Jimmy McHale lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room, the yellow lamplight pooling across the faded sheets. The floorboards felt cool and rough under his bare feet where they dangled off the edge of the bed. He'd been lying like this for what felt like hours, the same image playing over and over behind his eyes: Paige at the bowling alley, leaning into Johnny like she belonged there. Johnny's hand at the small of her back, natural as breathing.
The motel room next door was quiet now. He'd heard his brother come in late, the creak of the bedsprings, then nothing. Jimmy had pretended to be asleep when Johnny passed through the bathroom. It was easier that way. He didn't know what he'd say.
He'd seen it all at the bowling alley. The way Paige looked at Johnny across the lanes when she thought no one was watching. The way Johnny's jaw tightened when she got close. The way they'd disappeared into the bathroom at the motel. He wasn't stupid. He was thirteen, not blind.
His stomach turned, but not from disgust. It was something else. A kind of dread, maybe. He knew what could happen if his mom found out. What his dad would do. What Paige's parents would do. The word "groomed" floated through his head, and he pushed it away hard, like a bad taste.
He thought about Johnny in the minivan earlier that day, sitting next to Paige, their hands barely touching. His brother had looked different. Softer. Like he'd found something he didn't want to let go. Jimmy had never seen Johnny like that before.
And Paige — Paige was sweet. She laughed at Jimmy's stupid jokes. She'd let him cannonball into the pool without complaining about the splash. She was his friend, too, sort of. Not just Johnny's girl.
Jimmy rolled onto his side, staring at the wall that separated his room from Johnny's. He could hear the faint hum of the bathroom fan, the drip of a faucet. He thought about knocking, about saying something, but what would he say? "I know you're sleeping with my friend"?
The thought made him cringe. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, the fabric scratchy against his neck.
He remembered the way Paige had kissed Johnny goodbye at her front door. Right in front of everyone. His mom had gone stiff beside him, and he'd felt the tension crackle like static. But his dad had just smiled. That surprised him. His dad never smiled about stuff like that.
"I've been waiting for this," his dad had said later, clapping Johnny on the shoulder. "Your mom'll come around."
Jimmy had stood in the hallway, unseen, and watched his brother's face go red. And for a second, he'd felt something like envy. Not for Paige, exactly. For the way Johnny looked when he realized it was okay. Like a weight had lifted.
But the weight was still there for Jimmy. He carried it in his chest, heavy and tight. He knew things. He'd seen things. The way Johnny and Paige had looked at each other in the minivan, the way their breath had fogged the windows before they'd even left the parking lot back at the bowling alley in National City. That first time. He'd pretended not to notice. He'd pretended the van was just parked.
He couldn't pretend anymore.
A floorboard creaked in Johnny's room. Jimmy went still, listening. Footsteps, soft and careful. Then the click of a door closing. The bathroom light flicked off, and the motel fell into deeper silence.
Jimmy stared at the ceiling again, the crack in the plaster forming a crooked line that split the room in two. He thought about Marla. She knew, too. He'd seen her face when she covered for them, the way she lied without blinking. Marla was smarter than him, always had been. She'd made her choice.
Now it was his turn.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until colors bloomed behind his lids. He could tell. He could walk into his parents' room right now and say, "I think Johnny and Paige are doing stuff." His mom would handle the rest. There'd be yelling. There'd be rules. Johnny wouldn't see Paige for a long time, maybe ever.
But that wasn't what Johnny needed. And it wasn't what Paige needed, either.
Jimmy let his hands fall to his sides. He took a breath, slow and steady, and made his decision.
He wouldn't tell.
The word settled in his chest like a stone dropping into still water. It felt right. It felt like the thing he was supposed to do, even if it made his stomach hurt.
He'd watch instead. Not in a weird way. Just — he'd keep an eye on them. Make sure Johnny didn't do anything stupid. Make sure Paige didn't get hurt. Make sure his brother didn't ruin his life before he'd even had a chance to live it.
Jimmy rolled onto his back again, the blanket bunched under his chin. The lamp on the nightstand cast a weak yellow glow across the room, catching the dust motes floating in the still air. He listened to the quiet hum of the motel, the distant sound of a truck on the highway, the soft tick of the clock on the nightstand.
He didn't know what came next. But he knew he'd be there. Quiet. Watching. Making sure nothing bad happened to either of them, even if they never knew he was doing it.
The thought steadied him, like a hand on his shoulder. He reached over and clicked off the lamp. The room went dark, the crack in the ceiling disappearing into shadow.
Jimmy closed his eyes and let the silence settle around him.
The afternoon sun poured through the dusty windows of Jimmy's bedroom, casting long rectangles of light across the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, a comic book open in his lap that he hadn't looked at in ten minutes. The house was quiet. His mom was at the grocery store. His dad was in the garage, tinkering with something that clanked every few minutes.
A knock came at his door, soft and careful. Jimmy looked up.
"Yeah?"
The door swung open. Johnny stood in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his flannel shirt hanging open over a white t-shirt. He looked nervous. Jimmy had never seen his brother look nervous before. Not like this.
"Can I come in?"
Jimmy shrugged, closing the comic. "It's your house."
Johnny stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He stood there for a second, looking around the room like he'd never seen it before—the posters, the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, the half-built model airplane on the desk. Then he sat down on the edge of Jimmy's bed, leaving a foot of space between them.
