One Last Time (Loveless Brothers 5)

“A yes-or-no one,” he says.

“Fine. Yes,” I say, mimicking his stance.

Eli grins.

“I lied. It was a trick question,” he says. “There’s no such thing as soulmates.”

“Then why —”

“I wanted to see what you’d say,” he says. “Because if you said no, then fuck it, have another beer and forget the whole thing. But you’ve got a whole different problem.”

I just wait. Eli’s clearly winding himself up to something, and it can be best not to get in his way.

“There’s no such thing as soulmates,” he repeats. “And that means nothing is going to save you. Not fate, not true love, not your destiny being written in the stars or some nebulous concept of she’s the one. The only thing that matters is whether you want to be with her enough to work for it.”

He grabs his beer from a side table and drinks, watching me.

“So romantic,” I finally say.

“Effort is romantic,” he says. “Putting in the work is romantic. Talking through it is fucking romantic, Seth.”

“Take your turn,” I say.

Eli shrugs, puts his beer down, and plays pool.He kicks my ass. I have another beer, and keep looking over at the spot where she was sitting all those years ago.

Only I can’t remember where, exactly, she was. I can’t remember what it looked like when I first saw her, whether she was standing or sitting. The tables have changed, the layout has changed, the decor has changed.

I want to be angry, but I can’t even remember how. All I can do is wish she were here.

“Okay,” I say, coming up to Levi and Caleb at a table.

They halt their conversation — probably about trees or tents or advanced degrees, I don’t know — and look at me.

“I need your help,” I tell them.

“Sure,” Caleb says.

“Building something.”

“What do you need built?” Levi asks.

I tell them.

They look at each other. Levi frowns. Caleb shrugs.

“It’s not a good idea,” Levi says. “It’s pretty irresponsible.”

“You agreed to build a nine-year-old a trebuchet,” I point out.

“I’ll do it,” Caleb says. “It’ll be fun.”

Levi sighs. He takes another drink of his beer.

“All right, I’m in,” he says.Chapter FiftyDelilah“This feels kind of cutesy,” I say, examining a sticker pack that says Way to go! In big pink letters.

“Then don’t use that sticker,” Ava explains, patiently.

“You never know, he might like it,” Lainey points out.

I look down at what I’ve got in my cart: an overpriced, flat-bound journal with a classy black cover, glue, corner stickers, watercolor pens, washi tape, decorative paper, and a multipack of glitter.

The glitter was Ava’s doing. She seems to think I’m going to need it at some point, and frankly, I don’t know that she’s wrong. Glitter’s a pain in the ass, but I like it.

She looks into my cart skeptically.

“This doesn’t feel like enough stuff,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You’re sure you don’t also want to decorate some water bottles? Or make some t-shirts? Ooh, or friendship bracelets? I haven’t tried those for years but I remember them being really fun.”

“This isn’t for spirit night at the sorority,” I say. “This is…”

I stop, because I still haven’t fully explained to myself what I’m doing. It’s a craft? An apology? A you were right about some things? A you mattered all along?

“It’s a gift,” Lainey says, simply. “And the recipient isn’t really into friendship bracelets.”

“I mean, I’ve never asked,” I point out.

“I feel okay making that assumption,” she says.

“Okay, but at least get puffy paint,” Ava says. “Just a little? How can you come here and not get puffy paint?”

I make a face, and Ava just laughs.

“Joke,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not ten. C’mon, let’s go make this dignified scrapbook for your man.”When I bring the box out, Lainey and Ava are sitting at my kitchen table, waiting. All the crafting supplies are there, neatly organized on one side. Lainey laughs at something that Ava said, and Ava gives a wicked little grin.

“All right,” she says, standing up when I put the box down on the table. “Do you want to give me a run down of what I’m looking for, or should we just dive in and see what we can find? How are we grouping things? Chronologically, or thematically, or do you want to do some sort of chromatic organization? I know you’re an artist.”

Apparently my little sister has turned from Ava, sweet baby angel to Ava, sorority social chair. I’m starting to see how she climbed as high as she did.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not even totally sure what’s in here, I never really went through it, I just put more stuff in sometimes and then shoved it into the back of my closet.”

“We could see what’s in here and then decide,” Lainey suggests.

Ava nods, once. It’s very official. I have the urge to offer her rubber gloves, just to watch her snap them on and get to work.