Archive of Our Own

Jeremiah Fisher could remember the first time he’d seen his brother cry. 

They were on holiday in California. He was three, hands sticky from ice-cream dripping down his chubby fists, seawater stiffening his abundance of curls, as he crawled onto a sand-caked blanket. His clumsy feet knocked into a perfectly built sandcastle that displayed a shell-crested bridge wobbling over a moat of water that had been dribbled carefully into the grooves by Conrad’s determined hands. The movement took a chunk out of the tower at the forefront of the impressive architecture and, as Jere went to grab at the sand now crashing into soft rubble amongst the damp ditch, he knocked over the smoothed-down walls, sending Conrad’s day’s worth of work into unbridled chaos. 

He looked up guiltily, dark patches of sand clinging onto his clammy skin, to watch as Conrad crumpled before his very eyes. He fell to his knees with the devastation, desperately trying to rebuild the bridges and moats that he’d tenderly poured his love into for so long. But, the sand only slipped through his fingers and the constructed moat simply continued to crumble into soggy sand that coated Conrad’s shorts like a bloodstain. 

“Jere!” Conrad howled, tears pouring down his cheeks with a ferocity that alarmed his brother. “Jere, no, no, no!” He scrambled at the sandcastle, but there was no salvaging, and his shocked tears roared into a full-blown breakdown that was loud enough to alert their parents. 

Susannah was there in an instant, floppy sunhat shielding her face from the hot glare of the sky. Jeremiah had started to cry when Conrad shouted at him, and his snotty snivels choked his breath into hiccups dangerous enough for a toddler to warrant him being the first to be scooped up against his mom’s chest. Adam ambled over to tend to Conrad, who flung himself at his dad, sobbing about how much he had loved what he’d built and how Jere had destroyed it. 

“I’ll help you build another one, how’s that?” Adam said to Conrad, who nodded eagerly through his tears. “No need to cry, buddy. We’ll create a sand-city, eh?” He ruffled his son’s hair like he was the most precious artefact ever discovered.

“It’s okay, Jere,” Susannah soothed him, rocking him back and forth as Jeremiah tried to cry louder than Conrad, because Conrad was getting sympathy and attention from their dad, and it wasn’t all his fault; it had been an accident…he hadn’t knocked over the sandcastle on purpose, or out of malice, so why was he being blamed? 

“Don’t coddle him, Suz,” Adam shot at her, a low murmur that cut through Jeremiah’s cries. Conrad had stopped crying now, as a result of their dad’s gentle rubs of his back, and was reduced to simple sniffles, head resting against Adam’s shoulder. “C’mon, Con, let’s conquer the land over there.” He carried Conrad over to their new territory, placing him down carefully and using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe away the last of Conrad’s tears. “That’s my little soldier.”

Jere clambered out of Susannah’s arms, fisting at his eyes to stop the stream of tears because Conrad had stopped crying now, so he could stop crying. The swipe was a mistake, though, because it only brushed the greasy suncream from his face directly into his eyes, making him wail even more. Susannah fretted over him, using a packet of wipes to clean his hands and face, before re-applying suncream for him, her warm palms soothing Jeremiah into sleepiness, the crying having tired him out. 

When he woke up, it was to the underside of a parasol protecting him from the sun still blazing in the sky, and Conrad’s peals of laughter from the other side of the beach. Jere sat up wearily, and toddled over to where Adam had kept his promise and had helped Conrad craft an entire city full of sandcastles. Their handiwork boasted sand-boats and skyscrapers scraped from spades to several moats snaking their way in figure-of-eight bridges shining with shells at their careful foundations. Conrad and their dad were now running back and forth from the shore to fill their dugouts with seawater. 

Jere picked up a bucket, padding over to where the waves met the shore, soft sand stretching into damp and golden solid under his bare feet. He wanted to join in. He could make it better, this way, by helping instead of destroying. But, the second he reached Adam and Conrad, his dad shook his head at him. 

“Uh, oh, here comes the bulldozer!” he teased. “Con, quick! Our city is under threat!” 

“I got it, Dad!” Conrad shouted, gathering up some sticks and seaweed to twist into a barrier that guarded the outskirts of their hard work from Jeremiah. 

“But, I want—” Jere started towards the sand-city. His bucket was only half-full with water because, at three, he lacked the motor skills to carry anything heavier, but he was ready to play. 

“I don’t think so, buddy.” Adam swept him up in one arm, and his bucket clattered to the ground. The minimal water he’d gathered spread ominously towards Conrad’s creation, but his brother stopped it with a stubborn stomp of his foot. 

“Siege defended!” Conrad yelled, saluting. 

“That’s my man.” Adam high-fived him, before depositing Jeremiah back down next to Susannah, who was lying on her front, reading a paperback. His dad didn’t even look back after popping Jere down, too busy laughing with Conrad about how they could build their defences even higher to protect their city. 

Jeremiah stayed where he’d been left, red-faced and teary-eyed. 

🫧 

The next times Jeremiah saw Conrad cry were few and fair between: over a sick bug that infiltrated his body, stopping him from going to sailing camp; with an ice-pack to his head when a football hit him whilst he wasn’t looking; after one of his many trophies fell to the floor, and a part of the metal boat broke off. He didn’t cry as much as Jeremiah did, but he never had any reasons to. He was, without a doubt, the golden child. The perfect son. 

At least, in Adam’s eyes, he was.

Jeremiah had his mom. Susannah would pull him onto her lap and wrap him up in one of her blankets whenever he was snivelling over how harshly his dad had spoken to him, or if he was upset that he simply couldn’t stop the letters from swimming into confusion on the page in front of him. He’d come home from first grade, once, with a drawing of their family that he’d been so proud of, handing it to Adam with a bright smile. His dad had complimented it, taking it from him absentmindedly whilst on a work call, but Jere had found it in the wastepaper bin a few days later, tears instantly brewing.  

“Why didn’t you keep my drawing, Daddy?” he’d asked, summoning up the courage to knock on his father’s office door with such a question. 

“I’m busy, Jere.” Adam had dismissed him instantly, and Jeremiah had smoothed out the crumpled drawing, placing it gently on his desk, because it had probably just been a mistake. His dad was always busy, so it had probably just slipped his mind to pin it up onto the fridge alongside Conrad’s careful colourings of sailing boats, and that was okay. Jere understood. 

But then, later that same evening, when Conrad had sidled into his office without even knocking, to show Adam the origami football he’d made in class, Jeremiah had paused playing with his Hot Wheels loop-the-loop that he’d got for Christmas. His hands had stilled on his favourite red car as Adam hung up his work call to talk to Conrad, the praises drifting through the open door like poisonous gas sneaking into Jere’s lungs. 

And he’d thrown the same car against the wall when Adam sauntered past him before dinner to place Conrad’s origami football in pride of place on the mantelpiece. The paint flaked onto the carpet like incriminating evidence on a crime scene, and Jeremiah hadn’t been allowed to play with his cars for the rest of the weekend. 

“If you’re careless with your toys, you don’t get to play with them,” Adam told him, dismantling his loop-the-loop and collection of cars into a plastic box, which he proceeded to keep in his office. As if he knew that Jeremiah wouldn’t even dare to go in there without knocking, so the security system was already in place. 

(What Jeremiah would always forget to mention in this story, though, was that Conrad let him play with his toy boats in the bath the next night, after hearing Jere choke out sobs to Susannah about the loss of his favourite red car). 

In third grade, Jeremiah had orchestrated a whole magic routine with his friends for their school talent show. Adam had bought him everything he’d asked for, from a stuffed white bunny and various dice to a top hat, wand, and deck of cards. It had been the first time that Jere had felt like his dad was more interested in him than Conrad, and he’d been there, sitting in the front row and smiling as he took to the stage, brandishing his plastic wand with a flourish. All of their practiced tricks had gone to plan, with many laughs vibrating from the audience, and Jeremiah had bounded up for his bow at the end with a grin that stretched from cheek-to-cheek. 

But, as his eyes had scanned the front row, he’d only spotted his mother, whistling and clapping. 

“Where was Dad?” Jere questioned, against his better judgement, when his mom took him out for milkshakes afterwards. Their ‘special treat,’ she’d said. He’d tried his best not to look at the empty stool next to her, where his dad had been supposed to be sitting. 

“He saw most of it, sunshine, don’t worry.” Susannah added extra sprinkles to his strawberry milkshake. 

“But, where did he go?”

“Con had an accident at football practice, honey.”

“Oh.” The milkshake soured in Jere’s stomach. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, just a little shaken up. Hurt his knee.”

“Why couldn’t you have gone?” Jeremiah blurted out, without meaning to. Hurt flashed across Susannah’s face, but he hadn’t meant it like that. It was just…his mom was always there, with a bright smile and a milkshake to distract Jere from Adam’s absence. This had been the first time that Jeremiah had been doing something that was unique to him, not something that could be compared to Conrad, and Adam had left the front row to go and check on…Conrad. 

