Chapter 26
TATUM
Sunlight filters through the blinds of the single window in my room, warming my face and pulling me from a dreamless sleep. For one blissful moment, I exist in the hazy space between unconsciousness and awareness, where nothing hurts and everything is possible. Then reality crashes in.
The breakup. The argument. Brandon carrying me home.
I bolt upright, wincing as the movement jars my blistered feet. The space beside me is empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
Did Brandon leave? The thought sends a pang through my chest with surprising intensity.
I prepare to lie back down and wallow when I hear someone clearing their throat, and I whip my head toward the sound, only to find Brandon standing in the doorway.
Backlit by the light coming from the suite beyond, he’s a sight to behold?hair rumpled, jawline shadowed with stubble.
Still dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans from last night, he watches me with careful concern, and my breath catches at the sight of him.
The tightness in my chest fades, like a fist finally opening after being clenched for too long.
Having him here feels like coming to the surface for air, like finding shelter in a storm.
After weeks of pretending everything was fine—that I was fine without him—his presence is the first thing that feels real.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m not devastated about Ethan; I’m relieved. What hurts isn’t losing him—it’s simply the idea of him, the love I thought I’d finally found, and all the time wasted.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Brandon offers me a lopsided grin as he makes his way toward me. “I brought you breakfast. Figured you could use some comfort food after last night,” he says, motioning to the cardboard beverage tray and black pastry box in his hands.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep.
He shrugs, the simple gesture so achingly familiar it makes my heart hurt. “I wanted to.”
He moves closer, and immediately, I’m engulfed by his scent—clean laundry and that familiar hint of cologne that’s always clung to him—and I’ve never wanted to keep something more.
I tug the fabric of his hoodie closer, selfishly hoping he won’t ask for it back as he sits beside me, balancing the coffee tray with care.
When I glance at him, something in my chest twists. I don’t deserve this—don’t deserve him. Not after cutting him out, after choosing Ethan, after weeks of silence that I told myself were for the best. And yet here he is, bringing me coffee, and tending to me like none of it ever happened.
The weight of it—the mistake I made, the ache I caused—crashes over me in one dizzying rush.
“I got one of all your favorites,” he says softly, handing me the box.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat as I take it from him with trembling hands, then lift the lid and peek inside. The scent of sugar hits me at the same time I take in the assortment of pastries, and my stomach growls in response.
With a small laugh, Brandon hands me a coffee cup, his fingers brushing against mine as he studies me, those blue eyes seeming to look straight through me, past all my defenses.
“How are you, really?” he asks after a beat of silence.
The question is simple, but his gaze is so intense, so searching, that I feel stripped bare, like he can read my every thought.
Not that there’s any hiding from Brandon—there never has been.
He’s always been able to see right through me, to the real me, even at times when I’ve tried to hide from myself.
I lean back against the headboard, releasing a breath, and deciding on full transparency. “If I’m being honest, I think I’m relieved. Looking back, there were so many red flags, things I ignored because I wanted it to work more than it actually was working.”
He nods like this makes sense, then after a moment, he asks, “Why’d you ignore it?”
I think about his question for a moment. There were a lot of good times with Ethan, some real emotion that made ignoring the red flags easier.
“I don’t know.” I toy with the plastic lid of my paper cup, tracing the rim with my fingertip as the truth lodges in my throat.
“This sounds so pathetic, but for once in my life I felt wanted, pursued. In the beginning, he was so charming, and he swept me off my feet. He made me feel special, and for a girl who’s never had a guy do that for her before .
. .” I shake my head as shame washes through me.
“It made it easy to convince myself his love was real and that what I felt for him was bigger than it was.”
A moment of silence follows and then—“Did you love him?”
My gaze jerks to his and I take in his expression—the careful neutrality, the tension around his eyes. The way he’s holding his breath, waiting for my answer as if it matters.
“No,” I breathe, feeling the weight of the truth in my bones.
I remember his words the night we slept together?Let me show you how much I love you?and they pinch in my chest like a burr, because it was never real. Love is never selfish.
“I think I tried to convince myself that I was just taking my time, that I’d get there,” I add. “But now I realize, the whole time I knew something was wrong.” I set my coffee aside with resignation. “Ethan was never the one for me.”
Brandon exhales as if he’d been holding his breath, his posture loosening like he’s relieved by this. “I know I should be sorry, and I am sorry you’re hurting, but I have to be honest, Tate. I’m glad it’s not him. He wasn’t right for you. Not for a second.”
“I wish I would’ve known that sooner.” I bite my lip, thinking about how much I trusted him, how dumb I’d been, and my anger simmers. “You know what pisses me off the most?”
Brandon, glances over at me, waiting.
“Not only did I give him my heart, but I gave him my body, too,” I choke out, relieved to have it out in the open. “I gave my body to someone who didn’t deserve it because I thought he loved me, and because I convinced myself I loved him when I knew I didn’t. And you wanna know the real kicker?”
When Brandon says nothing, I continue, my voice thick. “It wasn’t even good.”
I turn to him, ready to laugh at my idiocy when I note his curled upper lip and the angry flush in his cheeks as he cocks his head. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again before finally managing, “You . . . Are you saying what I think you are?”
I nod, wondering what he thinks of me now that he knows.
Brandon shakes his head as if I just told him a lie. “When?” he asks, his voice tight.
“The night of the frat party.”
“The night you were completely wasted,” he confirms, his voice thunderous.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice small.
The more I think about that night, the more I realize how stupid I was.
“And when you say it wasn’t good . . .?” he asks, his voice strained, like each word is painful to say.
