Leaving Scarlett that day was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to do it. No matter how shitty these past few weeks have been without seeing her, only exchanging texts about the project, I know it’s for the better. She needs time and I’m sure as hell going to give it to her.
She’s right. I did a stupid thing. So, I’m facing the consequences, which means fucking my fist to the images of what we did in the library and having my dad berate me over the phone. The latter, happening more frequently than I’d like to admit. I can’t even go into the kitchen to get a drink without my phone ringing. I know better to answer it, or he will drive here himself to talk to me.
“We’ve got nothing now, Evan. Do you hear me? Nothing. Nada,” my dad shouts. I hear the glass he’s most likely got in his hand slamming against the table, and I flinch.
“Jesus, stop shouting,” I say, resting my phone on my shoulder wedging it with my ear so I can open the fridge. I filled it the other day, but Xavier and Miles eat like animals, so we’re already in need of a refill. I pluck out a protein shake and shut it.
“Was it worth it?” my dad asks. I sigh, moving to look out the window, only to look into the backyard, remembering the day we watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes in the gazebo and everything that happened after. I shake my head, desperate to get rid of the longing feeling in my chest.
He groans. “Dropping us for her. Because I sure as hell can’t see any benefits when this story is tied up too neatly and we’ve got nothing out of it. The only upside is that Mateo is still comatose.”
I don’t see how that’s an upside, but I think better than to argue.
“Yes, I think it was worth it, dad. She’s an amazing girl and she doesn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated her. I’ve spent so long trying to get her to notice me and I fucked up and I want to fix it. Even if that means you’re still cutting me off.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? You could keep digging without her knowing,” he suggests. Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. I don’t want to ever be the reason she’s crying again. Ever. And I’m going to make that promise to her over and over because I don’t want her to hurt because of me.
“And lie to her again? I’m good,” I mutter, turning away from the bleak backyard to lean against the sink. “Look, I’m not expecting you to understand it, but dad, she is quite literally the perfect person. My perfect person. I hate what I did, and I want to make it up to her. The mystery is solved, and I’ve got a grade to get. So, I’m going to drop it and I’m going to try and get the girl. Is that cool?” He doesn’t say anything other than a groan. Jesus, I sound like a lovesick puppy now. “Good. Now stop calling me, you freak.”
I close my eyes for a second, finally being able to breathe. I still have no idea how exactly I’m going to get the girl, but saying it aloud has helped. There’s nothing I want more than to get her to notice me again. To get her to let me be there for her, be good for her, all the time. Not just sometimes when she’s feeling vulnerable, but every day.
“Who are you calling a freak?” Miles asks, walking into the kitchen. He’s topless, of course.
“My dad,” I say, rubbing at my temples.
“Oh,” he replies. He opens the fridge, only to stare at it as he says, “Hey, I’m actually kinda bummed about what happened with you and Scarlett.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened.”
I’m in denial, clearly. She said she’s going to take time and we’re gonna go back to talking — or arguing — again. That’s all he needs to know. He doesn’t know about what our relationship was like before and he doesn’t need to either. He’s a loyal friend, but he also talks too much. If he knew we were fooling around, he’d most definitely tell his girlfriend.
“Right…” he says, clearly unconvinced. He pulls out a can of soda, shutting the fridge door before leaning against it, staring at his shoes as he twists the can in his hand. “Well, Wren said you’ve not been speaking, which is saying something considering you used to argue all the time. I don’t know the full details, but sort it out, okay? You guys might not always get on, but you’re like my family and I don’t want to lose that because of a stupid fall out.”
As much as I give him a hard time, living here isn’t so bad. The nights when we’re all home and their girlfriends aren’t over, we tolerate each other. We can put on a good movie and just hang out. Or we play a game of pool in the den or a stupid drinking game. I act like I hate it, but secretly, I’ve always wanted brothers.
“I know,” I sigh. “I’m trying here, Davis.”
He nods thoughtfully before that mischievous smirk takes over his face. “You know… I could teach you a few things. You can learn how to grovel.”
I close my eyes for a second at his stupidity. “And how do I do that?”
He cracks open the soda and my eyes pop open. “So, say Wrenny’s mad at me because I turned up late to dinner or I forgot her sister’s birthday. What do you think I should do?”
“Apologise and wear a watch?” I say. It’s the most natural thing to do. How else are you supposed to be forgiven?
