10. Joel
Chapter ten
Joel
“I’m sorry.”
Tracey’s words feel like a line from a fantasy movie. She actually apologized first? I sit in the car, stunned, the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on making words impossible.
“Joel?” she whispers through the phone.
If she’s apologizing, does that mean we patch things up and go on like it never happened? I squeeze the steering wheel, fighting back a prickling rush of uncertainty. Well, that’s what love is right? For better or worse.
I clear my throat, still hesitating.
If I’d done more to apologize and win back our omega all those years ago, I at least wouldn’t have ruined Jeremy’s relationship with her. No matter what, I can’t lose my lover a second time.
“I’m sorry too, babe. I’m not sure what’s happening to us right now.” I lift my cap to scratch my hair, the fresh air not cooling the heat clinging to my body.
“It’s me,” she says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. He’s your brother, so of course you should go to him when he’s injured. I was just really stressed out, and I needed closeness with you after you growled at me.”
“You know I didn’t mean to, Tracey. And I told you how sorry I was.”
“I know. And I shouldn’t have slapped you. That will never happen again. It’s just, you’re a big alpha, you know? And that can be kind of intimidating. But I love you, and I didn’t mean what I said about breaking up.”
“Okay. I’m glad to hear that.”
I worry my lip between my teeth, unease still gripping my stomach. It was wrong of me to inflict my alpha intensity on her like that, and yet, why am I still struggling to make sense of our fight? It’s as if the apologies aren’t enough for us to heal.
My gut tells me something shifted during our argument, something that won’t ever slot back into place.
Tracey’s voice drops, and I close my eyes to focus on her words. “And I guess . . I’m getting pre-wedding jitters, too. Not about getting married, just about the change, and if I’ll be a good wife . . .”
My heart leaps. As I thought, that’s the problem at the core of all this friction.
“But we haven’t even set a date.” A soft chuckle slips through my throat.
“Yeah, and I think that’s why. I keep asking myself if this is really happening, and if we’re right for each other. Stupid, restless stuff.”
An ache squeezes my chest. “Are we? Right for each other?”
“Yes. You know I chose you, Joel.” Her voice lights up, and I can picture her smile. “You’re my man.”
I stare into the darkness, the light spots glowing from the surrounding streetlamps burning my eyes. With all my heart, I want to hold onto my laughter, and nurture this fragile love between us. Drive straight home to her and hold her in my arms, even. But an instinct I can’t explain holds me back.
If she chose me, does that mean she can just as easily unchoose me? I thought we chose each other. We even picked out her engagement rings together, before I’d officially asked.
“Where are you?” Tracey asks, her tender voice reminding me of hundreds of phone calls when we first started dating.
“I’m at Jeremy’s house.”
The momentary silence makes my heart speed up.
“Is he okay? Is he injured?”
“He has a concussion, and some cuts and grazes. He’s out of hospital, but he’s supposed to be monitored.” I can’t resist a little dig, just a snippet that tells her I was right to leave. “Head trauma can be very serious.”
“Right. Tell him I said hello, and hope he’s feeling better soon.”
I slump back into my seat. “Thanks, Tracey.”
I wind down the window to let more breeze into my van. Crickets chirp in the dark, the distant hum of a freeway serving as the backing track to their mating serenade.
“When are you coming home?”
I tap my finger on the windowsill. “Am I welcome home?”
“Of course, Joel! This is your home too. It’s so empty without you. I miss you, honey.”
Right. She’s sorry, and she loves me. I’d be a real bastard to hold onto my anger now when she needs gentleness and understanding. “I—"
A truck drives slowly along the road, reversing when it misses this small unit block. The headlights flash over me as it turns into the driveway behind where I’m parked.
“I’ll be back after work tomorrow.” I brush one hand across the grocery bags sitting on my front passenger seat. “Jeremy needs me tonight. Can you wait for me?”
“Of course I can.” Her voice lifts with relief. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, honey.”
I echo her words, a vague unease pinching at my throat. Is what we have really love?
The truck parked behind me switches off its lights. I don’t have time to sit and contemplate the phone call, so I get out and drop my shopping on the oversized step that counts as a porch.
“Hey, Jeremy?” I call, pounding on the door. “Come out here.”
He plods out, bare chested and wearing boxers. Clearly he was getting ready to turn in early.
“’Sup? Geez, how much did you buy?” he grumbles, looking at my grocery bags.
“Never mind the bags.” I grin and jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Someone’s here to see you.”
He squints into the darkness. “Who?”
The car’s seller hops out. “Evening. Am I in the right place?”
“You sure are,” I call, leaning inside to turn the porch light on. I grab Jeremy’s shoulders and steer him down the step and into the drive. “This is the man.”
The stranger holds out the keys. “All yours, then.”
Jeremy takes the key and stares at it. “Say what?”
“You can’t very well go to a job interview on public transport.” I chuckle. “Plus, half the time these organizations ask if you have your own vehicle.”
Jeremy’s eyes open wide as he digests the news. “This is for me? Holy shit, Joel. How much?”
I wave his question off. “Never mind that. Just don’t total this one, yeah?”
He punches me in the shoulder, and I laugh.
I fold my arms across my chest and watch as my twin inspects his new truck. It’s such a simple joy, that I have to wonder why I’ve been holding back from our relationship for the last few years.
Jeremy vaults up the step.
“Thanks, bro,” he cries, wrapping me in a bear hug. I wheeze from the strength of his grip.