“Your dad drove, honey. I’ve had some wine,” his mom said, smiling, but there was something knowing in her gaze that Jere didn’t think she’d ever be able to shake. 

Jeremiah learnt not to care about Adam leaving his magic show, though. Because, in the weeks that it took for Conrad to be fit to play again, his dad was suddenly interested in seeing how well his second son could play football. For two weeks, Jere was red-cheeked and grinning, running around in the cold February air as Adam shouted out advice for his form and technique. He’d ruffle his hair afterwards and make him a protein shake from his fancy blender, in the way that Jeremiah had always seen him do with Conrad. 

When Conrad came back to the field, though, it was like no time had passed. Jeremiah was still invited because, for his many faults, Adam Fisher didn’t ever try to be cruel. He just shrugged into cruelty like an old coat more often than his sons might’ve liked. And, now that he had both of his sons running around, eager for his praise, he would make them compete:

“The last one to reach the tree over there is a rotten egg!”

“C’mon, Jere, you can do better than that! Score some goals, or go home.”

“That’s my man, Connie. Jere, try and get some hoops, will you?” 

“Don’t pout like a girl, Jere. If you’re gonna be a sore loser, carry the clubs.”

The urge to be better than Conrad wasn’t something that he shouldered that spring, but rather something that had always been there, thrumming like an undercurrent in his blood. Jeremiah marked it up to competitiveness that fuelled him through his formative years, because his dad was only pitting them against each other to make them strive for improvement. His dad only wanted Jere to be as good as Conrad, and he was desperate enough for Adam’s attention that he took the bait, hook, line and sinker. 

But, the competitiveness fizzled slowly into resentment at his lack of approval from their father and, when Jeremiah was in fifth grade, Conrad beat him in a surfing race and he saw red as Adam hooted about how much better Conrad was than him. He launched for him in the water, their wrestling turning less friendly than he’d intended. There was a moment where he managed to hold Conrad under the water and, as Adam jeered from the shore, there was a gritty sort of satisfaction that clung to his skin like the stench of saltwater. 

There, Dad. How’d you like that? Your perfect son, finally beaten by your mistake. 

“Why’d you hit me, anyways?” Conrad asked, later that night, and Jeremiah hadn’t had an answer for him. Not a proper one, anyhow. 

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Con. You’re just pouting because you lost the wrestle,” he replied. 

Because that’s the funny thing about children, isn’t it? The way that we speak to them is how they speak to themselves and, eventually, other people, too. 

🫧 

As it went, Steven Conklin was a saving grace. 

The spring before Jeremiah started middle school, his grandfather passed away. It was his first experience of death and he barely understood what it meant, as he stood there in a suit and people he didn’t even know grasped his hand to tell him how sorry they were for his loss. The wake took place in his own house, because his mom grieved by throwing herself into organising tables full of party food, and a playlist of her father’s favourite songs. 

“Stand up straighter, like Con,” Adam muttered to Jeremiah, hand brushing the small of his back briefly. Jeremiah’s posture snapped up, as he attempted to avoid the old ladies reeking of lavender that insisted on pressing wobbly kisses to his cheeks, pinching them and cooing about how much he’d grown up since they’d last seen him. 

Last week, when they’d got the news that their grandfather had died, Jeremiah hadn’t quite grasped the concept of him not being around anymore. They didn’t see him an awful amount, as he didn’t get along very well with Adam, but he’d attended their birthday parties and school events when he was required. He’d send Christmas cards with an unseemly amount of money enclosed, which Susannah would always make sure they spent on something decent, so that she could tell her dad what they’d bought with his money. Jere just remembered that he always smelt faintly of tobacco smoke and gave them dusty mints from a tin. 

However, Conrad—ever the smarter, more intellectual of the two brothers—had spoken so fondly of their grandfather that Jeremiah had wondered whether they were talking about the same man. Perhaps Grandad Beck had also treated Conrad differently, just like Adam did. He’d written down all of his favourite memories of their grandfather, and it had made Susannah smile through her tears, hugging Conrad tightly whilst thanking him for his thoughtfulness. Jeremiah had just gaped, because he was so used to Conrad being liked more by their dad, but their mom was his. Susannah gave him cuddles on the sofa, not Conrad, because Conrad was always off doing something worthy of sickening praise and approval. 

So, when it had come to the wake and Conrad didn’t duck away from the old ladies kissing him on the cheek and expressing their condolences, Jeremiah decided to keep his distance from his brother as much as possible. Because he knew Conrad could do everything better, even grief apparently, but that didn’t mean it had to be flaunted in front of his face. 

He scampered down the hallway, holding a small bowl of tomatoes and mozzarella that he’d nabbed from the buffet, but skidded to a stop in his socks when he heard raised voices coming through his dad’s closed office door. 

“—don’t understand why you’re getting involved now, Laurel. It’s none of your business.”

“I know it’s not, but Beck is upset. She might not have said it, but she’s—”

“Grieving, I know. Do you not think I am, too? Just because I didn’t get along with our father doesn’t mean that I’m not grieving, Laurel. I simply don’t understand why she wants to cling onto a house that we haven’t set foot in for years.”

“Because she’s got good memories there,” the unfamiliar voice said. 

Jeremiah had already been able to identify the other voice as his Aunt Julia. Again, like the man they were all mourning today, they didn’t see her and Skye often, as they lived in California. But, they’d always spent Christmas together, until the one that had just passed where Julia and Skye had left before they even got to open their presents. Susannah had pretended like she hadn’t cared, but Jere had heard her crying in the kitchen when she thought no one was lingering. 

“Bully for her. That house was hell for me—”

“That’s why she’s not asking you to stay there. She’s said she’ll take control of everything. You won’t even have to pay taxes or insurance or anything—”

“That suits you fine, then, doesn’t it? What perfect timing, Laur. You rekindle your friendship with Suz just in time to snatch her, and the summer house away from me. Was this your plan all along? Have you been whispering in her ear ever since you came crawling back?”

“Excuse me? I haven’t come crawling back—”

Jeremiah had heard enough. He didn’t actually care enough about this stranger’s drama with his aunt. He just wanted to find somewhere quiet to eat his mozzarella and, as he wandered upstairs and into the games room, he stopped short. A boy his age was sitting on the patchy leather sofa, thumbs darting over Conrad’s controller to shoot as many aliens as possible on the TV screen, that he’d clearly managed to turn on by himself. 

“Who are you?” he blurted out. 

The kid jumped a mile, and had the decency to look halfway guilty. Conrad’s controller clattered to the sofa like a dropped murder weapon, as the game paused onscreen. “Sorry!”

“Your name’s sorry?” Jeremiah put his hands on his hips in the way that he’d seen Adam do. 

“No, it’s Steven. I was bored, so I found your games room. Who are you?”

“Jeremiah.” He popped a chunk of mozzarella in his mouth and chewed messily. “My grandad died.”

“Oh, shoot.” Steven pulled a face. “I didn’t mean that it was boring, just that I was—”

“No, it’s fine.” Jere plonked himself down next to Steven. “It is boring. Wanna play?”

Steven grinned. “Hell yeah.”

Susannah found them later, when they were shouting excitedly over how many aliens they’d managed to kill—enough to get them into the next stage of the game, and Jeremiah expected her to be annoyed, but she was simply delighted that they’d already met. That was how Jere found out that Steven was the son of Laurel, the woman who’d been arguing with his Aunt Julia in his dad’s office. Laurel, his mom and his dad had all gone to college together, but had drifted over the past decade, only for Laurel to finally reach out after hearing about Grandad Beck’s death. 

That summer, Jere decided that his granddad dying was the best thing that had happened to the Fisher family. Because, now that he’d gone and had left the summer house that Jeremiah had only ever heard about in revered stories of his mom’s childhood, they could go to Cousins Beach every single summer. The initial plan had been to go with Julia and Skye but, after the funeral, Conrad and Jeremiah never saw their cousin anymore. 

Not that it mattered, because Laurel’s kids—Steven and Belly—instantly became like cousins to them. Ironically so, at Cousins Beach, where they spent every summer under golden-speckled beaches, slurping up bouillabaisse and slushies, building sandcastles and running full-pelt at the rushing ocean, sometimes with surfboards. The boardwalk flashed fluorescent lights over their laughter and races from game to game, hands sweaty on laser tag guns or white-knuckled on the Tower of Terror. 

The best thing about it all was that Adam rarely came. Without their dad there, Jeremiah stopped thinking about how inadequate he was in comparison to Conrad, and simply enjoyed running around with his brother, instead of against him in some form of competition. Steven was the glue that kept them together, slotting in seamlessly to their brotherly banter back-and-forth, as all three of them decided that Belly Conklin was the ultimate target for any teasing or rough-housing. 

