Chapter Twenty Five
Ryder
At no point during my brother’s entire bachelor party was I as hungover as I was that morning. I didn’t know where I was, how I got there, or what the fuck happened.
I was in a bed, in a bedroom that looked like a fancy hotel. The sound of automatic shades lifting had woken me up, letting me see just how high above the ground I was. But I still didn’t put it together until I heard Rickie’s voice coming from somewhere else in the apartment.
“Woof. I told you to use my makeup-removing tonic last night,” she said.
Another voice that sounded familiar, but I couldn't place, responded, “Girl, that shit’s like two hundred a bottle. Good old soap and water do just fine for me.”
Rickie laughed until she coughed. “No offense, but they do not.”
“Sit on it and rotate,” the other voice said.
I dragged myself out of bed, still dressed under the covers. My phone wasn’t on either of the nightstands, but my wallet and keys were.
When I walked out into the kitchen and living space, floor-to-ceiling views of Central Park greeted me.
There was some kind of party there the night before.
Cans littered the several multi-level, misshapen coffee tables.
The white, fluffy-looking couches and chairs were also oddly shaped.
It felt like the cover of some magazine.
Kris stood behind a giant marble island, shirtless, making coffee at a built-in chrome coffee machine. His back was to me, but dude was ripped. He turned around to give me a nod, clearly not a morning conversationalist.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Rickie said.
Rickie and another guy were sitting at the island. I didn't realize it was Mae until he turned around, the ghost of Mae’s face still haunting his.
“Oh, Mae, I didn’t recognize you,” I said.
“It’s Matt, actually. Nice to re-meet you,” Matt said, offering his hand.
I shook it and flopped down next to him.
“Did the blinds wake you?” Rickie asked, and I nodded. She rolled her eyes. “It’s my dad’s place. They’re set to open at seven every day. I don’t know how to change it, and neither does he.”
“What, uh… happened last night?” I asked.
Matt said, “Oh, honey.”
Rickie laughed, saying, “You don’t remember giving medical advice to the entire bar last night?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” We laughed. “Hey, do you know where my phone is?”
“Oh, yeah!” Rickie said with more energy than I was prepared for. “I plugged it in for you.” She got up and walked across the expansive living room. “You have like a million notifications. And it keeps going off. I think you might be in trouble.”
She handed it to me, and my heart raced. Dozens and dozens of texts and voicemails from everyone in my life. Family, work, friends. Only some missed calls from Finn, but no texts or voicemails.
“I hope they didn’t put out an APB.” Rickie watched me scroll my lock screen.
“Yeah, I—”
Miles’s face lit up my screen. I held it as it vibrated in my palm. Then answered.
“Hey, man. Can we talk?” Miles asked. It sounded like he’d been crying.
◆◆◆
I listened to a podcast on my way home. Not listened, heard. I should’ve called my mother, but my skull threatened to break open, and my stomach begged to empty its contents every time I thought about it. Miles knew I was okay. He’d tell them.
He was waiting outside my building, just as he said he would be, looking like absolute dog shit.
Our phone call had been brief. Miles said he needed to talk to me before the wedding, then broke down sobbing and apologizing.
I told him to meet me at my place in two hours, but he said he was already there.
“You look awful,” I said, walking up to him.
He started to sob again and gave me the tightest hug we may have ever shared.
“I’m so fucking sorry, man. So, so, so fucking sorry. How can I ever make it up to you?”
“Start by not making a scene in front of my building.”
He was calmer by the time we were on my couch, but I felt worse. “So, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be getting ready? You’re getting married in a few hours.”
“I…” He cried. “I don’t know if I am, man.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
That was the best news I’d heard, maybe in my whole life.
Maybe our relationship wasn't as dead as it felt the other night at Johnny Pete’s.
Even if he no longer hollowed my chest, and didn’t marry that woman, I’d have to tell him just how much damage he’d done to our relationship in her name. Before I did, I needed to hear him out.
“I don’t know what to do.” He cried harder. “Mom and Dad laid into me last night about it. But they got me thinking, man. I haven't slept a goddamn wink.”
“What were you thinking?”
“You have no idea how much pressure I’m under all the fucking time, bro.
Every second of every day, I have to be perfect.
The perfect boyfriend. The perfect man. Ready to record or be recorded at any minute.
Look perfect, too. If I miss a workout, she calls me a fat slob.
It’s fucking awful, bro. I can’t take it.
And how she fucking makes me feel. Like I’m worthless.
The only thing going for me is her. And that I’d be a sissy little bitch if she didn’t know how to make me a real man. ”
I had the urge to vomit since I woke up. He made it worse. “Jesus fucking Christ, Miles. That’s worse than I thought.”
“I know.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I knew on some level she was fucked up, but I played her up to everyone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you.” My voice strained, and my head throbbed. Those few hours’ sleep weren’t enough.
“No, man. Not after everything. I kept wanting to tell you. Call you up. But then I was like, he hates me.” He cried harder. “I felt like such a piece of shit in Miami. And, and, and, the whole wedding party thing. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I took a second. The words, It’s all good, bro, no worries, were about to leave my lips. But that wasn't what he needed to hear. He needed to know Bree was a homophobic piece of trash, and just how badly his actions, and inactions, had hurt me.
“You can always call me, man. No matter what. I love you, you're my brother, but I’m not gonna pretend this shit didn’t fuck me up.” My eyes stung staring at his. “What you did really fucking hurt me.”
He wiped his eyes on his arm. “I know, Ry, and I’m so fucking sorry.”
My body was so heavy, and my stomach wasn’t getting any better. I couldn’t stand seeing him like that. “I know it was more her than you, but you let it happen, man.”
