Chapter Thirty-Five
Brody
As much fun as it was arguing with Maggie, I had a feeling that nothing conducive to rebuilding our relationship would come out of snarky banter exchanged while the rest of the Brynn family pretended not to notice the tension we were filling their house with.
And I said as much to her, suggesting that we try talking back at our place, but the only thing that came out of it was her smacking me on the arm and saying, “Since when do you use the word conducive?”
Since you forced me into this position, that’s when, Margaret.
The entire morning had consisted of Maggie trying to avoid me but being unable to help herself and throwing out sassy comments, all while my phone blew up with messages from my old high school group chat that had been largely dormant for years.
“Who’s that?” Maggie asked over my shoulder as I stared down at the phone.
“My friends,” I said, largely aware of her proximity to me. “They want me to hang out again before they leave.”
“Well, you should go,” she said. “Obviously.”
Should I? It was hard to leave when things weren’t fixed yet and Maggie was still feeling crappy about everything. When I was still feeling crappy about everything.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” I said, playing her game, eyes locked on her as she moved to sit beside me. “Seeing as you’re hellbent on ignoring me.”
“I’m not ignoring you.” She said, arms crossing on the kitchen island as she feigned innocence. “I’m telling you it’ll be good for you to see your friends.”
“But you’re only saying that because you’re doing your weird self-sabotage thing, and you think if I go, I’m going to spend time with Abbey.”
The very mention of her name had Maggie stiffening, lips curling slightly in irritation.
“Nope.” She said, scooting her stool an inch or two away. “You just haven’t seen them in a while and I—”
“You what, Mags?”
You’re scared you’re not going to be able to put up a fight for much longer before you let yourself feel sad?
“I’ll go if we can go back to being normal,” I said, when it became clear she had no response.
“This is normal,” she said far too casually to be believable. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” I laughed. “We’ve never been friends, Maggie.”
“Well, we are now,” she said. “And as your friend, I’m allowed to give you advice.”
The word friend felt toxic on my tongue when regarding the two of us, but I figured I’d use it to my advantage.
“So, as my friend,” I leaned into her, “you can come hang out with me and my other friends, then?” I raised my eyebrows in challenge.
“Absolutely not.” She frowned.
“Why?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m having another front-row seat to watch you and your ex-girlfriend snogging all over Boston.”
“We’re not—” I said, but my phone started ringing, cutting me off.
“Answer it,” she gestured toward the phone currently flashing a face of Matt T.’s crappy senior photo.
I sighed and reached for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dude,” Matt said, “we’re on our way to pick you up because you weren’t answering the phone.”
“Most people would take that as a hint,” I grimaced.
“A hint of what?” His voice transported me back to my teen years, reminding me of the calls we’d had when I was sixteen and had nothing better to do than ride around our neighborhood with him.
“That I’m occupied, Matt.” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh. There was a comfort in the way he hadn’t really changed at all over the years.
A sort of sadness, too.
“Dude,” he blew out a breath, “you sound way more uptight than you used to be. I thought money and fame were supposed to mellow a person out.”
I laughed.
“We’re only kidnapping you for a little bit, then you can get back to your regularly scheduled drama or whatever it is you’re up to lately.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Maggie was already reaching over to grab the phone from my hands.
“He’ll come,” she said, darting around the kitchen island with my phone pressed to her ear.
“Maggie,” I said, maneuvering around to chase her.
Her arm flailed out, phone extended just out of my reach as we did what probably looked like some type of badly choreographed dance around the kitchen.
“Give me the phone, Mags,” I told her, fingers reaching out to grab it. I could vaguely hear Matt’s muffled voice from the phone until Maggie pressed the speakerphone button and the room was filled with the sound of my childhood best friend.
“—must be the hot ex, right?” he said with interest.
“Shut up, Matt,” I called out, trapping Maggie in my arms while we fought over my cellphone.
Maggie laughed.
“Because you’re more than welcome to join us,” he said with insinuation.
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“You know what?” I said, “she’d love to. Pick us both up.”
“Sweet!” he said, like it was a victory on his part. “Be there in twenty.”
“We’ll be ready.”