Belly was only a year younger than Jere and, though he did enjoy hanging out with her, he also liked teasing her with the others, especially because Steven would always high-five him after he said something particularly insulting. And the serotonin boost from having his person, even when Conrad was right there, was simply too good to give up. Though all the boys stuck together as Belly hung out with the moms, Steven was definitely Jere’s friend over Conrad’s, as proven by their late-night dashes to the beach with stolen beer bottles clanging in their bags, their battles in video games, and their sense of humour that just seemed to match perfectly. 

Steven quickly became a brother to Jeremiah in everything but blood. 

🫧 

Those summers at Cousins became so golden that it was almost too much of a sharp clap back to reality whenever they had to go back to Boston. Their childhood home didn’t have the same magic as the summerhouse—where sand trailed on patios and slushies stained their tongues in Cousins, Boston brought his dad’s disapproval after bad practices and glaring red grades.

During the summer, Jeremiah almost forgot all the bones he had to pick with Conrad, because they were too busy building dens and laughing so hard that they cried. Of course, he would always disappear for a few weeks to go to football camp, and Jere would constantly be reminded of how inadequate he was, because he wasn’t good enough to go to camp, but the sting would lessen when Steven would dare him to pee in the fireplace after a few White Claws. Then, when Conrad would come back, he would just slot right into Jeremiah and Steven’s routine, like Jere was the typeset for once. 

They still bickered, of course, because they were brothers and even the golden wash of summer couldn’t dull every irritation and frustration they held with each other outside of the walls of the summerhouse. 

But, there was only one year where they truly argued. 

Susannah had been diagnosed with cancer in the fall and, though the chemo did its job, the tension that weighed down on their Boston house was inescapable. That year, more so than any other, Jeremiah had never been so excited for May to come around. The second that school was out for the year, Susannah bundled them into the car, and they were in Cousins by the night, with the sea breeze filtering through their open windows and any memory of Susannah and Adam arguing over the costs of cancer treatment was left in the dust between city lines. 

For Belly’s fourteenth birthday, she invited her best friend from Philly to spend a few days in Cousins with them. Taylor Jewel was an explosion of personality into their summer routine and, whilst Jere was slack-jawed and a little in awe of her, Steven only seemed annoyed by her presence, and Conrad barely even reacted to her being there. Taylor called him Jeremy, and paid him more attention than Belly ever did, as moon-eyed over Conrad as she was, and Jeremiah liked it. He was fifteen, and at the age where girls were certainly catching his eye, and Taylor was exactly the kind of girl that grabbed his attention. 

They all hung out on the beach, and Jeremiah’s eyes admittedly wandered when Taylor pulled off her cover-up to reveal a perky pair of breasts in a revealing bikini, her blonde hair caught up in a claw-clip that trailed tendrils over her shoulders. Jere was used to seeing girls in bikinis at the country club, but Belly always wore swimming costumes, so it was the first time in their smaller group that he felt the visceral difference between the boys and the girls. 

“Not coming into the water, Jeremy?” Taylor asked him. 

“Just sunbathing, Tay. I’m sure I’ll catch up,” he told her, smiling flirtatiously. 

“He’s never sunbathed in his life,” he heard Steven saying to her as they walked towards the water. 

“No way,” Taylor said. “But he’s such a pretty little princess,” she mocked. 

Jeremiah chased after her, cutting in as Steven went to jostle her, and the three of them messed around in the water whilst Conrad and Belly were boring and talked about books on the shore. He picked Taylor up at one point, hiking her onto his shoulders, but Steven shoved her off him, causing a lot of rough-housing and tackling to happen, where whoever was dunked the most under the water had to do a forfeit. This giddy game turned into Truth or Dare, which Taylor suggested that they take back to the beach to play with Belly and Conrad. At this, Jere glanced back and saw Conrad pulling on Belly’s ponytail, whilst she beamed up at him as if he’d hung the sun with his bare hands. He rolled his eyes. She’d always been awestruck over Conrad, like everyone else in their lives. 

Clapping his hands together, Steven conveyed the message of Truth or Dare. Conrad’s lips thinned, but he agreed so Belly agreed, glancing nervously over at Taylor who simply mouthed Trust me at her best friend. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at the exchange. What was going on there? 

They cracked on with the game: Steven admitted that he’d got to second base with a girl back in Philly (Belly wrinkled her nose in disgust); Taylor ran into the ocean with no top on; Conrad’s most embarrassing moment was when Adam had shouted at a waitress; Belly nervously went up to the top of the lifeguard tower (which explicitly said no climbing on a sign swinging at the bottom of the steps), and—

“Jeremy, I dare you to kiss someone in this circle,” Taylor declared boldly, the light of a challenge in her eyes. 

Steven whistled, nudging him playfully as he laughed, thinking about Taylor in a bikini and how they’d been flirting all day. But then, he noticed that Conrad had stiffened and remembered how Belly had been staring at him all day like he was a superhero; like she always did, and how Taylor had mouthed trust me at her, as if they’d planned something. He thought about scorned moments on the football field under his father’s disapproving gaze, and missed opportunities to soak up Adam’s praise because Conrad took priority, and a flare of spitefulness sparked. 

What if, for once, Conrad didn’t get what he wanted? 

So, instead of leaning forward to kiss his way into Taylor’s flirty smile, Jeremiah turned to Belly, who was sitting with her knees curled to her chest, the sunrise glancing off her glasses as her focus was almost entirely on Taylor. And, before he could even think about what it meant to kiss Belly, Steven’s annoying kid sister who was practically a sister to him, too, Jere went for it. 

It was just a quick peck, but it startled Belly enough that she fell back a little into the sand with a squeal, meaning that his lips simply brushed her cheek. Jeremiah was nothing but determined, though, so he waited for her to gather her balance before kissing her, short and sweet, on the lips.

Belly stared at him, shocked and flushed beyond belief, and he didn’t think about how he probably should’ve asked before he took what was probably her first kiss. He just smirked, noticing the way that Conrad’s eyes had darkened, his jaw set into a hard line. How’d you like that? he almost wanted to taunt, I had the balls to do what you’ll never do, for once.

Instead, he was smacked over the back of his head by Steven for kissing his sister because it was incorrigible and disgusting and everything wrong with the world, apparently. He laughed it off, saying it was only for the game and just a huge joke, and the game continued its natural course. Belly was quiet for the rest of the night and, when they trekked back to the house, she disappeared into her room for a bit because she was boring, and he should’ve just kissed Taylor. If it hadn’t been for his innate urge to prove himself better than Conrad, he would’ve. 

And, when Conrad also disappeared and Steven nipped to the loo, he did. It was just him and Taylor left in the living room and, before he could even work out what was going on, she’d crawled into his lap. They stayed there for a while, making out with all of the passion of two teenagers who didn’t really know what they were doing, but would try their best for the life of them. He carded a hand through her long hair, she ground her hips into him, and he pulled away breathlessly to litter hot kisses along her neck, probably a little on the side of too sharp. 

Later that night, when they were getting ready for bed, Conrad cornered him in the bathroom. 

“I want to talk to you.”

“Mm.” Jere had a mouth full of toothpaste and he gestured to his toothbrush, but his brother didn’t care. He had the kind of look on his face that Adam often adopted when one of them was in trouble. 

“What the fuck were you playing at, back there?” Conrad questioned furiously. 

“What?” Jeremiah spat out into the sink but, before he could rise to face him, Conrad grabbed his shoulder and forced him around so that his back smacked slightly into the tiled wall. 

“Kissing Belly, even though you’ve been ogling Taylor’s tits all day.”

“I knew you’d be jealous.” Jeremiah cackled. This was the best day of his life, and if that meant that he was cruel, then so be it. It was like dunking Conrad under the waves all over again. 

“I’m not jealous.” Conrad’s mouth twisted. “I just want to know what was going through your head. Do you know how upset it made her?”

“She didn’t look too upset when she kissed me back,” Jeremiah retorted, even though Belly’s lips barely puckering up to meet him didn’t really class as her kissing him back. However, the insinuation was enough to make Conrad’s jaw clench, and yeah, Jere was enjoying this a little too much. This was better than ever having any drawing of his on the fridge. 

“You called it a joke—” His nostrils flared.

“Because it was,” Jeremiah chuckled. “It was a game, Con. That’s the idea of it. Casual kisses for people who aren’t as uptight as you. It’s what people do.”

“Not people like Belly,” Conrad said quietly. “I mean, c’mon, Jere. It’s Belly. She’s…not…she doesn’t like those kinds of things. You took her first kiss. How fucked up do you have to be to do that and laugh about it afterwards?”

“I didn’t know it was her first kiss,” he said, because he hadn’t, to be fair. 

He didn’t really pay as much attention to Belly as Conrad did. Up until now, Jere had always just thought it was because Conrad simply felt sorry for her. But, now, he could see it was clearly something else; something that Conrad evidently hadn’t got his own head around yet; something that he secretly delighted in being able to wave in front of him, like his very own sailing trophy. 

