Chapter 22
Kit
I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Brett upset. Like, really upset. Brett’s default is laid back; he’s too easygoing to allow things to affect him.
Most of the time.
It’s hard to watch now, and even harder knowing he’s mad on my behalf. Maybe even mad at me?
My stomach is in knots, watching him pace back and forth in my driveway between our houses.
I can still feel the echo of the slammed car door that startled me out of the mental replaying from hell.
I don’t think Brett has ever slammed a car door.
He just doesn’t react that way. Slamming car doors and looking way more like Bowen than I’ve ever seen him. His brows are lowered in frustration.
“Brett…”
“Don’t.”
My eye pulses, my eyelid swelling more by the minute. My lip is busted, the dried blood pulling at my face when I wince. I hurt all over.
Brett’s knuckles are bruised, but other than that and a faint red mark on his cheek from a weak punch that just barely landed, he’s unharmed.
I won’t say that being openly gay has been easy. It hasn’t. There were plenty of people that risked pissing off Tucker and the twins to still let me know what they think of me. But the guys protected me. Always. Even when shit has been weird and hard between Bowen and me.
But…
But. They protect me too much.
I love them, but sometimes, I feel smothered under their protection.
Even if there was a guy that liked me, they wouldn’t dare come close.
None other than Jude, anyway. But that guy really did live for pissing Bowen off.
Likely half the reason he asked me out to begin with.
The point is, all I wanted was a night to be me.
To feel what it may be like without them always hovering.
They all had plans tonight; I didn’t. I didn’t think they would even know what I got up to.
Wrong.
And thank fuck.
“I can’t believe you thought that prick had good intentions,” Brett says, seething all over again when he stops to look at me.
“He called you horrible shit sophomore year when you came out, and you thought, ‘yeah, let me hop on the back of this guy’s motorcycle and go to a random house party with him.’” He kicks at the ground and curses, grabbing at his hair.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. This was not your fault. No part of this was your fault. Fuck.”
It sounds so much worse when he puts it like that.
Brett huffs a laugh. “Just wait until Tuck and Bowen get here.”
That statement has my legs moving, pushing off the side of the house and moving toward him. “Not necessary.”
“Fuck that.”
“Brett…”
“You got beat up, Kit!” Brett is breathing so fast, and his face is half-crazed when he takes in my aching features. I’ve never once doubted his love for me. It’s so pure, so honest. I offer him a sad smile, shrugging.
“You saved me, Brett-man. Just like you always do.” I wrap my arms around his center and squeeze until he slowly, so slowly, relaxes into the hold.
Until I can stop thinking about what would have happened had Brett not been at the same party I stupidly went to.
Had he not walked in to save the day when he heard someone yell.
He had no idea it was me in that room until he busted in.
The look on his face is a memory I won’t be forgetting any time soon.
He hugs me back. He’s always given the best hugs. His arms tighten their hold even more, and I sag into the embrace. For a long moment, we just stay like that, standing in the driveway, our hearts pounding. His chin rests on top of my head, and his voice is quieter now, but no less serious.
“You could have been really hurt.”
“I was really hurt,” I joke, but it lands flat. Neither of us laugh because it’s really not funny at all.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, blue eyes rimmed with red. “You know Bowen will kill him.”
I wince again, not from pain this time, just the idea of Bowen seeing me like this. Of him knowing that I let my guard down with someone just to feel wanted. Someone like Mikey. My cheeks burn with shame because I didn’t care who it was. It could have been anyone.
“Bowen isn’t killing anyone because you’re not telling him who did it. I just…wanted to exist, Brett. Like a normal seventeen-year-old without one of you breathing down my neck.”
Brett’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “I get it. I do. Doesn’t mean that I would ever be cool with you hanging out with a fucking dickhead like Mikey.”
“I didn’t think he’d hit me.”
“I bet you didn’t think he’d force his tongue in your mouth, either.
And then you didn’t think he’d try to shove his hand down your pants, despite you yelling no so loud, I heard you over the shitty music in the hall.
I should have busted in the room right then.
” His voice trembles now, somewhere between fury and heartbreak. “God, Kit.”
I cross my arms, blinking fast. “Can we not talk about that part?”
“Okay,” he says, softer now. “Okay.”
He looks down the street like he’s expecting Tucker and Bowen to pull up any minute. I don’t know if he texted them, and I don’t have it in me to ask.
“I can’t go inside my house like this. Not tonight. My parents…” I whisper, rubbing my sleeve over my busted lip.
“Then stay at my house.” Brett doesn’t hesitate. “You think I won’t make up a story to cover for you? If that’s what you want, I will. Even though I think you should tell someone about this, Kit…”
“No,” I shake my head vehemently.
“Okay.” The frustration is bleeding back into his voice, and I see it pulling back down his brow. He sucks in a slow breath, nodding again. “Okay, so I come up with a story. Tonight, you get to wear Bowen’s hoodie and crash in his bed. He’ll take the couch.”
“Brett.”
“What?”
“I don’t know if I can face him tonight.”
His expression shifts. “Because of what happened?”
“Because he’s Bowen,” I say, heart in my throat. “And I’m already hurting.”
He blinks, stunned silent for a second, and then he nods. It’s not often I’m honest with him about my feelings for his brother. But tonight, I’m too tired to hide.
