Chapter 30 No Promises
The house is nice and lively when I enter the hallway. A racing game’s on the big-screen TV, and Lane and Oliver are shouting all sorts of gaming jargon I’ve never cared to learn.
I spent the day in Tess’s apartment, trying to work out what I’m going to tell Lane. Or more like trying to work up the courage to even face him. A bit ridiculous, yeah, but I don’t quite feel like myself, and I suspect I won’t feel normal again until I’ve talked to him.
I saunter up to the back of the couch, speaking loudly enough for them to hear. “Having fun, boys?”
Their heads turn as one, and both of them look equally horrified.
“Lane,” Oliver says and pauses the game, jaw tight. “Go to my room.”
Lane gets up from the couch and bolts upstairs, fucking running away from me. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Last night after my talk with Tess, and when I pumped myself up before I came here, I felt hopeful, but now… not so much.
While Lane shuts himself upstairs, Oliver blocks my access to the stairs.
“Hey, come on,” I try, but Oliver shakes his head.
“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I thought I told you this a while ago,” I grumble.
“Told me what?”
“To let him make his own decisions.”
“Not if those decisions end up with you luring him back in and breaking his heart again.”
Breaking his heart? Regrettably, I guess that’s true.
“I won’t do anything to him. Look, you can even join us.” I make a move toward the stairs, but Oliver pushes me away.
“No thanks. I know what you’ll do to him if given the chance.”
“Isn’t it time you got some action?” I ask, treading stormy fucking waters, I know.
His eyes darken. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe that you’re nineteen, and as far as I know, you haven’t dipped your dick into anything other than the slime Logan got you for your eleventh birthday.”
His eyes flash with anger. “Fuck you. At least I don’t fuck everything that moves.”
“Want it to be special? Well, unfortunately he’s not coming back.”
Oliver’s eyes narrow. “Who?”
“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” I glance over at the family photo above the TV, the one Oliver insists on keeping there even though Mom hates it.
“What—Logan?” Oliver throws his head back in a laugh. “You know I was like thirteen, right?”
I shrug. “Keep denying it. It’s fucking obvious, though, with the way you’re acting.”
“The way I’m acting?” He gawks. “Which is how?”
“The cooking.”
“The cooking?”
“And the degree.”
“The degree? But that’s—”
“His idea, isn’t it? He always went on and on about how smart and capable you were. How you’d go far as long as you didn’t give up. Engineering is the sort of thing he’d approve of.”
“That’s a fucking reach.”
“Is it?”
Oliver glares daggers at me. “You don’t even care that he left, so what’s it to you?”
“Is that what you think?” I ask bitterly.
Oliver’s eyes widen, his shoulders slump, and for a moment, I see the ghost of what used to be my little brother. Unguarded, sweet, always smiling.
Logan was our stepdad, sure, and I liked him too, but Oliver was borderline obsessed with him. Tailing him wherever he went, hanging out with him in the garage, always craving his presence.
Logan taught him how to cook, how to use tools, and all about vintage car shit.
He might have gotten me started on my Transformers hobby, but Oliver was his favorite, and needless to say, Logan was Oliver’s favorite.
Even when he was older and should’ve been hanging out with friends instead, Oliver helped him with boring stuff like grocery shopping and mowing the lawn.
“But you…” His mouth closes and opens again, several times before he gets the rest of the sentence out. “But you acted like it didn’t matter.”
“What was I supposed to have done? Break down like you did? I was older than you; I was supposed to have it together. Mom was a mess. For a while there after he left, I had to take care of you both.”
I remember how Mom would suddenly burst out crying out of nowhere, and I’d have to console her, telling her it would be okay.
We didn’t even get a goodbye. One day, he was just gone, and Mom sobbed as she told us he didn’t love her anymore, and that he’d quit his job and gone back to his hometown.
Foolishly, like the child he was, Oliver held out hope for years that he’d come back, but I always knew he wouldn’t.
He was our dad for six years—from the time Oliver was seven to thirteen and I was ten to sixteen. To me, he was more of Mom’s boyfriend than a dad, and I sure didn’t put him on a sky-high pedestal, unlike Oliver.
“Don’t you remember?” I ask.
Oliver shakes his head. “Not really. That time is kind of… blurry for me.”
No surprise. He started high school that summer, but he did so badly in his junior year that he had to repeat it.
“Did you really take care of me?” he asks. “The way I remember it, you just mocked me.” His eyes grow distant as he’s probably remembering some faraway memory I’ve long since pushed aside.