“Whether you did or not, it was fucked,” Conrad told him. “Then, to bury your tongue in her best friend’s mouth afterwards? Really not cool.”

“Why do you care so much?” Jeremiah scoffed, pride wounded a little. A part of him had wanted Conrad to clap him on the back and grin, like Steven had. “If you wanted to kiss Belly or Taylor, you should’ve just done it. Is that why you’re pissed? Because I got there before you?”

“It’s not about that, Jere,” Conrad snapped. “Girls aren’t just toys for you to toss at the wall when you don’t get your way. They’re human beings. They have feelings. I would’ve thought you’d know that, but clearly you’re more like Dad than I realised.”

Jeremiah flinched, as the echoes of Adam and Susannah arguing this past year played in his mind, accompanied by the slam of doors and the muffled cries of his mom. It wasn’t fair of Conrad, to claw until he found blood; to hit Jere where it hurt. Being likened to his father when all he’d ever wanted was to be liked by him stung more than he would’ve thought, and he didn’t enjoy that sensation coursing through his body. 

“Fuck you, Conrad.”

And, with that, he stormed out of the bathroom. 

🫧

Shortly after Jeremiah’s seventeenth birthday, he started to get everything he’d ever wanted. 

Conrad had made the conscious decision to stop being the golden child, probably for some dumb reason that Jere didn’t even bother to try and understand. He was dating a girl, Aubrey, for a while and, when they broke up, it was like a switch had turned off. No light danced behind his eyes, no further trophies graced the already cluttered shelves in their Boston home, and there was one very dramatic dinner where Conrad told their dad, in no uncertain terms, that he was quitting football. 

The argument that followed had shaken the walls. Jeremiah had stayed downstairs, still a little intimidated by Adam’s wrath, and also because there was no need to eavesdrop as Conrad’s voice carried throughout the entire house. He was still in shock, to be honest, because it wasn’t like Conrad to give up on things. That was in his nature, as their dad often liked to remind him, but now it was Conrad that was being screamed at from upstairs, in a complete reverse of reality. 

“Why is he quitting, Mom?” Jere asked Susannah, who was trying to busy herself with washing the dishes from dinner, but appeared to still be deciding whether she should scrape Conrad’s untouched plate or not. 

“I don’t know, honey,” she said softly, with tired eyes. His mom had started looking very tired recently, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that his dad kept staying at work late, more and more. Some nights, he slept in the office, and Jeremiah had to pretend like he couldn’t hear Susannah crying through the walls. 

In the months that followed, Jere felt like he was in an upside-down world of the life that he’d got used to: Conrad the favourite; Jeremiah the disappointment. Suddenly, in Conrad’s heartbreak and sullen demeanour over his breakup with Aubrey, Jeremiah shone brighter than he had in years. Adam drove him to practice, sat quietly in the stands instead of hollering about how Jere would never live up to his star quarterback of a brother, and took him for milkshakes afterwards.

Despite himself, Jere couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting towards the empty stool, where Conrad was supposed to be sitting. 

Conrad missed dinner one night, and Susannah spent half of the meal trying to call him. But, Adam didn’t appear to care and asked Jeremiah all about his grades, and if he wanted to come in to shadow him at Breaker, which was something he had never suggested to his second son. It was meant to be Conrad who was going to take over the family business but, as he walked in after the time that Susannah had retired to bed, with the stench of weed clinging to his jacket, it was clear that that was never going to happen. Adam tried to argue with him about it, but Conrad simply looked at their father, dead in the eye, and told him to go and fuck himself. 

“I don’t know what’s got into him.” Adam ran his hands through his hair, after Conrad had stormed upstairs. 

“Heartbreak, I think,” Jere supplied, from where he was trying to finish his algebra homework. 

“You think?” Adam slumped down next to him, cracking open a beer. He handed one to Jeremiah, who took it with the lingering, selfish thought that maybe, just maybe, Conrad’s behaviour was good for one thing. This, right here. His dad actually valuing his opinion, as opposed to disregarding it, and handing him a beer. That never happened. 

“Aubrey did dump him.”

“I just don’t get why that would make him want to quit football. He’s fucked it up for himself now, because no college is going to offer him a scholarship if he’s not the quarterback.”

“He is smart enough to get in without a scholarship,” Jeremiah said. 

“Yes, but we don’t have—” Adam cut himself off. 

“Don’t have what?” He furrowed his brows. The Fishers were loaded. College tuition was never going to be a problem for them, in the way that he’d heard Steven stress about it, even though the two of them still had another year of high school left. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Adam drained the dregs of his beer, slammed the bottle down, and went upstairs. “Goodnight, Jere.”

“Night, Dad,” he replied slowly. 

As the months got warmer, with bare trees blossoming flowers and the sun shining for longer in the sky, Jeremiah only got more annoyed at Conrad for how much he was brushing off their dad. For the first time in forever, he was getting all of the attention from Adam but, in a way that he knew their dad would never do if it was him acting out, Adam was still trying with Conrad. He’d quickly sussed out that anger didn’t work, so he tried joking around with Conrad like him brooding constantly was just a huge prank, and he’d go back to the star quarterback anytime today.

One night in May, shortly before Conrad’s graduation, Jeremiah found him outside with a spliff dangling from his lips, and several empty beer cans littered at his feet. The ashtray beside him was overflowing with stubbed out cigarettes, but the filtering smell of weed hovered around his brother.

“What the fuck are you doing, Con?” Jere asked him, snatching up some of the cans. 

Conrad looked up at him, eyes dull and stoned, as if he hadn’t even registered Jeremiah coming up behind him. “Smoking,” he said, as if he’d asked a stupid question. 

“You’re throwing your life away,” Jeremiah retorted. 

Conrad glanced away. “Wasn’t much of a life.”

“Wasn’t much of a—” Jere scoffed. “I don’t think you realise how lucky you are.”

“Lucky?” Conrad’s mouth twisted into a deprecating smile. 

“Yes, lucky. Do you know what I would’ve done, all these years, to have Dad’s attention in the way that he’s now giving to me? In the way that he’s only ever smothered you with?”

“You’re welcome,” he drawled, exhaling clouds of marijuna. “I hope it gives you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“You had everything I ever wanted,” Jeremiah told him. “You had it all. You’ve always been better than me at literally everything. Dad has always favoured you. And you’ve known it. I know you’ve known it, all along. But now…now, you’re just going to throw that away? For some girl? I mean, dude, I didn’t even know you were that hung up about Aubrey—”

“Stop talking, Jere,” Conrad cut in, dangerously. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so shut up.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t know anything about what’s going on in your head. Okay. But, I can see what you’re putting Mom and Dad through.”

Conrad glared at him. “I’m not putting them through anything.”

“Dad is falling apart trying to get his golden boy back, Con. You were his world. He’s got me now. And yes, I can’t lie…I’m enjoying actually getting to be his son, for once, instead of disregarded to the side. But, I’m not you.” The words tasted like poison on Jere’s tongue, because he’d never once spoken these thoughts out-loud, and he hated that he was doing it just to try and get through to Conrad. “Mom’s…so sad, all of the time. She cries herself to sleep, did you know that? I can hear her through the walls at night. They miss you.”

“I’m right here,” Conrad replied flatly. 

“You might as well not be,” Jeremiah said scathingly. “You’re like a ghost of who you used to be, Con. It’s tearing them apart.”

“They were already torn apart.” Conrad put the spliff back to his lips. “I know you like to blame me for everything that goes wrong in the world, but you can’t blame me for this one. This is on them.”

🫧

That summer, Jeremiah realised that, unlike other years, Cousins couldn’t just magically bandage the wounds of their life on the other side of the city lines. Don’t get him wrong, the second that the Conklin-Parks arrived and Belly stepped out of the car, glowing like an entirely new person, he thought that perhaps the misery cloud that had hung over Boston had finally cleared. The sun was shining, Belly was gorgeous and smiling at him, and his dad wasn’t around so Conrad wasn’t as much of an arsehole as usual.

He was still smoking and drinking, and his darkened mood had certainly caught the attention of Laurel, who had always been able to read Conrad a little better than the rest of them. Ever since that first summer after Grandad Beck’s funeral, she’d had a touch with him that even Susannah couldn’t manage. But, whether it was because of the lack of Adam or the fact that Jeremiah adored Cousins and its ability to make everything seem golden, Conrad’s mood didn’t have as much of an effect on his summer as he’d feared. 

Again, Steven Conklin was a saving grace. 

Or, perhaps, his sister was. 

The summer that Jeremiah had kissed Belly had been the first time that he’d ever noticed how much Conrad’s eyes followed Belly, even when they didn’t need to. In the years since, he hadn’t necessarily picked up on every instance, but he’d paid more attention to it. To how Conrad didn’t join in their teasing as much, handing over the stolen muffin to Belly, giving her books he thought she’d like, and teaching her things she didn’t know how to do. Whether he did it because she looked at him like he hung the moon, or to get her to look at him like that, Jere didn’t know, but he hadn’t expected the new version of Conrad to even look twice at Belly. Because he was so heartbroken over Aubrey and, in his maudlin state, had gone back to his fling with Nicole from last year. 

