A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

Emory snorts when I relay this. “Told you so.”

I slide the phone away, rubbing a hand over my face. “So I guess we wait.” I hate it. Who knows where he is right now or what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. Freaking out, probably.

Emory pushes himself up, groaning just as painfully as Reyn had this morning. “This is fucking stupid. What the hell were you two thinking?”

I glare at him. “Us? Just what the hell were you thinking with that stuff last night?”

“What stuff?”

I fling a gesture at his face. “The fighting, you idiot! You two going at it like that? That’s what’s fucking stupid.”

He rolls his eyes, wincing because of aforementioned idiocy. “This is what guys do, V.”

“No, it’s what children do.” I add, “Actually, I know children who manage to settle their differences more maturely than that.”

“Had to happen.” He flexes his bruised fist, head shaking. “Reyn broke the bro code. If he really wanted you, then he had to fight for you. So that’s how it went down.”

“Well, when you say it like that…” On second thought, “Nope, still sounds idiotic.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs. “You got duped by Sydney Prescott and that baby hag of hers. You weren’t exactly operating on all cylinders, either.”

Well, not much I can say to that.

“Em,” I start, remembering Reyn’s missive from earlier, before everything imploded. “About Reyn and I…”

Emory groans, flopping back on the bed again. “You two are such a pain in my ass, I swear to god…”

I smile sadly. “I know you think it’s… how did you put it? ‘Stupid schoolgirl puppy-love’?” He must hear the hurt in my voice—the same hurt I’d felt when he’d said it—because he cuts his eyes to me, confused. “But it’s not. I really do love him.” I don’t say what I’m thinking. Reyn and I didn’t pick one another; fate, tragedy brought us together. It’s going to take a lot more than that to pull us apart.

He looks away, reaching up to rub at his temple. “Sometimes I wish...”

When he trails off, I prod, “Wish what?”

He answers, “I wish we could just be a normal brother and sister,” and I almost have to laugh. How many times have I had that same thought?

I remember the first time I came home after the months in the hospital, all the surgeries and physical therapy. My parents moved my room to the main floor, to the guest room my grandparents use when they visit. All my things were in there. My stuffed animals and books, the poster of Brendon Urie taped to the wall, my pillows, and the soft comforter I’d missed so much while I was trapped in hell, and I burst into tears.

Not because I was happy to see it all.

I cried because all I wanted was to be back in my room, upstairs with Emory, like normal. All I wanted was normal. Being moved to the guest room was just another reminder that everything in my life had changed.

That day, I’d passed out on the couch, exhausted from the trip home. When I woke up, Emory had moved every single thing back upstairs, up to and including perfectly taping the Brendon Urie poster back in its exact place. My parents were furious. “She can’t even get up the stairs!” my mother had whisper-shouted.

Emory snapped back. “Then I’ll carry her!”

And he did. He carried me up and down those stairs, under my mother’s fretful eyes, until I could do it on my own.

I’ve seen normal siblings. I’ve seen them bicker, resentment sparking between them. I’ve seen them shun one another in the halls of Preston Prep. I’ve seen Heston putting Sebastian in that ring, even though he thought he’d lose. I’ve seen Georgia and George, who live in the same house and share the same genes—the same name—but you’d never know it, because they barely look at one another when they’re at school.

I think of normal siblings, and suddenly, “I don’t wish that.” He looks taken aback when he meets my eyes. “Because I know you love me, and I know you’d do anything if it meant keeping me happy and safe. I can’t… I can’t imagine not having that. I wouldn’t want to try.”

He blinks at me for a long moment. “Well… yeah, I guess that’s not so bad.”

I’m struck by the fact he won’t be here next year. It’ll be the first time in my life I won’t have him down the hall, always there, just in case. “I know you don’t need me to carry you up and down the stairs, or scare off mean girls, or throw you parties for silly milestones, but I would. You know that, right?”

“Sure, V.” He gives me a sad smile. “I know that.”

“Because I love you.” I add, “Even though you’re an idiot who doesn’t use your words.”