Page 172 of The Exit Strategy

He’s quiet, as if he’s reorganizing his thoughts, so I let him. “You made a decision about what the guys and I could handle.”

“It wasn’t a giant leap, Nolan. You were all in college, figuring yourselves out while also dealing with our dying mother and a teenager who was less than cooperative on any given day.”

“You know who else has been making decisions for years about what we can and cannot handle?”

“Cole.”

He nods, clasping his hands over his knees. “Cole.”

I’ve done to Nolan what Cole did to me. Different scale, same mechanics, same psychological trick.

The mirror is exact, yet I’m sitting on my floor furious at Cole, and Nolan is sitting next to me, making me see reason.

“I’m sorry, Nolan.”

He turns his head against the dishwasher and looks at me sideways. “I know. Now, should I be worried about the muffled buzzing coming from your couch cushions?”

“Honestly, the way my life’s been going lately, probably. We should just leave it there—that much buzzing never leads to anything good.”

He slowly shakes his head. “We’re not hiding anymore, Juniper. Our entire family is on this property now. We’re going to face everything that comes our way, together. For you and for Cole.”

Sadness crawls up my neck at a glacial pace.

“Are you going to check it, or do you want me to?”

I get up off the floor, slowly, as though I’m ninety, and retrieve the phone. I drop onto the couch, and Nolan follows a moment later, so I unlock my phone and hand it to him.

“It looks like a lot of Instagram notifications,” I say.

My big brother scrolls.

And scrolls.

And scrolls.

My anxiety is at a bursting point when his face turns a shade of red that isn’t healthy. And that’s saying something because he’s spent years perfecting the doctor face that gives nothing away.

“Junebug?”

“Hmm?” My thumb finds its way to my teeth, and before I can think better of it, I bite my nail. I haven’t bitten my nails since high school.

“This was posted nine hours ago.”

I almost roll my eyes.

“It has five thousand comments.”

“Yup.”

“Natalie fucking tagged you.”

“Geez, I know, Nolan.” What the hell does he expect me to do about it?

I may be the first to reach for spite, but the women in my life are masters at controlling their narrative.

“Why didn’t you lead with this when I walked in?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It seemed like we had more pressing, urgent family issues to get through first. Next time, I’ll know to prioritize the catastrophes in my life before you walk in my door.”