And yet…

When Belly crashed the bonfire and Cam Cameron kissed her outside of the Jeep, Jeremiah saw Conrad’s jaw clench in the way it had when he’d kissed her during Truth or Dare. He’d been with Nicole all night, so Jeremiah didn’t see why he’d have an issue with Belly dabbling in the romantic scene for the first time. But, even so, he glowered as she went to the drive-in with him, proceeded to drink most of the complimentary wine at Whale of a Tale, and suggested that they crash her date. Only to simply give up on the idea the second that Belly looked at him, and asked them to go. 

There was something magnetic between them that Jeremiah couldn’t name, and whatever they had was the most feeling that he’d seen out of his brother in a long time. 

Cameron hung around for a while, doting on Belly, but she couldn’t stop talking about how Conrad’s behaviour was off-kilter when they went on a muffin run, as if it was really bothering her despite having an overly sweet boy interested in her. She kept ‘forgetting’ to ask him to the deb ball, and Jeremiah had an inkling it was to do with the fact that she was still moon-eyed over Conrad, even when he was moody and snapped at everyone. 

Clearly, even when Conrad was at his worst, he would always be more loved than Jeremiah at his best. 

Because, no matter what he did to try and get Belly’s attention, she was always more interested in Conrad. It wasn’t like he was in love with her or anything but, ever since she’d stepped out of that car at the beginning of the summer, he’d understood more and more why Conrad’s gaze had always lingered on her. And, maybe a part of him wanted Belly because she had always only been attainable to Conrad. Maybe he was getting giddy with the idea that he was starting to step into the spotlight more than his brother, because of Conrad’s foul mood. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. The Fourth of July came hurtling around the corner and Conrad smiled more in the morning than he had for months, simply because Adam wasn’t going to be there. John had brought his girlfriend, Victoria, who showed them how to make pomegranate margaritas, which Belly instantly loved because they tasted just like a Slurpee. But, then, their dad did show up, and Jere watched as Conrad’s face fell. 

Selfishly, a part of him was grateful. Maybe Adam would finally stop trying with him, and realise that Jeremiah was the better son. Perhaps Cousins could fix everything that was broken. 

However, as the day unfolded and Conrad’s withering remarks cut into their dad whilst Susannah fought frustration every time her husband went near to her, it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen. Soon enough, the dark clouds of their Boston house hung over the summerhouse, like a storm threatening to break. And break, it did. 

The cake stand smashed into shattered shards on the flagstones, as his mom cowered after the fall like something inside of her was broken. Belly was taken upstairs, because it had been her overindulgence of the pomegranate margaritas that had sent her and Susannah toppling down the stone steps, and the boys started to clean up the ruined party. As he was hosing down the buffet tablecloth, Jere couldn’t quite shake the image of his parents snapping at each other after the fall. 

It had been so vicious, under the golden sun of Cousins. They weren’t supposed to argue like that in the summer. The summerhouse was a sacred place, but maybe nothing was sacred anymore. Which brought Jeremiah to thinking about whether his parents had always been falling apart, as Conrad had said weeks ago, or if it was actually just his brother’s fault.

Adam left, clapping Jeremiah on the shoulder with the promise that he’d teach him curl routes later; that they’d talk about varsity football later, even after Jere insisted he wasn’t as good as Conrad. His dad looked him in the eye as he said: 

“You’re faster than he ever was.”

But, despite that compliment that healed a fragile part of Jeremiah’s ego, he still left, meaning the firework display he’d been working on was all a waste of time. Because Steven was pursuing Shayla, tail between his legs, Laurel was nowhere to be found, his mom was asleep, Belly was disgraced, and Conrad was probably smoking in a corner somewhere. 

He went to pack all of the fireworks away but, as he was doing so, a movement caught his eye. It was Belly, clad in a swimming costume with a towel draped over her arm, padding down the dock in bare feet. Jere nearly called out, because he’d been meaning to tease her about how drunk she got earlier, but he slowly noticed that she was walking down the dock towards someone. Conrad, to be exact. Of course. 

Jeremiah’s hands flexed on the firework he’d just been about to put in the box. If they were going to secretly hang out on the dock by themselves, like illicit lovers, then he could give them a firework show worth millions. He knew it wasn’t about the fireworks; that it was probably about the fact that Conrad had been acting like a dick to Belly all summer, and he was still the one she gravitated towards; that it was due to Adam leaving before doing any of the activities that he’d promised Jere they would do together; that he had unresolved resentment towards his brother for his behaviour that was tearing apart their parents. His behaviour, that still wasn’t enough for Belly to look away from him. 

But, even so, he made it about the fireworks.

Look at me, he thought, as Belly and Conrad talked quietly on the dock, their silhouettes illuminated by the fairy lights strung from each post. 

Look at me, look at me, look at me, he thought, when Conrad leant in towards Belly and she tilted her head ever-so-slightly, because they’d always been so in tune that there was no point in anyone, let alone him, trying to learn the notes. 

Look at me, goddamnit, he thought, as his fingers released the firework and it exploded in the sky. Conrad and Belly jumped away from each other like they’d been personally hit, and a slow crawl of satisfaction curled in his stomach. Because it wasn’t fair of Conrad to act the way he was, and still get what he wanted; who he wanted, and—

Conrad and Belly were looking at each other again, as the firework popped and crackled above. 

Jeremiah grappled for another firework, but he was too late. Conrad had already surged forward, kissing Belly with the reckless abandon of a man who was so accustomed to getting what he wanted; a man who had always been the boy that everyone loved more, even if he was acting differently. Belly was kissing him back with every bit of enthusiasm that she’d always had, moon-eyed as she was over Conrad, and Jeremiah gave up. 

Because nothing could get in the way of their love. 

Not even fireworks. If anything, the explosion above only fuelled them even more.  

🫧

Weeks later, Jere found out that his mom was dying. 

His vision swam before him as his hand trembled around the phone, the email about the trial blurring into nothingness. So this was…this was why Susannah had been so tired all summer, yet insisting that they have the best time of their lives. This was why his parents had been arguing so much, and his dad had left on the Fourth. This was why their house had been so miserable, even when Conrad and Jeremiah hadn’t known. 

Conrad. Jere ran like the wind, charging through the double doors into the ballroom. The grandeur of this place, from the glitzy chandeliers and delicate white tablecloths to the boys in tuxedos with slicked-back hair and the girls twirling in dresses, paled in comparison to all of this. Jeremiah caught a glimpse of his mom (had her wrists always been that bony?), but he couldn’t look; he wouldn’t look at her, because maybe she would disintegrate into ashes on the spot. He had to find—

“Conrad!”

His brother turned, from where he’d been enraptured by Belly. “Not right now, Jere—”

“Yes, right now,” Jeremiah said fiercely. “We need to talk, okay? I found something out. It’s about Mom.”

Conrad glanced at Belly, glowing in her debutante dress, and then back at his brother. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?” he said diplomatically, making an executive decision for them like he always did. 

Jere didn’t even have the breath in his lungs to be angry. Conrad was at a ball with Belly, of course he didn’t want to be interrupted, but this was—this was their mommy. The words felt like they’d been torn from his throat: “No, it’s important.”

Conrad reached for him, an indescribable emotion burning in his eyes, and it was then that Jeremiah knew. “It’s okay,” his brother said to him. Softly. But, Jere couldn’t focus on the cadence of his voice, or the gentleness of his hand on his chest, because—because—this meant…did this mean that…

“You already know, don’t you?” Jeremiah questioned, voice raw. He felt like he was spinning, his brain swirling into a waltz without his permission. He was three all over again, being plonked down next to his mom because he didn’t have a choice in whether he wanted to play or not—Adam and Conrad had made that decision for him. He was standing in a ballroom, desperate to tell his older brother about their mom dying, but Conrad had—Conrad had—

“You’ve known this whole fucking time and you didn’t tell me?” Jere spat, anger roaring up inside of his body and ripping away all of the anguish he was feeling. It ate away at the despair, crushing it into pure incandescent rage that bubbled through his blood, sending his fist flying at Conrad’s face without even letting him finish whispering his name. Then, before Conrad could even hit back, Jeremiah dove for him, sending the two of them crashing to the ground. 

Bony-limbed, red-faced, and teary-eyed. So similar, yet so different. 

Because everything came back to how they were as brothers; how they’d been pitted against each other until Jeremiah didn’t know who he was without competing for attention over Conrad; until he didn’t know how everyone could look at Conrad and see this iridescent light, when all he saw was his shadow stretching behind him for Jere to walk in, then trip because he would never fit. Because Conrad had known about their mom, and he hadn’t told Jeremiah because he clearly thought he was so much better than him, and that his stupid, inadequate brother didn’t deserve to know that Susannah was literally dying. 