He rubs his hand through his messy black hair and lets out a breath. “Kat-boy… I wish I could fix that, too.”
I shrug, helpless. “You can’t.”
The absence of Bowen as a constant in my life has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with. When you grow up with someone by your side, it’s like losing a limb when they’re suddenly gone.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Kit. You know that, right?”
I nod.
“Say it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Brett pulls me back into his arms. “Damn right. You’re the best person I know, Kat-boy.”
We sit behind his car in the driveway, the concrete still warm from the day. Brett runs a finger under his nose, sniffling like he’s trying not to cry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry. Not like this. Over a movie, sure. But not about life.
He leans back on his hands and looks up at the stars, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re seventeen.”
I don’t say anything. My face still aches. My heart aches worse.
“I remember when you cried because you thought Bowen was going to marry that one girl from third grade,” he continues, smirking a little. “You were so mad at him, Kit. You stomped all the way home and told your mom he was dead to you.”
“Yeah, well,” I mumble. “Guess I was doomed from the start.”
Brett bumps his shoulder against mine. There’s a quiet between us.
Not awkward, but heavy. “You’re gonna find someone good, you know,” Brett says after a while, like he needs to say it aloud to manifest a different reality for me.
“Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you have to beg for space in their life.
Someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re some problem to figure out. ”
“I don’t know how I could ever want anyone else,” I say before I can stop myself. It slips out low and fragile, but fuck, it's the truth.
Brett looks over at me, really looks. His eyes are soft now. No teasing, just a little heartbreak on my behalf.
Before either of us can say anything else, headlights round the corner.
Brett groans. “Shit. That’s him.”
I swallow hard. “Brett, can we go inside?”
“He won’t admit it yet,” Brett murmurs, half to himself, “but he’s always been yours.”
I don’t have time to process what he says before the car pulls into the driveway next door. Bowen climbs out, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess. His eyes find me immediately, still sitting behind his brother’s Jeep.
He freezes.
And then, just like he used to, he walks towards us.
His steps get faster the closer he gets. Brett doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, just tips his chin towards me like… Well? Would you look at this shit?
“What the fuck happened?” Bowen’s voice is low and cutting as he crouches down in front of me. His eyes rake over my face. “Who the hell did this to you?”
His fingers are already on me, tipping my chin gently to the side to get a better look at my swelling eye. His thumb ghosts over the bruise forming along my cheekbone. He doesn’t say anything about the blood crusted near my mouth, but his jaw clenches tight enough to crack.
“I’m fine," I choke out. How long has it been since he's touched me?
“The fuck you are.” His hands don’t leave me.
One stays at my jaw, the other rests heavy on my knee.
That familiar weight. The grounding touch.
It used to mean everything to me. I used to hate it—hate how much I didn’t hate it, not at all.
But more than anything, I took his easy touches and constant affection for granted.
Now it just fucking hurts. It hurts, yet I still wish he would pull me into his arms.
“I’m okay, Bowen.”
He scoffs, not mean but raw, and pulls back like my skin burns him. He doesn’t stand, just sinks down onto the ground beside me instead, elbows braced on his bent knees, hands clasped together tightly like he’s trying not to punch something.
“Why didn’t anyone call me?” His voice is quieter now, but it carries. “Brett texted Delaney. I had to hear it from fucking Delaney, Kit.”
I glance at Brett, who has the audacity to look unapologetic as hell. And pissed. “I knew you were back with her. Fucking dumbass.”
Bowen’s laugh is drenched in bitterness. “Whatever.”
They stare each other down, and I press a hand to my temple. The pounding in my head is nothing compared to the one behind my ribs.
“I didn’t want to make it a big deal. I’m fine,” I say, which is true and also the worst lie I’ve ever told. “It was just a few punches.”
“Right. Just that.” Brett sighs, so fucking sad sounding.
Bowen’s eyes sharpen, scanning me over again, like he can see the places I was touched now. Can see how they touched me. I cross my arms over my chest.
“Don’t do that,” Bowen snaps. “Don’t downplay it. Tell me.”
I blink hard. “I got my first kiss, just like I wanted. He tasted like shitty beer and thought he could hit all the bases. I clammed up and changed my mind. He didn’t like that. What else do you want me to say? I said I’m fine. Let’s drop it.”
“What the fuck, Kit? Stop acting like it doesn’t matter,” Bowen hisses.
“Does it matter to you? Really?” I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth, but I can’t take them back.
“Of course it matters to me.” His voice is breaking at the edges, and I have to choke down the ball of emotions in my throat. He’s mad, and I'm scared, and he’s so far away, even sitting beside me.
How did we get here?
“Of course? I didn't realize you still gave a shit.” I snort, a bitter laugh of my own hanging between us.
Something flickers across his face. A thousand things all at once.
Regret. Fury. Longing. Confusion. Or maybe it's all just my imagination.
I still want to grab onto his shirt and shake the fucking shit out of him.
I want to see Bowen Briggs, the unmoving force that he's been lately, crumble and break.
I want my Boe back.
When he speaks, his voice is back to being quiet but razor sharp.
“Don’t do that.”
“What can’t I do now, Bowen?”
“Make this about me. Us.”
I scoff, but he gets up before I can say anything else. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like Brett had been just minutes before. Same sidewalk. Same storm. He doesn’t say another word. He definitely doesn’t touch me again.