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400 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 2022
⁀ ⊹ ₊ He slams his foot on the accelerator hard and the car lurches forward with a blast of power. Avery is made of agony and burning fever, and he can’t see for the tears. The brick wall of the workshop rushes to meet him and he doesn’t know what he’s doing he doesn’t understand why he’s done this he wants everything to stop please help him please come help him can someone hear can someone just—
hold me.
⁀ ⊹ ₊ He was sixteen when the cancer came back. When she died. When he failed. He hadn’t worked hard enough, that was it. He hadn’t loved his family enough, kept their spirits up, kept them tied tight together so the fractures wouldn’t show. He had to do better. He couldn’t let his dad die, or Grady or Jack or Moxie or Dash or Toby or the baby. Jeremy couldn’t lose anyone else, he couldn’t survive it.
“I thought…” Jeremy swallows. “I thought autistic people didn’t like to be touched.”
Avery grips Jeremy like he’s a boy, falling, and his words come thick with unshed tears. “I’m n-n-not autistic people. I’m Avery.”
That lands with a sting, and Jeremy winces, but he deserves it. How often does he assume? How often do any of them ask Avery what he wants? Half the things Avery was yelling were irrational hysteria, sure, but he was right about that.
Jeremy tilts his head so his cheek rests against Avery’s soft hair. “So do you want…anyone to hold you like this?”
“No.” Avery sounds worn through, but his voice is soft and aching and full of want. “Just you. I just want you.”
And Avery says, “We could leave town,” even though he knows it will be the hardest thing in the world.
You. And me. We.
They are the kings between nowhere and the end of the world, both of them made of broken edges so sharp that anyone who touches them will be cut. They are all each other has. And it’s not enough.
The only thing on Sam’s face is betrayal, and he is all clenched fists with unshed tears hot and bright in his eyes as he tells Avery this is a stupid plan.
Avery can only stand there while hurricanes rip him from inside out and his mouth fills with the memory of blood and grief and ruin. He can’t keep doing this, he can’t survive, Sam. Please please let’s go please let’s run please save me I need you to save me I need—
“No,” Sam snaps. “No.”
“I’m lost.” Avery doesn’t mean to say it out loud.
Moxie resettles herself there beside him, as if she plans to stay all night. “I know where you are, Avery Lou.”
He was nine years old when they found his mother had cancer, when he understood the size of death and how it could fit its arms around his whole family