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her eyes practically begging me to give in to Mason and stop the feud. I wondered if she knew what Mason had done, how Mason had—
    Mason leaned forward and glared as he barked, "Don't look at her like that. And yes, I told her all about me. How I'm the devil who destroyed your life and Mamma's. How I killed my best friend." She gripped his arm, tugging on it and pleading with him to stop. "She knows it all."
    They stared at each other, and I believed him that they had talked about it. It looked like they had talked about it plenty, in fact, but I could also tell she kissed his boo-boos and made him think that it was all okay.
    But it wasn't.
    I chugged my root beer and grabbed both pieces of toast, wrapped them in a napkin and stuck them in my pocket, scooting down the bench seat. "I'm out of here."
    "Will you just eat, Milo," Mason said in exasperation. "I'm not going to make you come home. Just eat."
    "You couldn't make me," I spat. I stood and leaned right in his face with my palms on the table. "Always trying to run my life. Good ol' Mason." I saw him flinch slightly at that. He stood, too, licking his lips angrily in an attempt to calm himself. "I hate you so much. You killed our mother."
    "Our mother is alive," he replied loudly.
    People in the restaurant were now privy to our conversation, but I went even louder. "What she is isn't alive! When she doesn't even remember me?"
    "She remembers you," he countered.
    "Not in the right way."
    "She remembers you in the most important way. In the only way that truly matters."
    "What could be worse than her not remembering me as I am?"
    "Not remembering you at all," Emma said, barely. She looked up, her eyes dark. "When I woke up from my coma, I didn't remember anyone. Not my parents, or my friends, even the guy I had been dating. I still don't." Mason sighed, as if all of this was exhausting. "It could be worse, Milo. She could not remember you at all."
    "Doesn't matter," I steamed ahead, unwilling to let them deter me. "The fact is that you ruined my mom. It's pointless to even go see her because she won't remember I've been there."
    "Doesn't matter," he spouted back at me. "Doesn't negate the fact that you should come see her."
    "Ooh," I mocked. "Using big words on little high school drop-out Milo. Whatever."
    I turned to go, scratching my cold neck and feeling the rawness of my skin begin to set in. He grabbed my arm and before I knew it, I was looking at Mason holding his jaw as he leaned back against the table. Emma fussed over the blood coming from his lip with a napkin. I hadn't even realized I hit him until my hand started to ache. The entire diner was watching us with these looks of disgust on their faces. Well, they were watching me.
    I shook out my fingers, wincing but not regretting it. I turned to go once more and heard Mason from behind me. "I love you, bro." That stopped me in my tracks. I didn't turn around. "I love you, and I know you won't ever forgive me. It took me a long time to forgive me. I would still hate me if Emma hadn't come along and showed me that I couldn't blame myself forever. It was an accident, nothing but. I not only lost my best friend that day because he wouldn't listen to me and drove anyway, and my mom, the way she was, but I lost you, too. I take care of Mom; I became a physical therapist to take care of her. But you, I don't know what to do for you, Milo. I don't know how to help you. If you ever need anything or want to come home, the door's always wide open. Always. I love you, even if you can't love me back."
    I hated the fact that he made me want to turn around, to make-up and forget everything that happened.
    I hated him. I hated all he'd done. I hated how he tried to reconcile every time I saw him. And I hated that he was getting this great, perfect little life with a wife and probably kids on day.
    I didn't look back again as I weaved through the tables on my way out. He yelled my name and something about giving me some money. I