"What's up?" Jimmy asked, his voice careful.
Johnny took a breath. Let it out. Then he said, "I know you saw stuff."
Jimmy's stomach tightened. "What stuff?"
"At the bowling alley. At the motel." Johnny's voice was low, steady. "I know you're not stupid."
Jimmy didn't say anything. He just stared at the comic book in his hands, at the crease running down the spine.
"I wanted to tell you," Johnny said. "I should've told you."
"Tell me what?" Jimmy's voice came out smaller than he wanted it to.
"That me and Paige—" Johnny stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck. "We like each other."
Jimmy looked up. "I know."
"You do?"
"I'm not blind."
Johnny let out a short laugh, almost a exhale. "Yeah. I figured." He paused. "But I wanted to say it. To you."
Jimmy turned the comic over in his hands. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Like a door that had been closed for a long time, finally cracked open.
"I know it's weird," Johnny said. "The age thing. That she's younger." He shook his head. "I thought about it a lot. I still think about it."
"Do you feel bad?" Jimmy asked.
"Sometimes." Johnny's voice was honest. "But not about her. About her, I feel—" He stopped, searching for the word. "Right. Like it's the most right thing I've ever felt."
Jimmy nodded slowly. He thought about the way Paige looked at his brother. The way she laughed at his jokes. The way she'd kissed him in front of everyone, like she didn't care who saw.
"She's nice," Jimmy said. "Paige, I mean. She's really nice."
"She is."
"And she laughs at your stupid jokes."
Johnny smiled. "She does."
"That's how you know."
Johnny laughed—a real laugh this time, warm and surprised. "Yeah. I guess so."
They sat there for a moment, the afternoon light shifting across the floor. Jimmy picked at a loose thread on his jeans, his mind turning.
"Jimmy." Johnny's voice was serious now. "I need to say something."
Jimmy looked up.
"If it wasn't for you," Johnny said, "I never would've met her."
Jimmy frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your bowling league. National City. That's where she was, Paige and Marla, watching you guys bowl. If you hadn't joined that league—if you hadn't asked me to come watch that first time—" Johnny shook his head. "I never would've seen her."
Jimmy blinked. He'd never thought about it that way. He'd just wanted his big brother there, someone to cheer him on. He hadn't known Johnny would end up meeting a girl.
"So I wanted to thank you," Johnny said. His voice was quiet, but steady. "For being the reason I met her."
Jimmy felt something warm spread through his chest. He didn't know what to say. He just nodded.
"I'm not gonna lie to you about what's happening," Johnny said. "I don't want to. You're my brother. You deserve to know."
"Does Mom know?" Jimmy asked.
"She suspects. Dad talked to her." Johnny shrugged. "She'll come around, he says."
"And if she doesn't?"
Johnny was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I'll figure it out."
Jimmy believed him.
"Are you gonna—" Jimmy stopped. Swallowed. "Are you gonna do anything stupid?"
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Define stupid."
"Like, get yourself in trouble."
Johnny's face softened. "I'm trying not to."
"Good." Jimmy picked at the thread again. "Because I don't want to have to visit you in juvie."
Johnny snorted. "Noted."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Jimmy thought about the decision he'd made the night before. The stone in his chest. The weight of choosing silence.
"I'm not gonna say anything," Jimmy said quietly.
Johnny looked at him. "What?"
"To Mom or Dad. About what I saw." Jimmy shrugged, keeping his eyes on the comic. "I figured it out myself. Last night. I decided I wouldn't tell."
Johnny was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Why?"
Jimmy thought about it. The answer came slowly, like something rising from deep water.
"Because she makes you happy," he said. "And I haven't seen you happy like that in a long time."
Johnny didn't say anything. But when Jimmy looked up, he saw something in his brother's eyes. Something wet, barely held back.
"Thanks," Johnny said. His voice cracked on the word.
Jimmy nodded. He didn't know what else to do. He wasn't good at this stuff—the talking, the feelings. He was better at jokes and cannonballs and pretending nothing was wrong.
But this felt important. Like a door opening.
"You know," Jimmy said, trying to lighten the mood, "you owe me."
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. For being your wingman. For life."
Johnny laughed. "What do you want?"
Jimmy pretended to think. "Your turn to do dishes for a month."
"Two weeks."
"Three."
"Deal."
They shook on it, and Jimmy felt the grin spreading across his face. It was stupid. It was just dishes. But it was something. A bridge between them that hadn't been there before.
Johnny stood up, stretching. "I should go. Dad wanted me to help him with the car." He paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "Jimmy."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For real."
Jimmy shrugged. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
The door closed behind Johnny, and Jimmy was alone again. He looked down at the comic in his hands, at the superhero frozen mid-leap on the cover. He thought about his brother's face when he'd said Paige's name. The way his voice had softened. The way his eyes had lit up.
Jimmy set the comic aside and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The crack in the plaster was still there, splitting the room in two. But it didn't feel as heavy as it had last night.
He'd made his choice. And for the first time, he felt like it was the right one.
He closed his eyes and let the afternoon sun warm his face, the quiet hum of the house settling around him. He thought about Paige's laugh, Johnny's smile, the way they looked at each other like the rest of the world didn't exist.
Jimmy smiled to himself, small and private.
He'd watch. He'd keep them safe. And he'd be there when they needed him.
That was enough.