“I mean, it was terrible. At least for me, anyway. I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent since that night wondering if I did something wrong, or if I was the problem.
Maybe I just . . . suck. And not in the good way.
Maybe I’m just a dud in bed, I don’t know.
But then I asked the girls about it, and they made me feel like maybe I wasn’t the problem, but I—”
“Stop.” Brandon’s voice slices through my rambling like a knife with clean precision. “Just, please, stop.”
His eyes are closed as he rises from the bed, then he opens them, shoving a hand through his hair as he begins to pace my tiny room.
“Brandon, what are you?”
“You were drunk, Tate.” He stops and turns toward me, his voice is low and controlled, despite the edge of simmering anger beneath his words. “You were drunk, and he took advantage.”
“No. I consented.”
I remember how wrong it felt in the moment, but how much I wanted to please him. And in the end, I told him it’s what I wanted.
“It doesn’t matter. What he did was wrong,” he bites out. His hands clench into fists, and his voice is tight as he continues, “It was your first fucking time. It shouldn’t have been under those circumstance, and it sure as hell should’ve been better than that. It should’ve been special.”
“I know that now,” I whisper, pulling my knees to my chest. “I just thought . . . I didn’t want to disappoint him, and then when it wasn’t great, that’s exactly how I felt anyway.”
Brandon’s expression softens, his anger fading as he watches me curl into myself. “Listen to me,” he says, taking his place back beside me on the bed. “You are not the problem. You weren’t bad at anything. What happened that night, that’s on him. All of it.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He takes my hand, his palm warm against my own, his touch solid and reassuring. “If he sucks in bed, it’s no one’s fault but his.”
My chest tightens, wanting to believe him, but he’s my best friend. How can I trust that he’s not simply telling me what I want to hear?
I blink rapidly, fighting back the sudden press of tears.
“How can you be so sure? I mean, after that night, when he’d try to initiate sex again, all I did was clam up.
No matter how much I told myself to give it another shot, to relax, and get through it to see if it was better, I couldn’t. Maybe I’m just a prude.”
A laugh bubbles from his chest, equal parts angry and bitter.
“Sex isn’t supposed to be something you endure or feel confused about afterward, Tate.
It’s supposed to be . . .” He trails off, a flush creeping up his neck.
“Any guy who can’t get you off is either doing it wrong, a selfish asshole, or both.
There’s no excuse for that, Tate. None.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks as his words echo inside my head.
Any guy who can’t get you off is either doing it wrong, a selfish asshole, or both.
I swallow, and the heat slides down my chest and to my groin, igniting a different fire of its own.
Of all the things Brandon and I have talked about, physical intimacy was rarely one of them. So, to hear him speak so casually and bluntly now, sends a rush of heat coursing through me so sharp and so unexpected, it makes it hard to breathe.
Images of him with other women fill my mind, like some unrequited fantasy brought to life, and I have no doubt he knows exactly what to do and how.
“Really?” My gaze drops to his mouth, and I have to force myself to breathe, barely recognizing the low tenor of my own voice when I ask, “Has it always been good for the girls you’ve been with?”
His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they flicker to my lips before slowly returning to meet mine. “I make sure of it.”
The air between us crackles with something electric, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting, how his thigh presses against mine through the thin cotton blanket.
“And you?” I ask, my voice barely audible above the drumming of my heart. “What about what you want?”
He grunts, and the corner of his mouth hitches. “Trust me, if she feels good, I feel good.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage, and I’d probably feel like an idiot if I weren’t so turned on.
“Oh.” He nods, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair casually behind my ear like this is just another conversation between two best friends. Like I’m not watching his lips as he speaks, imagining them on my skin with every word.
What am I even thinking? This is Brandon.
“But it should also be special. There should be trust and a connection beyond the physical. I haven’t been with tons of women, but I know enough to understand that’s what makes it so powerful—knowing the person you’re with and wanting to connect on a deeper level.”
His words wrap around me like warm honey, sweet and thick, filling all the hollow places inside of me until I cling to them, absorbing them, and wishing like hell my first time had been with someone like him.
I release a shaky breath, wondering where my head’s at and if I’m going crazy when I shift onto my knees, turning fully to face him as I say, “Show me.”
He blinks, the darks of his eyes expanding. “What?”
“Show me how it should be,” I repeat, doubling down, because it’s too late to shove the request back inside even if I wanted to?and I don’t.
He clears his throat and shoots up from the bed like a rocket, hell-bent on taking off.
“I know you just see me as a friend,” I blurt, in a hurry to explain, “but you care about me, and I trust you, which is what makes this so perfect. You said so yourself, trust and feelings are two of the most important ingredients.”
I rise from the bed, walking over to him and giving him zero time to think as I lift his hand and place it over my racing heart. “Please, Brandon. Erase my doubts and fears. Show me how it can be. Show me it’s not me, that I’m not the problem.”
He lifts his hands to his hair, tugging on the roots, his expression pained as he says, “You’re hurting right now.
You’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.
You’re in pain and you might not even know what you’re saying.
If I said yes and agreed to this, I’d be no better than Ethan taking advantage when you were drunk. ”
“No. This is different,” I insist, my voice steady. “I want this. I’m the one asking for it.”
Brandon groans and turns his back to me, gripping the back of his neck. “Fuck,” he mutters.
With a newfound confidence, I reach out, prying his fingers from his skin, and turning him to face me. “You’re overthinking it. Stop thinking,” I say, shifting my gaze to his mouth, and I marvel at how perfect it is and how I’ve never noticed.
“Just kiss me,” I whisper.