Chapter 63
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ariana
“Hey.”
I glance at the couch. It’s no longer his makeshift bed, but since Arden’s working and I’ve been practically living in my room, he’s been spending most of his time out here on his own, anyway. He studies my face, probably gauging if I’m about to pounce, and then gestures for me to join him.
I do, because even though I’m angry with him, I miss my brother. I’d prefer not to have this horrible, gaping pain between us—this resentment. Forgiveness is only possible after apologies are made. We’re going to have to have a conversation. It’s the only step forward.
Doesn’t mean I’m ready for it.
I slowly drop myself onto the couch and cross my arms in front of myself. A shield, I think.
He lowers the volume on the TV and turns to face me. His eyes are brighter today, his face has more colour. I guess that happens when the love of your life starts talking to you again after weeks of icing you out.
“I’m sorry.”
I blink, my brow furrowing. That was quicker than I expected. Much more to the point, too. “What?”
“I realize how overbearing I’ve been with you,” he starts, rubbing his hands together. “In my head, Ari, everything that I do is for your own good. That doesn’t make me right, it makes me…feel better. When you listen to the things that I think are best for you, I feel better.”
I continue to listen, but I don’t offer any words.
“But that’s the thing. I don’t consider what makes you feel better.
What makes you happy. I just try to avoid the things that have the power to make you unhappy.
” He studies my face and swallows. “I’ve been so preoccupied with making sure that I never have to see you the way you were when you were seventeen again that I haven’t stopped to consider that you aren’t a seventeen-year-old girl anymore, Ari.
You’re an adult now, and you’re strong and smart, and I should trust you. ”
My eyes burn as I chew on the inside of my cheek, hating the way each word hurts in the best way. I feel heard. I feel like he finally listened to me. I talk a lot, but he doesn’t always hear me.
“You can make your own decisions, and I should trust you to know what’s best for yourself,” he says, smiling gently, but it’s still twinged with pain. “You don’t need me anymore.”
I stare at him, a tear slipping down my cheek. That’s not true. That will never be true. “I’ll always need you.”
He stills, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“You’re my big brother,” I say, my voice shaking as I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
He sniffs, dragging a hand over his face, and forces his gaze to the coffee table. We sit in that pocket of silence for a second. Me, crying quietly, and him, trying not to.
Carter finally clears his throat. “He’s a good guy.
I know that. I’ve spent years telling him that I want him to find someone.
Someone good. And you’re the best person I know.
It’s the immature, protective part of me that resists this,” he admits quietly.
“I should have been a safe enough space for you to tell me how you were feeling, that you were seriously interested in him. I don’t want you to be scared to tell me anything. Even if it’s something I don’t like.”
I nod, brushing my cheeks with the pads of my fingers.
I needed this. Every single one of these words.
The little girl in me has always wanted to live up to the pedestal that he put me on.
I don’t think I was prepared for the feeling of him yanking me off it.
That’s how it felt in the kitchen—like he no longer was proud to be my brother.
He glances at me again, pain in his eyes. “And I’m so sorry that I hurt you to the point where you hate me, Ari. I hear you say that every fucking second on a loop in my head.”
His voice breaks, and my heart follows in its wake.
I shake my head, my face crumbling. The only thing worse than using your words as weapons against the people you love most is the regret that comes afterward.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay. I get it,” he says quietly. “That was probably the worst possible version of myself. I hate myself a bit right now, too.”
“No.” It’s not true. It’s not how I feel and it destroys me that he believed it.
I slide down the couch, frantically reaching for him, and pull my brother into a hug.
He lets out the biggest, deepest breath of relief as he winds his arms around my back.
“I could never hate you. You’re my best friend, Carter. I didn’t mean it.”
“I could never be embarrassed of you, either,” he murmurs, giving me a little squeeze. Those were the words that sharpened my blade to deliver the hateful, final blow. “I’m sorry I said that.”
“I’m sorry, too.” I sniffle over his shoulder. “How in trouble are you?”
“Even if I was in trouble, I’d deserve it,” he mumbles, patting my back. “But I’m not. Not really.”
“He hasn’t been playing, though.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Regret is not a familiar look in my brother’s eyes, but it’s there now. “Not until he heals. He’ll be back next week.”