“Right, but you’ve also got to factor in a few other things,” he explains, going full-on teacher mode. He stands up straighter, talking with his hands. “Firstly, I’d apologise, give her a mind-shattering orgasm, apologise again and maybe do something that she likes. Like reading a book she likes. You know, showing her that I’m interested in what she likes.”
I snort. “You think the best way to get Scarlett to forgive me is to give her a mind shattering orgasm?” I mean, I’ve done it before, but he doesn’t know that.
“Well, I guess it’s different for you. you guys hate each other,” he mutters before sipping his soda innocently.
“Can you stop saying that? I don’t hate her, and I never have,” I snap, sick of these accusations. I get it. It seems that way because of the way she’s treated me and the way I’ve played along, but for once, I’d like somebody to see that I’ve liked her for as long as I can remember.
“Well, you act like it,” he murmurs, looking to the ground again.
“Because she hates me, and I want her. I’ve wanted her since the first time I saw her with that stupid fucking ribbon in her hair. I’ve wanted her since she shouted at me for the first time in class. I wanted her when she shoved bacon in my face at Christmas. I finally got her to trust me and now she hates me again. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Okay, look, I’m sorry for shouting, but it’s really hard not to get angry right now, especially when I shouldn’t be because this is my fault. I’m the one that messed up,” I say, running my hand through my hair.
I probably shouldn’t have told him that I want her but fuck it. It’s obvious at this point or I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t have cried like a fucking baby when I got home after the funeral. I wouldn’t feel this heavy, dirty weight on my chest for making her cry.
“Admitting that you both hurt each other doesn’t make you a bad person, you know?” Miles says. When did it get hard to breathe again? And why is what he’s saying making sense to me? I hate it. “You can be angry at her for how she treated you, the same way she’s angry at you for how you treated her. It’s okay, Branson.”
That is when I start to feel it; the tightening of my chest and nothing but the sound of my own blood sloshing through my body.
I feel the hot flushes on my neck and my back, making it feel like my shirt is suffocating me. I grip onto the countertop, my other hand over my chest, smoothing it out
God, does this have to happen right now? In front of him?
I’ve been trying to keep cool about this whole thing since it happened. I know what I did was stupid and reckless, but I didn’t want to be angry at her. I can’t be angry at her. I’m the one who hurt her, but I still can’t help but think about all the time we wasted when I could have had her from the beginning. If she didn’t immediately cast me as the villain without hearing me out.
“You good?” Miles asks, coming behind me. I try to speak, but words fail me as I attempt to regulate my breathing. The more I tell myself I’m okay, the faster my heart races and the more it hurts. “Panic attack?” I nod, taking a deep breath. I glance at him as he stands beside me now, crossing his arms against his chest. I can’t tell if hearing him talking is making it better or worse. “Yeah, I used to get those, too. Not that much anymore.”
“Thanks for that, Davis. You’re really helping,” I get out, still clutching my chest. I rub my palm against my heart, trying my best to relax but it’s really fucking difficult.
“Do you remember the first day you moved in here? Me, Carter, and Xavier were trying out our first keg and it exploded all over you and your prissy suit,” Miles says, laughing at the memory. I remember that day. I remember it being one of the worst days of my life.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, basically panting.
He ignores me and continues talking. “After you got changed, we went to apologise, and you told us we’d never get on. You said we were too much for you and the only reason you were here is because your dad was being a dick. When Carter died, you fed me, and Xavier and you watched stupid cartoons with us that first night and every night after that for weeks. We never said anything because we thought we were too cool for it, and you didn’t either. When we started to get on our feet again, we still didn’t say anything. But you helped us even though you swore you wouldn’t. Because that’s what family does, Branson. We can hold grudges, but we can also be there for each other when we need it. And you’re that person. You’re always there. No matter what.”
When his rant ends, I realise I’ve been breathing normally again. He was distracting me. My hands still tremble, but I can feel my body slowly settling back to normal. I take in a deep breath, my chest shaking on the exhale.
“Thanks for that,” I say. He smiles wide, dimples popping out and all.
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “It’s fine. I never really thanked you for that, but you should know how grateful we are. We seriously would’ve died without you.”
“I know you would have,” I say, chuckling.
“In fact, to make it up to you…” Miles starts, sounding as cheery as ever. He opens the fridge again, scanning its contents. “How about I cook tonight? I make a mean chicken salad.”
“For both of our sakes, I’ll stick to cooking. You stick to doing the dishes.”
He turns back around, grinning. “Good idea”
That’s when I realised that these guys have my back. They always have.
