The words came at him fast, and Jermaine stares blankly at his brother, gaze shifting down to the worn, scratched wood of the table while he lets it all sink in. It doesn’t really sink in. The words feel like they pool, bunching up in his brain, fighting with common sense, fighting with everything he knew to be true.

He looks up again, hands balled tight on the table.

“Bro, what?” Jermaine’s incredulity bordered on concern. “Did you hit your head or something?”