Everything had built up to this. 

To Jeremiah finding out about their mom and not even hesitating before running towards Conrad, only for him to turn his back. To try and comfort him, because he’d already known. He’d known all summer. Since April, probably. That was probably why he’d split up with Aubrey and why he’d quit football. Why he’d acted like an alien version of the brother that Jeremiah had always looked up to. 

And yet, he’d still got the girl. Jeremiah could’ve bet that he’d told Belly, too, because they were sickeningly in love, and Jere could bury himself in flings but he’d never find anything that would match up to Conrad and Belly. He could try constantly to be favoured by their dad, but he’d always been shoved to the side. He’d always be left in the dark, even if he thought he was his Mom’s special sunshine boy. 

So, he punched, despite the shrieks around them. He shoved, even though Conrad didn’t shove back. They rolled around like animals and, regardless of everything, a small part of Jere wondered if their dad would compare their form. If, at the end, there would be a winner out of the two of them. Jere knew who it would be, if there was one. 

Take a bow, Conrad. 

Susannah broke them apart, eventually. She stood there, furious, but all Jeremiah could think about was how, soon, she wouldn’t be able to stand up. How she would struggle to be angry when she was restricted to her sick bed. 

“Mom?” His voice broke.

“We know, Mom,” Conrad added, his teary eyes and red face mirroring Jere’s. “We both know.”

So similar, yet so different. 

(Later, when the chaos had died down, under the glow of the TV light, though, they were one and the same. They weren’t young adults arguing over girls, digging their claws into where it hurt. They weren’t even competitive brothers racing against each other in everything they did. 

They were just two little boys, being cradled by their mom, as they begged for her not to leave them).

🫧

The last time Jeremiah Fisher saw his brother cry, it was when Susannah died. 

He was the one that found her, because he was the one that was home when Conrad wasn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to banish the sight of his mom lying there, completely lifeless, and he broke down in Laurel’s arms before she even had the time to call anyone. Conrad was there by lunchtime, pale and shaken. He didn’t even look at Jere before he ran upstairs, like he wouldn’t quite believe it was true until he saw Susannah with his own eyes. 

Then, after a long stretch of time, he came downstairs. 

“Jere…” was all he needed to say, tears clogging his vision, before Jeremiah held him in a hug so tight that it could’ve broken all of their bones. Not that either of them would’ve cared, at that moment. 

In that moment, everything that had passed between them faded. 

They were just two brothers, wondering if they could even call themselves sons anymore if their mom was dead.

They’d drifted apart once Conrad went to Brown and, even though he did try to come home every chance he got, Jere just personally didn’t think it was enough. He understood that Conrad was at college, and maybe a small part of him was envious that he didn’t have to be in a house that was slowly dying all around them as Susannah did, but the resentment only built. How was it fair that Conrad got to escape the sound of their mom’s breath wheezing through the walls; that he got to take little road trips with Belly in the snow, whilst Jeremiah had to feed Susannah through a straw?

Conrad had actually broken up with Belly shortly after her prom but, still, Jere didn’t see him cry. He’d have to actually see him in order for that to happen and, after they broke up, Conrad practically avoided him. Almost like he knew that Jeremiah would give him shit for it, because a small part of him was still mourning the fact that he hadn’t been able to try anything with Belly, due to her not being able to rip her eyes away from Conrad. 

They got back together at the funeral, which Jeremiah personally thought was a pretty sick and twisted thing for them to do. Conrad claimed that they didn’t actually get properly back together until they were all trying to save the summer house, but Jere didn’t know what he was supposed to believe anymore. Especially because Conrad had told Belly about the house being sold before he could even find out. He’d walked into the kitchen to see them making out on the island instead of snatching up their phones to let everyone know that their safe haven was on the market.

In the end, the house was saved, and everyone was happier. Steven and Taylor got together, and Conrad went off to Stanford, but he and Belly were just as lovesick as they’d been the first time around. To Jere, it truly seemed like nothing could get in their way. 

Everyone was happier, except for him. 

He went to Finch and lost himself in frat life, drinking away his loneliness and bitterly picking up calls from Adam, only for him to constantly talk about how well Conrad was doing at Stanford. He didn’t speak to Conrad, not really, unless the situation demanded it (birthdays and holidays), but, if you were to ask him why, Jeremiah wouldn’t necessarily have a solid reason. 

“We’re just not close,” he told Bethany, a girl he was hooking up with. 

“He’s on the other side of the country,” he told Laurel, when she questioned why Conrad had mentioned that Jere didn’t return his calls or respond to his texts. 

“I hate him,” he slurred, once, to Redbird as his frat brother handed him a spliff. 

Belly followed Conrad to California when she went off to college, enrolling at UCSC, but Jeremiah still kept in touch with her. It wasn’t fair to punish her for her boyfriend’s mistakes. Sometimes, Belly would phone him to check how he was, and Jere knew that whatever he was telling her was probably being fed back to Conrad, but he missed seeing her every summer, so he honestly didn’t mind. Besides, a part of him wanted Conrad to know how he was doing; wanted him to know that he wasn’t throwing his life away, no matter what Adam might’ve thought. 

“He misses you, you know,” Belly told him, on a call, halfway through Jere’s junior year. 

“I don’t care,” Jeremiah said. 

“Really? You’re telling me you don’t miss him, too? He’s your brother, Jere.”

“That didn’t mean an awful lot to him when he continued to keep secrets from me,” he replied stubbornly. Every day, his reason for ‘hating’ Conrad changed, and it was even tiring him out. God knows what everyone else was thinking. 

“Jere, that was years ago. Do you not think you could even consider talking to him?”

“I do talk to him,” Jeremiah protested. Because he did. He’d matured slightly. He liked Conrad’s messages. He sent him reels. He just continued to screen his calls, and avoided speaking to him at family events outside of polite small talk. Conrad never stopped trying to get through to him, and his determination actually pissed Jere off more. Because he didn’t have the right to try and be there for Jeremiah now, when he hadn’t been there when it mattered. 

“Sending him reels doesn’t count, Jere,” Belly said witheringly. 

“Don’t tell me you’re pissed off at me, too,” Jeremiah whined. 

“Of course I am!” Belly snapped. “You’re ignoring Conrad for a series of petty reasons, and it’s tearing him apart. You need to grow up, Jere, otherwise you’re going to continue to lose the people that care about you.”

As much as Belly’s words struck him, Jeremiah still didn’t respond to Conrad’s calls. He texted him a little bit more, instead of leaving him on read. He agreed to go on a skiing trip with Adam and Conrad in the Christmas of his senior year but, as the week approached, Jeremiah realised how much he was dreading it. He didn’t want to spend a week with two of the men who never failed to make him feel inadequate. He cancelled, right at the last minute, and went out for drinks with Steven instead. 

“You’re fucked up,” Steven told him. “Conrad was really looking forward to that trip. To spend time with you, even though you’ve made it very clear that you hate his guts for whatever reason.”

“Wow, do you hate me as well?” Jeremiah blew out a breath. 

Steven eyed him tiredly. He’d just recently broken up with Taylor—the two of them were so on and off that it actually hurt Jeremiah’s head to keep count. “I don’t hate you, Jere. But, I do think that you need to talk to Conrad more than you do. Being distant like this, it’s…it’s not what your mom would’ve wanted.”

Jeremiah glared. “You have no right to talk to me about what my mom would’ve wanted.”

“Okay.” Steven shrugged. “I just would love to know why you’re avoiding Conrad, when all he’s ever tried to do is smooth things over and make things right.”

“Ah yes, because he’s so perfect, isn’t he?” 

“Is that what this is about?” Steven popped a chip into his mouth. 

“What?”

“Your inferiority complex. Is that why you’ve been barely talking to Conrad all these years?”

“I don’t have an inferiority complex,” Jeremiah said automatically. But, as he did so, he couldn’t help but think about how he always felt around Conrad, because of the way Adam had pitted them against each other. “What would I have to feel inferior about?”

“Jere…” Steven shifted his seat further towards him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, because she’s my sister and this is…gross. But, I know you liked Belly—”

“What? I—”

“I’m not saying I know to what extent. I don’t know if you even liked her for your own reasons or just because Conrad had her, and you’ve always wanted what Conrad wants. But, you cared about the fact that she and Conrad got together. The year that your mom was sick, you constantly ranted to me about how Conrad was always spending time with her. I don’t know if it was because you were jealous that she wasn’t hanging out with you, or if it was your complicated emotions towards Conrad—”

“Shut the fuck up, Steven.” Jeremiah scraped back his chair. “You’re right. You don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t sit there and act like you do.”

In the New Year, Steven moved to San Francisco for his new company. If they were still talking, Jere might have teased him about the fact that he’d turned down a promotion at Breaker to set up his business in the very city that Taylor had gone to for college. But, seeing as Steven had barely responded to him since their spat over Christmas, Jeremiah didn’t. 