I settle back into my seat, not understanding how his coach hasn’t benched him for what he did to Boston, not caring why he hasn’t. I have a feeling it has something to do with Boston advocating for my brother. There is no way he got by unscathed after what he’s done.
I’m overwhelmed. The relief over having this sorted, knowing that at least one part of my heart will start to feel better soon, overpowers the rest of it.
I’m still angry at my brother. I’ll be angry about what he did forever because it was horrifying, and he was in the wrong.
But I love him, and I’m willing to support him while he gets the help that he clearly needs.
I forgive him for what he said to me, but I’m not forgiving him for what he did.
That’s Boston’s choice to make, not mine.
“I love you, kid.”
I smile weakly as I drag my sleeve under my eyes. “I love you, too.”
He holds out his hand and I breathe a laugh through my tears. We smack our palms twice and do our handshake. Every single step. The second we’re done he slaps his hands on his thighs and gets to his feet, letting out a long groan as he does.
“Alright. That’s my cue.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, watching him tread to the kitchen. He grabs his keys off the island. “You were in the middle of a movie!”
“I’m good. Already seen it,” he says, retreating to the fridge. He pulls something out of it and strolls back toward me with a casual ease. Without a word, he drops a full, stunning charcuterie board onto the coffee table.
Everything stops. My brain. My heart. The world.
I stare at it for a long moment before I slowly look up at him. “What is that?”
“A drive-thru charcuterie board, whatever the fuck that means,” he grumbles, waving me off. He shoots me a look, like this pains him, but he has to do it. “It looks like Cupid’s job is never done. Arden and I are getting a hotel tonight. See you in the morning.”
“Carter!” I snap, jumping to my knees on the couch.
He ignores me, tossing on his coat, and throws a peace sign over his shoulder. The door to the condo gently shuts behind him. I stare at it for five minutes, waiting for him to return and explain himself, but of course he doesn’t.
Why would he make it easy and explain whatever the hell this is?
I drag my eyes back to the beautiful board, decorated with food.
The board itself is gorgeous, a deep wood with pink and gold markings.
I lean forward to examine the artistry. There are so many olives, I could live on them for weeks.
They’re arranged in a giant ‘A’ at the center of the spread.
Fresh, curated meats. Different types of cheese. Pretzels, chocolates, crackers.
There are little sticks in some of the food with neatly printed labels. I slowly read them, one by one.
First time you slept over.
You said you liked this salami that time I made you a sandwich and you dropped mustard on your shirt.
Cheese infused with olives. Made me think of you.
Tears burn in my eyes. My throat tightens with each label.
Because you always want chocolate after you eat.
This one is my favourite. I want you to try it.
“Hi.”
I whirl around, nearly flying right off the couch. A yelp of surprise leaves my throat, but I manage to catch myself on the edge of the table before I hit the floor, just in time to see my favourite pair of green eyes staring down at me from a few feet away.
“Jesus,” I whisper, placing my hand on my chest. “I thought you were a serial killer.”
Boston arches a dark brow. “I quite literally knocked before I walked in.”
I must have been too engrossed in the charcuterie board to have heard it.
We stare at each other. There is so much distance between us.
He looks good. Handsome, practically healed.
Beautiful. I don’t know how to be in the same room as him anymore, not when I’ve only ever known flirting or messing with him.
There’s never been a gray area. Never been a friendship.
It was always me chasing and him holding the goalpost slightly out of reach.
I don’t know how to exist in a world where I am not supposed to want him. Where I’m not supposed to love him, either.
The silence stretches into what feels like minutes until I start to panic at the look on his face. I need to fill the quiet, need to say something so we aren’t just watching each other the way we are.
“Is this from you?” I ask, gesturing to the table.
He shoots me a bored look.
Oh, how I’ve missed that look.
I grin, which makes him relax a bit, just like I’d hoped for. He slowly trudges toward the couch, every single step hesitant, and takes a seat a few cushions away from me.
I reach forward, stealing a couple of olives and popping them into my mouth. Any excuse to do something with my hands, with my mouth. Any excuse not to focus on him being so close.
I’m nervous. Did you pick up on that?
“Ari.”