Chapter 17
Seventeen
Logan
I fucked up.
I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away, especially with how things have been between Camden and me the past couple of weeks. The tension has been growing thicker and more obvious by the day, to the point where it’d probably take a machete to cut through it.
And damn if I didn’t hack it to pieces by kissing him earlier.
If that’s not bad enough, the way I keep wanting to kiss him again definitely is. It’s all I can think about for the rest of the day, which is really inconvenient when we rejoin my family for the game that evening.
Every minute I spend beside him—his thigh pressed to mine or his soft breath brushing along my neck and jaw when he talks to me—sets all my nerve endings on fire.
Meanwhile, he seems completely unaware of the effect he’s having on me, still laughing and joking with my dad or sitting through my mother’s polite interrogations while my circuits short out.
It’s a wonder how I have a working brain by the time we make it back to my brother’s apartment, my nervous system is so fried.
“Well, I think us old folks are turning in for the night,” Dad muses while checking his watch. “Great game tonight, boys. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Mom gives us each a quick hug goodnight before she and Dad retreat down the hall to their room, leaving the four of us in the foyer. Oakley heads over to the kitchen and starts digging through the fridge for something to eat.
“You guys want anything?” he asks over his shoulder. “We’ve got leftovers from that Italian place from last night, or I could make breakfast for dinner. Omelets or—”
“I think I’m gonna go to bed too,” Camden says beside me.
It’s just after eleven—still relatively early for the city that never sleeps—so it’s surprising he’s looking to turn in already. Oakley must be thinking along similar lines, because he peeks out from behind the fridge door with a frown.
“You sure, man?”
“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Camden insists, catching my eye when he motions toward me with his thumb. “Teaching this one to ice skate earlier kinda took it outta me.”
Heat creeps over my face as Quinton’s and Oakley’s attention falls to me, both of them seemingly too stunned to speak. Camden doesn’t notice, though, instead offering me a tight smile before heading down the hall and disappearing into our bedroom.
I’m rooted in place by awkwardness for a couple seconds, still aware of my brother’s focus fixed on me.
“I think I’m good on food, baby,” Quinton says before pressing a kiss to my brother’s temple. “I’m just gonna start a load of laundry and then ice my knee in bed.”
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
Not wanting to spend any more awkward moments with my brother than necessary, I start slowly creeping my way toward the hall while he’s distracted grabbing the ice for Quinton.
“Yeah, I’m gonna turn in too, so—”
“Actually, do you have a sec, Logan?” my brother asks, his gaze finding me again.
Fuck, no. Nope. Nada.
Unfortunately, the words that do leave my mouth are “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Though my body is screaming for escape, I walk into the kitchen and pull out a stool at the island while Oakley heats up some leftovers. Quinton wishes me a good night before disappearing down the hall, Oakley watching him go the entire time.
Which leaves the two of us alone, facing off across the counter.
My brother’s silent for what feels like a millenia, the only sound in the entire house coming from Quinton watching television down the hall in their bedroom. That, and the squelching sound Oakley’s pasta makes as he stirs it once it’s warmed up, making me never want to eat Italian ever again.
He must have noticed me staring at it, because he once again offers, “You want anything?”
To get the fuck out of here.
But knowing he means food, I shake my head and drop my gaze to the counter top. My fingers trace the marble veining, studying the variations of color in each line while feeling Oakley’s stare on the top of my head.
It’s awkward as hell, but he’s the one who asked me to stay, not the other way around. I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to break the silence.
“I’m glad you’re here, you know,” he finally says.
I glance up and nod, sharing none of his sentiment, but knowing better than to say it aloud. Even still, my brother is smart enough to read between the lines; using my lack of response as a response in itself.
His tongue pokes at his cheek while he stirs the pasta in front of him some more, only to gently set the fork aside and look up at me. For what might be the first time in our lives, Oakley looks completely disarmed and vulnerable, his deep-brown eyes soft and full of emotion as he stares at me.
“I know we’re not close, and my opinion probably doesn’t hold much weight for you,” he says slowly, measuring his words, “but I want you to know I’m really happy for you and Cam. He’s a good guy.”