He just stayed right where they’d all left him for the West Coast. 

A few months into Steven living in California, Belly started becoming slower with her replies, too. As if they’d all unanimously decided to cut Jere out of their lives. Maybe it was self-inflicted. Perhaps they had just had enough of his bullshit; of the fact that he now refused to properly talk to either Steven or Conrad. But, Belly airing him stung. It hurt him, more than he wanted to admit. 

Because she might have been moon-eyed over Conrad all their lives, and had never looked twice at him, but she’d always been his friend, even when he’d lost more and more people. And now, it seemed that Conrad was capable of taking one more person away from him. Conrad always got what he wanted so, if he didn’t want Belly to talk to Jeremiah, then that was that. It was done. 

Everyone had picked Conrad over Jeremiah. 

It was black and white, really. 

Adam had always preferred Conrad. Conrad had known about Susannah before Jere had. Belly had always loved Conrad, never Jeremiah. Steven had been his friend first, and yet he’d still taken Conrad’s side. 

And Jeremiah was sick of it. 

So, in a drunken blur, he booked a flight to California. He slept for the entire flight, and arrived in SJC airport in the middle of the night, bleary-eyed and red-faced. Despite everything that had gone down, he still had Conrad’s location, and he could see that he was somewhere on the West Side of Santa Cruz, presumably visiting Belly. He hopped in a rental, the darkness wrapping around his hangover, and popped Derby Park in his GPS as his Find-My-Friends was showcasing Conrad’s blue dot in that area. 

He tapped his fingers on the wheel. He didn’t even know what he was going to say to him. Demand an apology, maybe? Ask Conrad if he thought he was better than him? If he took pleasure in always being the one that people wanted, whilst Jeremiah was shunted to the side?

The roads were quiet at this time of night, but the rain was slashing down as if he’d wronged the sky. He couldn’t quite see where he was going at one point, so he did the sensible thing and pulled over, flicking his hazard lights on, and checking how far away he was from Conrad’s location. He was pretty close so, after parking on a quiet street of suburban houses that he’d most likely get a ticket for, he decided to do the rest of his journey on foot. 

In his rush to leave Massachusetts, he hadn’t brought a raincoat. It was supposed to be hot in California, right? Especially in late June. 

His hoodie was completely soaked through by the time he was a few minutes in, and he nearly considered turning around and going home. Or, at the very least, booking himself into a motel nearby until the rain had passed. 

Jeremiah laughed ironically at the thought. Years ago, after Conrad had passed his Stanford entrance exam, he’d driven himself, Belly and Jere home, and it had been the worst journey of Jeremiah’s life because he’d had to third-wheel them the entire time. A storm had shut down the highway, and there had only been one room at the motel that they grabbed. Jere had wondered if the stress of the situation would make Belly and Conrad argue, but they’d been like glue the entire time. He’d had one conversation—one!—with Belly, where he’d asked her:

“Are you sure he’s not going to break your heart again?”

She’d looked at him, dead in the eye, and said, “I’ve never been more certain of anything, or anyone, in my life than I have been of Conrad.”

“He’s not all that, you know,” Jere had spat. “He’s got his faults.”

“I know,” Belly had replied simply. “But, when you love someone, Jere, you love them for everything that they are. Their best and worst parts.”

Now, Jere sat down on a nearby wall and thought about how he’d never felt that way about anyone. He’d always found it easier to blame people for their actions, as opposed to thinking about why they might’ve done it. Maybe that was why he had such a vendetta against Conrad. Because, if he had to think about why his brother had acted in certain ways in the past, he would have to look at himself, too. 

They were cut from the same cloth, after all. 

If Conrad had foundations for his faults, then so did Jere. 

So similar, yet so different. 

He kicked the wall as he scooped his phone out to look at which direction he was heading in. With any luck, even if the fight had been drained out of him, Conrad would let him in. He’d look after him. Because, even though Jeremiah would never want to admit it, Conrad was a better person than him. 

But, as he glanced at his phone, the battery suddenly died. He was all alone, in a random Santa Cruz neighbourhood, with no phone battery, no car, no possessions, and no raincoat. 

He’d never felt more helpless. 

At the sound of distant traffic, Jeremiah looked up. There was a truck right at the very end of the road, only distinguishable through the rain by its enormous headlights. Maybe he could get a ride from this truck driver, if they were feeling kind. He ambled over to the side of the pavement, squinting in the distance to spot how far away the vehicle was, and stuck out his arm. Through the slashes of rain, he could see someone on a bicycle approaching from another suburban street that stretched off the main road. A bicycle wouldn’t be of much use to him, but perhaps he could use the person’s phone?

Jere looked at the truck, then he looked at the bicycle. Did he want a ride from a stranger, or did he want to phone someone who could come and pick him up? He had Conrad’s number written down on a contact card in his wallet—their mom had made them carry them around, in case of emergencies. He looked at the truck again, because he really didn’t want to have to phone Conrad, but then he looked back at the bicycle because a small part of him would always be that little boy wanting to play with his big brother. 

The bicycle was closer to him than the truck. He looked again. Wait, wasn’t that—

“Belly?” He shouted. It was Belly, on the bicycle, rain plastered to her face as a bag of groceries swung from the handle. “Belly!” He was waving now, because he didn’t care about a truck possibly taking him to Conrad, when his brother’s girlfriend was right there. “Belly!” He yelled again and, as she turned onto the main road, she finally heard him. 

He watched as the confusion on her face cleared into shock, then blitzed into concern. Her mouth formed his name, “Jere?” but he couldn’t quite hear her over the sound of the truck approaching. 

Jeremiah waved again. “Belly! It’s me! Jeremiah!” 

It was a true testament to Belly’s friendship that she didn’t think twice before turning her bicycle towards him, quickly exiting the cycle lane with a frantic look on her face. He must’ve looked a right state. She clambered off her bicycle, luminous bands on her raincoat shimmering under the glow of the crossing, and hurried towards him. “Jeremiah, what are you—”

Time stood still. 

Everything that happened next seemed to occur in slow motion. 

Because, as Belly wheeled her bike towards him over the pedestrian crossing, the truck didn’t slow down, as per the rules of the road. She’d nearly made it. He stood to greet her, arms wide open for a hug, because he may have been here to pick a fight with her boyfriend, but he’d always be glad to see Belly. Especially when he was feeling so lonely that he’d nearly hitched a ride with a truck driver. 

She was nearly there. Rain plastered to her forehead. A hesitant smile on her face. 

But, the truck didn’t stop. 

At least, not at first. 

Then, as if the driver had only just spotted Belly at the last second, he hit the brakes. A horrendous screeching noise caterwauled through the streets as the truck swerved. 

But, he didn’t swerve left, towards the cycle lane. He skidded towards the right, the rain-soaked road spinning his wheels so that he couldn’t brake properly. 

And Jeremiah watched, frozen to the spot with horror, as Belly Conklin was slammed into the pole of the pedestrian crossing. The truck shuddered to a stop, the driver lurching towards his windshield, and Belly hit the ground with a sickening crunch. 

🫧

Sutter Urgent Care was out of a nightmare.

Jeremiah genuinely felt like he was outside of his body as he rushed into the emergency sector, legs moving as quickly as they possibly could. He’d been numb the entire time in the ambulance, as Conrad questioned the paramedics frantically about what exactly they were going to do to Belly, who had been strapped into a stretcher, with a bright orange neck brace. She was soaked to the bone, with her knee sticking out at a horrible angle, her chest was twisted and swollen, and her face was deathly pale, blood gushing from a wound on her head.

Or, maybe that was just the rain making it gush. 

Jeremiah chose to believe that it was the rain. He wasn’t the doctor here—that was Conrad who, after appearing on the scene once Jere had shakingly phoned him from Belly’s mobile, had barely spoken to him. Not because he hated the sight of his brother (though Jere was sure that questions would follow), but because he was shell-shocked and panicking over his girlfriend, who had been the only survivor out of the crash. The truck driver had died before the ambulance even arrived.

“...Patient has broken ribs but no PTX, an ACL tear in right knee, and a severe head injury with a possible intracranial bleeding…” The paramedic wheeled Belly’s stretcher towards awaiting nurses. 

“Wh–what does that mean?” Jeremiah asked Conrad, but his focus was on the nurses.

“She needs a physician! Where are your physicians?” 

“Mr Fisher, I can assure you that we are taking care of—”

“Physician, now!” Conrad shouted, face pale and eyes bloodshot. He hadn’t cried yet, probably because he was still reeling from Jeremiah phoning him to seeing his girlfriend on a stretcher. “Are you taking her into surgery? I think she’ll need to go straight into—”

“Con, they know what they’re doing,” Jeremiah tried hoarsely, reaching for his brother. 

Conrad shook him off. “So do I. Where—where are you—” He rushed after Belly, sprinting down the hallway to follow her. A doctor intercepted him before he could push through the double doors that her stretcher and medical team had disappeared through. 

