Blake looks up and narrows his eyes when he sees me. “What’s this, your shrine to yourself?”

“No,” I say.

“Then what?”

“They’re just pictures. I like looking at them. Why do you care?”

Blake looks closer at them. “Do you remember any of these? I do.” It’s a challenge.

My stomach hurts. “I remember the sno-cone machine. You drank the syrup straight from the little bottles.” It’s a terrible lie, I know, but I just need him to chill. I need him to chill, and I need to get as much distance between us as possible.

He looks skeptical. “I did not.”

“You did. You were really little, so maybe you don’t remember.” Ha.

“All right, then, what else?”

I’m tempted to make up more, but I have a feeling nothing will satisfy him. Besides, I have nothing to prove. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

“You,” he says in a low voice. “There’s something about you that’s not quite right. Something sneaky.” He pauses, measuring me with his eyes, a little nervous, even. And then he says it. “You’re not Ethan.”

Fuck. I can’t believe how much the accusation hurts, even though I knew it was coming. I can’t even argue against it because it doesn’t make any sense. “Blake,” I say in an even voice, “you were four. You’re not going to remember it the way it really was.” I can feel my face getting red, and I fight off the anger. “Whether you like it or not, I’m Ethan De Wilde. Brother to the biggest asshole on the planet.” I turn, walk to my room, and close the door quietly, although I want to slam it.

Dad looks up from his spot on the floor, where he’s fighting with a wrench. “Almost done,” he says, grunting. “Then we can get your mattress on and get your dresser and desk down here.”

I smile as brightly as I can manage, but I’m still pissed off. To tell the truth, I feel like shit. Dad doesn’t notice. He turns his attention back to the bed again. I sit down on the floor near him and pull my knees up. “Dad?” My throat starts to ache.

He stops and looks up. “Yes?”

My face twists and I choke the words out. “I know what’s up with Blake. He just said it to my face.”

Dad frowns, concerned, and then his eyes soften and he sets the wrench down. He shuffles on his knees over to where I’m sitting and looks me in the eye. He shakes his head a little, sighs deeply, and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Oh, buddy,” he says. “I am so sorry.”

And then I lose it. Dad comes closer and we’re hugging awkwardly on the floor, and I’m cough-sobbing stupidly into his shoulder, and he’s patting my back. And even though I think he wants to try to give excuses for Blake and his issues, he doesn’t. He just tries to comfort me in his own awkward way. That’s about the coolest thing he could do.

I’m stretched out on my bed, sun streaming in through my window, trying to enjoy my privacy and trying not to think about what a prick Blake is, when I hear a knock on glass. I hop out of my room and there’s Cami, standing at the walk-out slider door, holding a sled. Her face is glowing and she’s hatless, her coat open at the neck. She’s like a model for a snow commercial or something.

“Come out!” she shouts through the glass.

I unlock the door and open it. “Hey!”

“It’s warm today—almost above freezing! Let’s go sledding over at the big hill.” Her eyes shine, and as much as I hate the cold, I can’t say no.

“Do you have a sled for me?”

“Don’t you have one?”

“I have no idea—I’ll ask.” I still feel like such a visitor here sometimes. “Meet you in the driveway.”

I take the stairs two at a time and find Mama at the table paying bills and Gracie flopped back dramatically in her chair, probably whining about something.

“Do we have sleds, Mama?” I ask.

She doesn’t look up. “Don’t you have homework?”

“I can do it tonight or tomorrow. Can I go sledding with Cami? It’s nice out for once.”

“Fine,” she says, distracted.

“I want to go!” Gracie shouts. “Please please please, Efan.”

I scowl. “No. You’re too little.”

Mama looks up. “Oh, that would be a big help if you’d take her. I’m doing taxes.” She flips through her checkbook and writes something down. “Just make sure you stay with her at all times. Gracie, no wandering off, you promise?”

I look at Gracie. She’s grinning.

“All right,” I say, relenting, but I’m thinking there goes my chance at having some time alone with Cami. “Do we have a sled, Macie?”

Gracie giggles. “It’s Gracie!”

“Okay, Lacie.”

“No no, it’s Facie!”

“Whoever you are, get your coat on and let’s go.”

Gracie marches to get her junk on, and I go dig around in the garage with Cami and find sleds.

“Sorry, I got suckered into babysitting.”

She grins. “Ah, well. Gracie’s not too bad for a little kid. Could be worse.”

“Could be Blake,” I mutter.

Cami laughs. “Has he gotten over his paranoia yet?”

“No. It’s getting worse.”

She shakes her head. “Poor guy.”