I scratch the back of my head. “Well, that’s because it’s how I deal with stuff, I guess. It was my way of trying to make you realize you should move on. In my own fucked-up way, I was trying to help you.”
Oliver scowls. “Well, it didn’t feel very helpful at the time.”
I remember how upset he’d get whenever I told him Logan wasn’t coming back, and that he should stop hoping.
Soon enough, I graduated high school, got my first job, and left home, and I suppose we didn’t really have time to reconcile after that.
Maybe that’s why he’s glaring at me like that right now, with that murderous look in his eyes.
I suppose I deserve it. Even when I’m trying to help, I’m being an asshole. Even when I’m trying to be nice, it comes off wrong. And when I’m trying to connect with someone, like I did with Lane, it all goes to shit in the end.
“Hey,” I mumble, laying a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I made you feel childish for hoping. I’m sorry I tried to push you to move on when you weren’t ready.”
Oliver’s lip quivers, and he looks so young and broken that I suddenly want nothing more than to hug him.
I take a step forward and wrap my arms around his shoulders, expecting him to push me away, but instead, he leans into my chest and wraps his arms around my waist—hesitantly, but he does it.
So of course I have to ruin the moment by saying, “And if you had a tiny crush on him, so what?”
Oliver withdraws and shifts his gaze, and for a moment he looks so… sad. Warning bells ring as an uncomfortable thought slithers into my mind.
I put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Hey, he didn’t… do anything to you, right?”
Oliver looks up. “Do anything?”
“Like… hurt you? Touch you?”
“What, you mean…?” His eyes widen slowly in realization. “God, no. It wasn’t like that. Not at all.” He seems puzzled I’d even think that way.
I exhale in relief. “Good.”
Oliver shakes his head. “He had no idea how I felt. Hell, even I didn’t get it until much later on. How I felt, I mean.” His cheeks redden.
I smirk. “Puppy love, eh?”
Oliver scowls and crosses his arms. “Something like that. Anyway, don’t mention it again, okay? It’s embarrassing.”
“Yeah, and he’s long gone anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah,” Oliver mumbles. “It doesn’t matter.” He looks sad again.
I figure it’s better to be embarrassed than sad, so I speak up, a little too loud. “So you were crushing on our stepdad—good to know.” I spread my arms in a placating gesture. “Now, are you going to let me talk to my crush?”
Oliver fixes me with the same suspicious glare he always gets whenever the subject of Lane comes up. “Depends. What are you going to say to him?”
I shrug. “I have a whole speech planned out, but if I know myself, I’ll go off script.”
Oliver keeps looking at me without saying anything, and it fucks with my patience, which is on the thin side to begin with.
“Come on, just let me see him,” I beg.
“Only if you answer me this: what do you feel for him—truly? No bullshit.”
“No bullshit?” I avert my gaze, feeling that fidgety discomfort rear up, the way it always does when it comes to serious shit, like my feelings for Lane. “I like him.” I have to force the words out; this is just a warm-up for what’s to come, after all. “I like him a lot.”
“You don’t just like to fuck him?”
I shake my head. “I like all of him. Everything I’ve seen so far. But I’d like to get to know him better. If you’ll let me.”
“You’re asking for my blessing?” Oliver asks skeptically.
I shrug. “He’s your best friend, and you’re my little brother. Shit would get awkward if I dated him against your will.”
“You want to date him?”
“Isn’t that what you do when you like someone?” For once, I drop my sarcastic mask and let Oliver see a glimpse of how fucking miserable I’ve been ever since Lane left my room.
“One more question,” Oliver says. “Will you hurt him again?”
“Depends. Hurt his feelings? Not if I can help it. Hurt his body?” I draw out the word, winking.
Oliver winces and waves his hands. “Never mind, never mind! Ugh.” He steps aside, granting me access to the stairs. “But if you hurt him again, I’ll beat your ass. I mean it.”
“I’d like to see you try, little brother.”
Oliver glares as I pass him.
I sigh, dropping the act. “I’m kidding. You know I’d never hurt you.”
“Do I?” he mutters.
“Well, now you do.”
I take a couple of steps up the stairs but stop and turn around on the third one. “Hey, Oliver?”
“Yeah?”
“If you really want to do this college thing, go ahead and do it, but don’t try to be someone you’re not just because Logan would like it. He knew you at thirteen, but he doesn’t know you now.”
“And you do?” Oliver asks bitterly, but I know I’ve struck a nerve.
“Just remember what I said.” With that, I turn around once more with Lane on my mind.
“Just don’t fuck him in my room,” Oliver calls after me.
“No promises.”