Chapter 29
A n audible gasp breaks out from the small crowd. I’m not the only one surprised the hit came from Evan and not Tyler.
Evan was Tyler’s closest friend and Tyler’s rational other half so it was normal for Evan to support Tyler, even if he was the one apologizing on behalf of Tyler everytime they fled a scene—even the cases when Tyler had gone too far.
Ben gains his footing and faces Evan, looking more angered than injured, though from the sound of the contact it looked like the hit might’ve done some damage.
Ben and I weren’t the subject of the rumor I’d heard, so why would Evan throw Ben so much heat?
The mature Ben I know—Agent Ben Brown—would think for a moment, assess what course of action would produce the best outcome, then calmly approach a loose cannon with the goal of diffusing it. Not this Ben. This Ben doesn’t hesitate before swinging a clenched fist back at Evan, matching the same jawline target and leaving Evan with a bloody scrape across his lip.
The crowd grows around them. The basketball boys, hoping for some more action, rile up Ben and Evan with coarse encouragement.
As anticipation builds for who will throw the next swing, the sun escapes the gate of clouds, allowing its rays to stretch across the base of the Rocky Mountains before it falls behind them for the night. The sun’s brief appearance warms the courtyard while Ben and Evan forgo throwing punches, deciding instead to sear through each other's skulls with dangerous gazes.
Diana leans into my side as the intensity grows between the boys. Tyler stands to the right of them looking relatively calm despite the context of the fight. And to my surprise Diana looks just as calm. In fact, she has the temperament of a person standing outside the ring of a boxing match, rooting for whoever puts up the best fight.
“Why would you?…I told you that morning we were going with Tyler to the rink,” Ben says to Evan.
One of the cheerleaders shouts right behind me. “What’s going on over here?” I flinch at her yelling, missing the part of the verbal exchange in front of me.
“—as friends? Sounds like she was easy,” Evan snaps.
“At least not with me!” Ben replies.
“That’s not what I heard.” Evan smiles with satisfaction as if he knows this will hit a nerve.
The confusing accusations being thrown around make me think this conversation isn’t about Diana anymore.
Ben scoffs and without warning slams his fist into Evan’s smooth face, making another ugly sound and likely altering his scratch to an open cut. A thick stream of blood trickles down Evan’s lip.
“Ben, let him go,” Tyler steps between the two of them.
“Got anything else to say?” Ben directs his words back to Evan. Instead of answering, Evan lunges at Ben, throwing five or six punches anywhere he’s able. A few of them make the connection, injuring Ben’s left ribs. He hunches over clenching his side.
“You kissed your sister’s best friend even though you spent the last three weeks wishing she’d leave the country? She was with me. I thought we were…” Evan trails off, glancing at me for a second before quickly looking away.
“What you heard today wasn’t meant for you, Evan,” Tyler says, pulling Evan away from Ben, who’s raging and unable to take a deep calming breath. Tyler seems to struggle, defeated by his two best friends arguing. It shows as he weakly pulls at Evan.
The whole cheer team has caught on to Evan’s allegations. Everyone stares at me as Ben walks away steaming like a pressure cooker ready to blow. Did they think I was just a rebound or a two-timer? They might be right about the rebound.
Whether Ben’s avoiding me because of a rumor or because he made a mistake kissing me, it all feels the same. What progress I’ve made with Ben is faltering; it’s chugging down a broken-down railway heading for the edge of a cliff.
I run after him, managing to grab onto his loose tee and drag him to a tree, away from the others. He whips me around with competing force and leads me to the cafeteria’s back entrance underneath the doorframe where a sibling-like struggle ensues.
The whole entanglement appears more like a dance due to our battle of strengths. He wins, but only because of the height he has over me, then lays his hands on my shoulders as if one of us has something to explain. Though I’m not sure who he thinks should do the explaining. It’s certainly not me. I hadn’t done anything that warranted explaining. The most I’d done wrong here is kiss him too soon after he broke up with Bennette. That’s hardly an offense. Ben didn’t seem to care either at the time since he was the one who initiated it.
“Where’ve you been all day?” I say pinned to the door. He loosens his hold on me.
“I was in the mechanic shop.”
“So you’ve been avoiding me all day,” I say as if it’s a statement, yet we both know I mean to lure him in and fish for more detail. I might as well have phrased it as a question.
“If that’s how you want to put it, sure,” he says and I can tell he’s becoming increasingly cold.
“So kissing me the other night? You think it’s fine to just ignore that it happened? It must’ve meant nothing to you if you’re just going to leave me hanging like this.”
“From what I heard, it sounds like it meant nothing to you either.”
“What are you talking about?” I say with more confusion than I felt in the moment Evan swung at Ben instead of Tyler.
“Why bother having this conversation? Do me a favor and pretend nothing happened,” he’s quick to say.
At that, I feel my years-long pent-up feelings bubble inside of me. He’s crushing me the same way he did after Diana’s wedding. He’d rather leave me to come up with the conclusion myself, with no courtesy to tell me the truth. After flirting with me on one occasion, he’d come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to be with his sister’s best friend—both in this universe and the last.
Just because Ben and I have been lifelong friends doesn’t mean I don’t deserve an open and honest explanation now or in the past—future—whatever. I’ve had enough.
I shove his hand away. Mild volcanic activity rises up in my chest, and I shove all of him away from me with clenched fists. He stumbles back against the cafeteria door before regaining his balance and watches me as I debate my next move.
I’ve held on to my disappointment before with no qualms, so why can’t I do the same this time? Is it because we actually kissed this time? He actually physically initiated something with me and set all the hope I’d ever had on fire just to take it back without words.
I come back at him with an FBI defensive tactic, a shot to his shoulder, throwing my fist strategically into the crease between his chest and armpit with more strength than I should’ve.
“Ugh,” he grunts.
And just as I land it, I know I’ve done the wrong thing. This isn’t right in a romantic relationship. Not even if I’d felt like I’d been winding in and out of a brotherly relationship with him for most of my life. And then it hits me, as if my own actions have proven the kind of brother-sister relationship this really is.
I secretly shed a few tears. Three angry tears. Tears I wipe away quickly before walking away. He’s done it again. Given me hope just to crush it.