“Whoa! You’re gonna crush me,” I protest.
He laughs and squeezes me tighter.
“If you’re done leaping around like a gazelle, can we go inside now? Could be mosquitos out.”
He snorts. “That won’t bother me.”
I flash him the middle finger and collect my bags off the porch. I’m a magnet for the little bloodsuckers; they’ll fly right past Jeremy to get to me.
Jeremy picks up the pot plant. “Oh, you got an aloe?”
“Just happened to see it. Smells like you.”
He lifts his brows. “You just happened to see it . . . at Seargent’s Greenhouse, which is nowhere near the grocery store?”
“Shut up,” I snap back. “Mind your own business.”
I lug the bags into the kitchenette and pull items out to stack on the countertop. His fridge was about empty, and we used the last pack of instant noodles.
Jeremy sets the plant down beside the TV and comes to help put things away. The football World Cup runs in the background, and we pause now and then when a good play comes on. Spain's team is on fire this year.
Once the kitchen’s cleaned up, except for a small pile of treatment stuff, I slap my hands down on the counter.
“Time to play doctor,” I announce.
Jeremy screws up his face. “Witchcraft, you mean.”
He starts unwinding his bandages anyway.
We share a grin. Mom’s a modern-day herbalist. Proper certification too; natural medicine something or other. And we grew up as her lab rats, with poultices applied on any scrapes and drinking putrid herb teas. Well, not all of them were terrible.
“I’m guessing you don’t want a honey bath?” I ask, holding up a big bucket of raw honey.
“Hard pass.”
I nod and collect the aloe plant, slicing the thick stems in half lengthwise.
Jeremy places an old sheet over his armchair and sits down. He peels off the stained bandages to reveal three deep lacerations and two shallower grazes that look like gravel rash. Together, the wounds cover from the back of his right hand to just past his elbow.
“Ouch,” I hiss.
He looks down. “I think I got some of this when I climbed out of the truck. I kinda slipped trying to get down because my car ended up on the barrier.”
“Yeah, I saw it there on the news.” I bring over the aloe vera and fresh bandages, an empty void sensation tugging at me. Even if he’s laid back, he must’ve been shaken up. If I’d listened long enough last night, I could’ve met him at the hospital and been there for him.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” I mutter, gently setting the wet side down on his grazes.
“Not like the time I broke my arm,” he mutters.
I wrap some fresh bandages over the leaves to keep them in place and move on to the next spot. Gives me a chance to really check my brother out. He’s tall, well-balanced, has muscled arms, and of course hung like a horse.
“I think they’ll like you at this stud bar,” I say, sucking on my cheeks. “You’re looking good.”
I can’t quite tell if I’m trying to distract him or myself. This could have been much worse.
He nudges me with his toe. “We’ll see.”
I finish up and clean away the supplies before putting the kettle on to make comfrey tea. Of course my brother doesn’t have anything resembling a tea strainer, so I have to mess around with a sieve to get the job done.
“What’s this?” he asks when I hand him the mug.
“Witchcraft.”
He snorts and takes it.
I grab a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and sit down cross-legged on the bed to watch the rest of the football match. “You know, when I went to the Greenhouse, I kinda missed being around plants. Reminded me of home.”
He nods.
Vertical gardens, rectangle planters hanging on fences, sprouts growing in trays on the windowsills—we didn’t have a big block, but Mom made use of every inch she had available.
“Guess the only plants you have inside now are fake ones.”
I snort, spitting crumbs over my chest. “How’d you know?”
He waggles his brows. “Wild stab in the dark.”
The topic brings my fiancé to mind. Now’s the right moment to bring up Tracey’s well-wishes, but I hesitate. Seems like mentioning her could break the good mood between us.
The Spanish team scores another epic goal, sucking me back into the game.
When it’s over, I stretch my arms up high and clamber off the bed. “Guess it’s time I got going.”
“Going home?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” I already told Tracey I wouldn’t be back tonight. “Um, I’ll probably head to a hotel.”
He pops a chip in his mouth and crunches down, studying me like I’m insane. “Just stay here.”
“What?” I spread my hands to take in the one room. “Where exactly?”
“I’ll sleep in my chair. It reclines most of the way back.”
I scoff and cross my arms. “Jeremy, you need a proper fucking sleep, man.”
“I’ve done it plenty of times before. Besides, shouldn’t someone be here to check I’m still breathing in the morning?”
I study him, trying to decide if he’s serious or not. I can’t entirely dismiss the fact the hospital might've told him not to be alone for another twenty-four hours.
“Fine. But I’ll take the chair and you have your bed.”
“Sure you’re up for that?”
I throw my hands in the air. “It’s only one night. Not gonna kill me.”
He grins. “All right, I’m not one for arguing.”
“You never were.”
Before bed, I set fresh Aloe on the grazes on his arm that might show during his interview. We bunker down with his spare pillow and a tattered throw rug. Thankfully the summer air means neither of us will get cold tonight.
We switch the lights off and his deep breathing whistles through the quiet room within minutes. I lay awake, watching headlights arc across the ceiling whenever a car passes by. The old unease sneaks in as the greatest part of the day’s heat leaches away.
For a man who’s successful, I’m terribly hollow inside, and it took spending a night in my brother’s dinky unit, sharing laughter, to realize it.
The question is, what do I do now? How do I fix a problem I can’t even define?
The hours whittle away, but the question remains.