“One of the best,” I say, noting there’s quite a bit of truth to the statement. It just took a fake relationship with him for me to realize it. “I’m just glad you’re not pissed at him for it. He cares about your friendship a lot, so…”
Nodding, he replies, “Well, it’s weird, not gonna lie, but I’m not upset by it. Mostly just confused, because I don’t understand how it happened.”
That makes two of us, apparently.
“I think it kinda snuck up on us both,” I tell him, aiming for the half-truth.
“Yeah, I get that.” He nods a couple times, his lips lifting in a small smile, and I’d hazard he’s thinking about his own sordid path to a relationship with Quinton. But then the smile turns bittersweet, and he floors me with what comes out next. “Y’know, seeing you with him…I’m kinda jealous.”
I’m sure my eyes are the size of saucers as I gawk at him in disbelief, stumbling to find a response.
“I… What? But you and Quinton—”
“Not because I wanna date him. I love Quinton with everything I am,” he corrects, though his smile is still laced with pain. “I guess I should say I’m jealous of him.”
My brows collide, and I shake my head. “But why?”
There’s a beat of silence where Oakley’s head bows slightly, almost as if resigning himself. To what? I’m not sure. But it’s a look of defeat if I’ve ever seen one.
“You’ve opened up to him the way you never have with me, and you did it despite him being as deeply invested in hockey as I am.
I mean, you let him teach you how to skate today?
Shit, I would’ve loved to do that with you.
Or at least been there to see it. It actually…
” He trails off, rubbing the back of his head with a dry laugh.
“God, it kinda fucking hurts, Loge. It hurts like hell.”
His admission takes me by surprise, but not nearly as much as the pain I now notice flickering in his eyes and etched in his jaw. The sight of it diffuses my defense mechanisms of sarcasm and wit, causing me to take a few seconds to piece together a coherent sentence.
“I didn’t think you cared,” I whisper, hating the quiver in my voice. “It’s always been you and Dad and Uncle Trevor having this unspoken bond, and I’ve been left out in the cold.”
“Of course I care. I want a relationship with you, Loge.” He rounds the counter and drops onto the stool beside me, abandoning his food on the other side of the island in favor of our conversation.
There’s a hesitancy that’s so not Oakley lingering in his eyes before he reaches out and rests his hand on my forearm.
“I wanna be your brother. I mean, really be brothers. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but I never felt like I could push for that because all I’ve ever felt from you is resentment. ”
I shake my head. “I don’t—”
“We might not be close, but I’m still your brother,” he cuts in, his lips forming a tight line. “Which means I know when you’re lying.”
My jaw tenses, hating that he’s right.
I may have explained my frustrations to Mom but never to Oakley directly. Sure, it was never hard to deduce, and I’ve never tried to keep it a secret from him, but it’s always been unspoken; neither of us giving a voice or name to the wall built between us.
Until now.
Blinking a couple times, I steel myself and whisper the question I’ve held back for years. The one making up the very foundation of the wall he just took down with a single swing.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in your shadow?”
This time, it’s his gaze lowering to the counter, and he shakes his head. But then he follows with a question of his own, attention lifting to me again.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to drown under the pressure from being in the light?”
And now it’s my turn to wordlessly shake my head.
“I understand how you feel more than you think, Loge. It may seem like you’re stuck in my shadow, but I’ve lived my entire life being stuck in Dad’s. And Uncle Trevor’s.”
“That was your choice, though.”
“Was it?” he counters, his head tilting slightly. “I mean, yeah, I love the game, and I’m proud of what I’ve done to continue this family’s legacy, but would I have even put on skates of my own volition if I weren’t a Reed?”
I can feel the gentle squeeze he gives my arm all the way up in my chest when he continues.
“I’m not saying this to try and invalidate what you’re feeling or to make you feel bad for me.
I’ve made peace with this being how things are, and for the most part, I’m happy.
I’m just trying to let you know, in a way, I get it.
And it sucks. So for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. Especially if it costs me my brother.”