“I did, and that’s on me. But she got in my head, bro.”
I tensed my eyes. “She got in your head? Are you a bigot, too, now? She told me, right before we left for the stag night, that being gay was inappropriate.”
His tone darkened as he swallowed. “Trust me, she’s said much worse than that about you.”
“Like what?”
“That you’re a narcissist with a hero complex who kept me down my whole life so you could shine.”
I blinked twice, no longer able to be surprised by that woman. “Do you believe that?”
Miles broke down again. “No, man! No! Of course not. But she had me lying to myself about my own life experiences.” He sobbed harder. “And… And then Mom asked me all this stuff, and I was like, holy fucking shit, is it really that bad?”
“What did she ask you?”
Miles explained their conversation, reliving the wounds as if he suffered them sitting on my couch.
I was wrong. What my brother told me was…
She wasn’t just some stuck-up, holier-than-thou narcissist influencer.
She was full-blown abusive. My mouth filled with saliva over and over.
Each revelation hammered my forehead, blurred my vision, and made my gut worse.
My immediate instinct was to fall into big brother mode. Find her, and make it painfully clear that if she ever so much as spoke my brother’s name aloud again, I’d devote the rest of my life to ruining hers.
But he didn’t need my protection. Had I expressed how hurt I was, maybe Miles wouldn’t have been with her as long as he was. If I weren’t scared of being a burden or my sexuality being uncomfortable, I fucking would have.
By the end, he was sobbing and hiccuping.
“I just… I’m so fucking sorry. I felt terrible about the best man shit.
But then I thought maybe it wasn’t a big deal, ‘cause you didn’t seem that mad.
I can’t fucking believe I let her do that to me.
” He pressed his hands into his eyes so hard I was afraid they’d rupture.
I pulled him into a hug. The pit of anger in my volatile stomach and the hollow hurt in my chest were still there, but no matter what, he was my brother.
“It’s okay, man. It’s okay,” I said, crying too.
“I’m so sorry, Ryder. I fucked up so bad.” We hugged until he calmed down. When he sat back, he said, “Great, now I made my big brother cry, too.”
“At least I don’t have snot all over my face.”
“No, only on your shirt.”
When I looked down, there was a small wet spot from his tears. “Fucking gross, man,” I said, shoving him and laughing.
Miles laughed, too, leaving his face gaunt and exhausted.
I said, “Can I just… ask you why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why her? She’s hot, yeah. But, like… she must have god-tier pussy or something.”
“No.” His shoulders moved up with a single chuckle. “She’s a pillow princess who thinks blow jobs are for whores and gays.”
His face burned as soon as he said it, and a second passed with us just staring at each other until we both burst out laughing.
I said, “Well, at least you're not shallow enough to fall for it just ‘cause she’s hot and good in bed.”
“Like a dead fish, bro. Not that you’d know, but like, trust me.” He laughed harder.
“What wouldn’t I know? Dudes can be both pillow princesses and dead fish in bed.” My face screwed up in mock offense.
“True. I guess you’re—OH fuck!”
“What?!” I said. Miles looked like he had just deleted my save file. “What? You’re scaring me.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you, but, uh…” He looked at me, then away, and back again. “Finn told us.”
I didn't understand. “What do you mean? Told who about what?”
“Finn was there last night with Mom and Dad and Lena. He came out to us and said you guys were together. He said he loved you.”
My eyes fluttered, and my chin pulled back.
I couldn’t process it. Were we together?
Other than the one missed call this morning, I hadn’t heard from him since he left my apartment the day before.
I assumed that was my mother getting him to check on my safety.
I blinked again as my head spun. Why no text?
Or voicemail? But then… he said he loved me? And came out to my parents?
“You need to elaborate,” I said.
He did. It didn’t make me feel any better. It sounded like he only told them to help Miles see how terrible Bree was, which worked. He admitted hearing it snapped him out of the spell he had been under.
I told him about our fight, the “revenge” plot that wasn’t, how Lena let it all slip. His reaction to the plot was, “Fuck, that would’ve been hilarious… and terrifying.” Though even through his laughter, he was losing steam.
But his reaction to Finn knowing we talked about him wasn’t jovial, and left him looking even more green around the gills. “He…. Fuck, man. He knew? He knows that we, like, suspected he liked you?”
“From what I gathered before he stormed off, he thought we were laughing at him.”
“What?! No fucking way! I love you two together! Are you fucking kidding?! We’ll hang out all the time. You’ll never get rid of me!” Miles expended energy he didn’t have, and that expense was written all over his pale, clammy face.
“I know, I tried to tell him that, but… It is what it is.”
“Fuck,” Miles looked worse by the second. “He sat there last night, with all of us, and just… fuck, man.” A beat passed. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“About Finn?”
“No, everything. It’s just—” He jumped up and ran to my bathroom.
When he returned, his skin was paler and clammier, and breathing was shallow. I knew acute stress when I saw it. Plus, he said he hadn’t slept. That was enough for the moment.
“Lay down,” I said, pointing to my love seat. He tried to protest, but I insisted. “You need to rest. You look like shit, and now you’re puking.”
I put on a cooking show I knew he liked, and he was snoring in under ninety seconds. I needed the rest, too. Maybe I wasn’t puking, but I’d been close all morning.
If Finn told my freaking family he loved me, then he must not want to end things, right? Or maybe that was a final act of bravery to save his best friend? It had been hours since he had called me. Why not?
My head swam, and I lay back. I could call him, but that felt futile. Thinking about it made my head feel worse. I liked that cooking show too and watched for a few minutes. Maybe I’d rest my eyes for a minute, too. Just a few seconds.