“You can’t go in here,” he said. 

Conrad gritted his teeth. “I know. I’m—for fuck’s sake, I’m a med student. Can I not just—I can join in, please. I’ll help. Give me some scrubs—”

“Sir, in that case, you know it’s not possible unless you’re authorised. Please just let my colleagues do their job. We’ll keep you updated.”

With that, he disappeared into the emergency room after Belly. Conrad paced, but didn’t shove his way through the doors like Jeremiah half-expected him to do. Clearly, there was some modicum of doctor’s code that he was honouring. He started muttering to himself, running his hands through his hair, and Jere approached him cautiously, in the way that you would with a wounded animal. 

“Con…”

“Can you call Laurel?” The look in Conrad’s eyes was wild as he turned to Jeremiah. “Steven and John, too. I just—I, shit, I completely forgot to. Can you—”

“My phone is dead.”

“Your phone is—” Conrad blew out a breath, fishing out his own phone. “I’ll do it, then.”

“No, Conrad, I can—”

“I think you’ve done enough, actually, Jere. You can go home now,” Conrad snapped. 

“I—” Jeremiah’s words died in his throat. 

Because, yes, he had been there at the scene, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. Right? He wasn’t to blame; he couldn’t be at fault, because then that meant if anything happened to Belly, then it was because he—because he—

He shook his head to rid his mind of the thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about himself, for once. “She’s my friend too,” he said firmly. “Let me phone Laur and Steven. And John. You stay right here, in case there’s any updates, okay?”

Conrad only nodded, lips pressed firmly together, as Jeremiah steeled himself to break the news to Belly’s family, who were also his family, in everything but blood. It wasn’t the nicest feeling to call people off Conrad’s phone, because they were all obviously disappointed when they heard Jeremiah’s voice instead of Conrad’s. But, when he was able to force the words out with a calmness that he did not feel, none of that mattered anymore. 

All that mattered was Belly, and if she was going to be okay. 

Barely half an hour later, Steven charged into the ER, and Jeremiah tried not to care when he flew at Conrad, clasping him into a tight hug. He thought absently that anyone watching would think they were brothers whereas, if they were to observe the way that Conrad was straight-up ignoring Jere’s many attempts at conversation, they would probably be surprised to hear that they shared the same DNA. 

The night stretched on, and Jere grabbed coffees for all three of them because Steven had managed to convince Conrad into a chair in the waiting room. Not that he stayed seated. He kept pacing back and forth, asking any doctor he saw if there was any update. 

“No news is good news,” Steven told him, desperately trying to put on a brave face. 

“That’s just a myth,” Conrad murmured, biting down on his nails. 

Shortly after Steven arrived, Taylor did, too, with a backpack. Jeremiah had momentarily forgotten that they all lived within miles of each other. The second that she saw him, she did a double-take, and he was reminded, once again, that most of the people in his life were not his biggest fans. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, once she’d clarified from Steven that there was no update.

“I was—I was—” Jeremiah couldn’t get the words out. 

“Jere was at the scene,” Conrad inputted numbly. “He has still yet to tell me why.”

“Because you won’t talk to me!” Jeremiah blurted out childishly. 

Conrad glared at him. “My girlfriend is currently in critical condition. Grow up, Jere.”

The comment stung but, as Jeremiah went to retort, Steven pushed him back down into his chair with an expression so viciously severe that it almost didn’t fit on his face. “Leave it,” he hissed.

Jeremiah left the waiting room, and wandered around the hospital for a bit to get his mind off the fact that Belly could be dying through those double doors, and there was nothing that any of them—not even Conrad, who was better than everyone—could do about it. He still had no charge on his phone, because he hadn’t dared to ask if anyone had brought a portable charger with them, and he longed for a beer to drown out the guilt knifing at his brain. 

What if it was his fault?

What if his resentment of Conrad had finally led to something drastic? And, if it had, what did it say about him that it had taken an accident of this magnitude to pop his hateful bubble?

By the time that Jere got back, Conrad and Steven were gone. Only Taylor remained, her knee bouncing up and down, as she scrolled through her phone without truly looking at it.

“What happened? Where have they gone?” Jeremiah rushed towards her.

“Belly’s okay,” Taylor said, voice wobbling. “I’m not sure of all the medical terms, but they had to pull out all of the stops to keep her alive. She’s in a coma, but she’s stable. For now, at least. Conrad and Steven are with her. They said only family at the minute.”

“But, Con isn’t—” 

“C’mon, Jere,” Taylor interrupted tiredly. “He’s been her boyfriend for five years.”

“Four.”

“What?”

“They broke up after her prom, didn’t they? Didn’t get back together until the summer, so it’s only been four complete years.”

Taylor gave him a look. “Is that really where your mind is at, right now? You’re pathetic.”

Jeremiah fell asleep soon after that conversation, and was shaken awake by Steven, who informed him that their parents had arrived. He offered to take him back to his place in San Francisco because he was driving back to grab some essentials for himself, and Jere took him up on it. It wasn’t like he was much use at the hospital, especially as he didn’t think he’d be able to face the state of Belly in a coma. 

He’d talk to her when she woke up. 

🫧

Belly didn’t wake up. 

Isabel Conklin did. Isabel, who didn’t remember anything from age eleven onwards. Isabel, who originally started speaking in French before her brain remembered that English was her first language. Isabel, who had so much history with everyone who was waiting in the hospital, but could only remember her direct family. 

She was transferred directly to UCSF Neurorecovery Clinic in San Francisco because it was one of the best medical centres for neurological injuries. She had to be sedated whenever she saw someone she didn’t know—in the early days, she would freak out at the simple sight of a different nurse than the one she was used to. They diagnosed her with permanent retrograde amnesia and, when Conrad told him, Jeremiah felt like he’d been hit on the head. 

“What does that mean?”

“I–it means…” Conrad looked so tired. Jere had the fleeting memory of how exhausted and broken Susannah had looked, towards the end, and thought that his brother might’ve even looked worse. Because he was still standing; still talking; still breathing. But, something had died inside of him. He didn’t have the luxury of passing away. 

He cleared his throat. “It means that she doesn’t remember us. There’s a void in her brain from roughly ages eleven to twenty one, Laurel said.”

“But…” Jeremiah’s voice was hoarse. “We met her when she was ten.”

Conrad shrugged, eyes vacant. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t remember us.”

“Not even…a little part of her? She loves you, Conrad,” Jeremiah said. In the devastation of the aftermath, he didn’t even have it in himself to care about that anymore. It was such a petty, pathetic thing to be hung up about, when Belly had severe head trauma and didn’t remember the past decade. 

Conrad made a noise that was halfway between a whimper and a scream. He closed his eyes, silent tears seeping down his cheeks. “No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t remember meeting me, let alone loving me. She doesn’t remember our life together. She doesn’t remember, Jere! It’s all gone! From her brain. Zapped. It’s like I never even existed.”

And, right there, Conrad fell to his knees with the devastation of what he was saying. He howled with the grief of everything he’d built with Belly because now it had all tumbled down, and there was no salvaging. “Jere…” His name bubbled out on a tremulous sob that choked him. “She doesn’t remember me, Jere. Everything is destroyed.”

“Maybe—maybe she’ll make a recovery. Maybe not all is lost—” Jeremiah babbled desperately, reaching for his older brother as everything that had made Conrad’s walls impenetrable crashed at their feet, flooding into rubble.

“Jere, no, no, no, no….she doesn’t remember…she doesn’t remember…”

Jeremiah caught him in his arms as he sobbed, like he’d seen Adam and Susannah do so many times. But, this grief was too large. Conrad writhed against the force of having lost someone who was still alive. And the blame painted Jere’s hands, caking them like wet sand sticking to clammy palms. There was nothing he could do with it, though. He wrapped the guilt around Conrad’s grief, a flimsy bandage to his gaping wounds. 

Against his will, Jeremiah thought of how Adam had once called Conrad my little soldier. He’d been referencing the capturing of land and the adventure that awaited them, of course. But, now, with Conrad coming apart at the seams like a puppet whose strings had been cut, all Jeremiah could liken him to was that of a fallen soldier. 

A fallen soldier who’d just lost the love of his life.

Who didn’t always get what he wanted, after all. 

Nothing was supposed to get in the way of their love, Jeremiah thought, almost hysterically, as he clutched Conrad to him, watching him cry for the first time since their mom had died. 

But, some tragedies are built up slowly, like a house of cards. A sandcastle is destroyed, and one card is placed. A drawing is thrown away, a toy is confiscated, a magic show is skipped, and the foundations are cemented. A girl is kissed but not secured, a family is torn apart despite already being broken, and a one-sided resentment is the final touch. 

Then, all it takes is for someone to blow air in the wrong direction. 

And a life full of love crumbles into tiny grains of sand, with no sign of anything built, as the breeze whispers…

Look at me, look at me, look at me…