now, and I've never seen him look like this before. It makes me want to do whatever he says without question, which is crazy, right? Especially in this situation when I know I'm not getting the whole story. I reluctantly reach into my pocket and hand him the keys to my most prized possession, and he leaves without a backwards glance.

Even after he leaves, my heart keeps beating quickly in my chest.

"Lay back down," Ellie complains from the bed next to me.

How have I never noticed how selfish she is? Bryant was clearly upset. I could tell, and that tells me you don't have to be close to him to notice. Bryant and I don't spend time hanging out, but he was so distraught, it caught my attention. What's that say about how freaked out he is?

"Did he seem weird to you?" I ask her.

She seems aggravated with me.

"He seemed like Bryant. He's always an asshole to you, why do you care?" she asks me.

And isn't that the million-dollar question?

Regardless of why I care, it turns out I do. I spend the rest of the night replaying his request in my head. Ellie leaves after a couple of hours of my ignoring her. 9 o'clock comes and goes, then 10, then 11, and 12. The entire time, I sit on the couch downstairs waiting on him. It's not rare for him to stay out late. My dad and his mom are gone so often, nobody even notices half the time. Tonight, I notice, and by the time he walks in the door at 1:30, I'm more on edge than I thought possible where he's concerned.

He stumbles inside at 1:30, and closes the door fairly loudly. My dad's asleep upstairs, so I cringe as the noise echoes through the house. Thankfully, the house is large enough I doubt the sound carries to his room, but I still cringe.

"Where the hell were you?" I ask him, sounding as angry as I feel.

Then I notice his face. It's skinned up, and his eye is black and blue.

"What happened?" I ask him.

"Jesus, Kyle. Can I get an inch inside the house before the fucking interrogation starts?" he snaps at me, reaching into his pocket and tossing the keys to my Ferrari at me like their trash he's been forced to carry around for the last several hours.

"What happened to your face?" I ask him, ignoring the annoyance I feel towards him in favor of acknowledging the concern I have for him.

"I got in a fight," he says, slurring his words slightly.

Then frustration hits me like a wall.

"You borrowed my car to get into a fight?" I snap at him.

I'm exhausted. I've never been the guy to stay up late. I go to bed before nine most nights, so 1:30 is later than I've stayed up in years. On top of that, the entire time I was concerned, I was trying to call him. He was ignoring me, and from the smell of his breath, I can deduce what he was doing.

"Did you drive my car drunk?" I snap at him.

"Don't worry, asshole. You're precious car's fine. I got a ride," he tells me.

"You got a ride?" I ask, trying to work out how that's even possible when he's handing me my keys back.

"Have I ever lied to you?" he asks, which brings his words from earlier back to the front of my mind. Have I ever asked you for anything?

"No, I'm just trying to figure out how that worked," I tell him.

"Jasper drove your car, and Linc followed us," he says, and he says it like I'm stupid.

"You let someone else drive my car?" I snap at him, but if I'm honest, I'm angrier that Jasper was that someone more than I'm angry he let someone drive it in general.

"Jasper's dad owns a mechanic's shop. He's been working there since he was a kid. You can't change a fucking tire," he snaps at me, brushing past me, and starting towards his room upstairs.

I rush after him, and I cut him off before he can reach the first step. He glares at me.

"What do you want?" he asks me.

"Tell me what's going on, Bryant. You left stressed, and you came back drunk with a black eye. How does that happen?" I ask him.

"I was stressed, so I got drunk. While I was drunk, I got into a fight," he tells me.

"You borrowed my car to go get drunk?" I ask him incredulously.

"Note to self, never ask you for a favor again," he says, trying to push past me.

I step to the side to block his path again.

"Dude, I want to punch you when I'm sober. I already have a black eye, there's not much worse that can happen than what already has, you sure you wanna do this?" he asks.

"You really are an asshole, you know that?" I ask him.

"Great, back to normal, now you can stop butting into my business, and we can both go to bed," he says, gesturing behind me towards upstairs.

It doesn't make sense. He wouldn't borrow my car to go get drunk, knowing he'd have to get a ride home anyway.

"Where were you," I ask him.

"I was at Jaspers, hints getting a ride back from him," he tells me, trying to push by me again.

When I step in his way, he takes a step backwards and takes an audible breath through his nose.

"Kyle," he says impatiently, jerking his head, indicating I should move.

"Is it so hard to tell me something? You hate me so much, you can't even explain to me why your eye is black? Why you came into my room looking freaked out earlier and demanding my keys," I ask him.

"I won't ask for your keys again, okay?" Bryant's seething, but I don't even care at this point.

I need to know what happened.

"You can have my car," I tell him, knowing it'll anger him, but not giving a damn, "just tell me what's going on, and the car is yours."

I reach into my pocket for my keys and hold them out to him. I mean it too. He can have the damn thing if he talks to me. His reaction surprises me. The anger is there, but there's genuine surprise there too—probably because he thinks I'm attached to the car.

"I don't want your fucking car," he seethes.

"No? You don't want a 2018 Ferrari?" I ask him.

He smiles at me, but there's no fondness in it.

"There are other ways to get your way, you know. Bribery shouldn't be your go to," he lectures.

"I'll do what it takes to get you to talk to me," I plead with him, ignoring his implication.

"What the hell is going on?" my father's voice booms from the top of the staircase.

I flinch. Bryant doesn't react at all.

"Your son is trying to block my way to my bedroom. We'd be asleep in bed already if it weren't for him," Bryant says.

My heart pounds in my chest. I aim not to make my father angry most times. I turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry we woke you, sir," I mumble.

"Get to bed, now," he snaps before storming off in the other direction.

I take a step up the stairs, and Bryant's bitter laughter stops me from moving any further than that.

"What!" I nearly shout, knowing my dad is going to scream at me about this, but not giving two shits.

I'm so sick of Bryant's superior attitude.

"Tell me, do you actually not care about where I was anymore, or are you so petrified of your dad you can't so much as continue a conversation against his wishes," he's mad at me for dropping it now?

I walk down the stairs, and against my better judgement, I get in his face.

"I fucking care, Bryant," I whisper yell, "but you're not going to tell me, are you?"

He smiles at me sadly.

"Guess we'll never know now."

"I'm waiting," I tell him, worried about my voice carrying, but not as much as I'm worried about what's happening with Bryant.

"It's not a conversation I'm having with you, Kyle. I'm certainly not having it at three in the morning while we whisper so your Daddy won't hear you," he tells me.

He's such an asshole. I almost don't care what happened to his eye anymore. He must have had a reason to get into the fight, but he really does appear okay, and I'm not in the mood to listen to him bitch and moan about my listening to my dad when he tells me to do something. I was raised with a strict father, and maybe if Bryant weren't such a dick, I might explain to him exactly how strict, but I opt out of that, and I walk off up the stairs, giving up on talking to him.