I''m Not Answering That


    The door to Zaid''s bedroom creaks as I push it open, my breath still shaky from everything I''ve just learned.


    Zaid is Aiden''s brother.


    Jake''s son.


    The revtion crashes over me over and over again, making my heart race like I''ve been running for miles, making my stomach turn until I feel like all of my insides will spill out.


    I step into his room, not knowing what to expect, not wanting to have any expectations at all. Still, when I turn from the door and face the room, I''m surprised.


    I expected chaos.


    I expected clothes to be thrown everywhere, maybe even a lingering smell of cologne or


    sweat.


    But it''s not like that at all. It''s neat, meticulously so. The bed is made, the sheets smoothed out as if they haven''t been touched in days. A small shelf on the wall catches my eye-trophies, gleaming under the dim lighting from the window alone.


    Basketball, trophies mostly.


    I drop my bag on the floor and step toward the shelf, squinting as I read and look at everything he has set up. I bite my lip. Zaid doesn''t seem like the sentimental kind to keep stuff like this up where he can see it everyday.


    Pictures of Zaid with his team, arms slung around each other''s shoulders, all grins and


    adrenaline.


    My heart turns sour, twisting in my chest. I suddenly realize why Jake looked so familiar


    when I first met him. Zaid looks so much like him. They smile the same way.


    There are so many pictures of him in the court, some from the local newspaper with detailed articles. O


    He was good at it, probably still is.


    I''m Not Answering That


    There''s a letter too, unfolded, with the creases still neat and leaning against a frame.


    Curiosity pulls at me and wins and I step closer, squinting my eyes to get a better look.


    It''s from some big university, offering him a full-ride schrship. My heart clenches and I


    step away.


    He was good. Really good, better than Aiden, even.


    I peruse the shelf for longer until I see it. A framed picture on the wall, not far from the


    rest. But this one isn''t of him holding a basketball or a trophy.


    It''s a mugshot.


    My fingers tremble as I reach out to touch the ss, the coldness of it seeping into my skin. There''s a smirk on his face, as if he found the whole thing amusing. Like it''s some


    twisted joke.


    My stomach turns nauseous and anger boils in my head.


    A crash downstairs snaps me out of my thoughts, followed by raised voices. I know that


    voice-Aiden''s. Zaid yells back, but I can''t make out what they''re saying. It''s only obvious


    that they don''t like each other.


    What have I gotten myself into?


    I ced myself right in the middle of a family that could possibly be more broken than


    mine.


    I hear footsteps, heavy, purposeful, ascending the stairs and I tense, closing my eyes for a second. All I can think about is how I hope it''s not Aiden.


    Guilt straddles me, but it;s given little time to take over me when the door open and Zaid steps inside, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.


    He closes the door behind him, stepping inside as he tilts his head when he realizes what picture I''ve been looking at. "You like that picture, too, huh?"


    I don''t even think, my voice shaking with anger. "Is this like a prize to you? A joke?"


    His expression hardens, the easygoing mask he usually wears slipping away. "No, it''s not a joke."


    I''m Not Answering That


    I scoff. "You have it framed."


    "I can''t help it if it''s a good picture," he says, his voice t, his eyes narrowing slightly.


    "Good?" I snap, the word burning on my tongue. "I lost my father and my brother to a car ident, Zaid. It''s not a joke to me."


    He flinches at that, a sh of something dark crossing his face. His hands clench at his sides, but he doesn''t say anything.


    I take a breath, trying to calm the pain inside me. "What happened?"


    He looks away for a second, his gaze narrowing on the window before he swings


    his eyes back tot he shelf. He looks over my shoulder to the pictures and trophies on the wall


    before settling on me again.


    There''s a thousand heavy secrets in those eyes of his.


    "What got you in juvie?" I ask, my voice softer now, almost pleading.


    Zaid''s whole body tenses, his jaw tightening as he shakes his head, looking away. "I''m not


    answering that."


    "Why not?" I press, frustration bubbling up again.


    "Ask your boyfriend," he snaps, his voice cold, eyes flicking back to mine with a challenge.


    I stare at him, confused, trying to piece together what he''s implying, but before I can ask anything else, he moves closer.


    My heart skips a beat as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is gentle, too gentle for someone


    who looks like him, and moves like him.


    Zaid gives the impression that he has the whole world at his fingertips, like he can make anyone bow down to his wishes.


    I know I''ve been trying so hard to stop myself from falling for his charms.


    I should pull away, but I don''t. He''s overwhelming, and despite myself, I can''t help


    but lean into it, even for just a moment.


    I''m Not Answering That


    He leans closer still, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I got rid of Aiden. You can make your escape now. Go home."


    His words snap me back to reality. Regardless of how gentle he can be, he holds himself at a distance, just like always will, too.


    I jerk away from his touch, the tension between us shattering like ss. Without another word, I rush past him, not daring to look back as I fly down the stairs. and out of the house. My feet pound against the pavement, my heart racing, not just from fear, but from the confusing mess of emotions that Zaid has madee alive inside of


    1. me.


    Aiden''s the better brother.


    The one with the future.


    The normal one.