10. Chapter Ten
Chris unlocks the front door, steps inside, and trips on his own feet. He stumbles but catches himself, turning to face me with his finger to his lips.
“Shhhh!” he says so damn loudly I bet the neighbors down the street heard it.
“You’re the dumbass who tripped,” I tell him, shutting the door.
“It’s these damn feet. They’re too big for my own good. Hey—” He points a finger in my face and gets really close. “But you know what they say about big feet.”
“Ew,” I scoff, pushing him away. “Don’t talk to me about your dick.”
“What’s wrong with my dick?” he asks, rearing his head back. “I’ve heard no complaints about it.”
“You’re my best friend and I don’t wanna hear about it, that’s what.”
He rolls his eyes and hangs his keys up on the hook by the door, but misses. He doesn’t realize they fell on the floor and keeps walking. I shake my head, pick them up and put them on the hook. This guy is trashed. So much so that Mila drove Chris’s car here with us, while Mark followed to take her, since they drove to the alley together.
“I’m hungry!” Chris calls out from the kitchen. He’s going to wake the damn dead. As I head to the kitchen, I glance upstairs, hoping he doesn’t wake up his father. When I hear nothing, I go into the kitchen. Chris’s head is in the fridge. “Yes! Pizzaaa!”
He pulls out a cardboard box, shuts the fridge door with his hip, and goes to the table. He puts it down, and we finish the box off without heating it up. There was half an extra-large. There’s just something so good about cold pizza. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Dirt would taste good right now.
When we’re done, we head toward the stairs. My phone rings halfway up. I pull it from my pocket and see it’s Daniel. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I know I need to handle this before it gets out of control. His texts are up in the forties now, and I haven’t read a single one. Maybe if I tell him off now that I have the balls to do so, he’ll stop.
“Fuck. I gotta take this.” I hold my phone up and wiggle it.
Chris waves me off, not caring about me not going to bed. “I’ll be in dreamland. See you tomorrow, bro.”
Not wanting to wake Cole, I hurry out the side door before answering, wondering why Daniel is calling me at this time of night. It’s when I press the answer button that I remember he’s on the other side of the country and it’s three hours earlier.
“Hello?”
The automatic lights turn on the moment I’m outside.
“Babe! Oh, I’m so glad you answered.”
I move closer to the pool and walk the perimeter slowly, looking down at the water as I go. It’s making me dizzy, intensifying the drunk feeling. So I stop at the corner and stare out at the yard before I fall in.
I huff, “What do you want, Daniel?”
“I miss you.”
Judging by the slur in his words, he’s been drinking. In fact, he’s probably more drunk than Chris right now. But I hear nothing in the background, so I figure he must be home already.
“We aren’t together anymore,” I remind him. “Haven’t been for a while.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.”
No, but it means you shouldn’t call me and tell me about it.
Daniel is the king of gaslighting and the only serious relationship I’d ever had. Great way to start off.
We lasted a little over a year, and I only ended it because I found out he was cheating on me. Had that not happened, I’m not sure I ever would have seen past all the red flags. It was almost like he turned my favorite color to red.
“You can’t keep calling me,” I say.
“How else will I get you to come back to me?”
“That will not happen. I moved back home.”
“And you have nothing there but an asshole father, so you could move back here to be with me since I actually give a shit about you.”
Well, that stings, even though it’s bullshit. The second half, anyway.
And this is why I don’t open up to anyone. Because people are assholes, and they use your weaknesses against you.
Standing up to Daniel isn’t something I’ve ever done. Example one: ignoring his texts. But I’m thousands of miles away from him now and not seeing him face-to-face makes it a little easier to say what I want.
“I’m not moving back.”
“I already told you what you saw wasn’t what you thought it was, babe. Scott was even willing to talk to you and let you know that.”
This douche…
It’s quiet for a bit as I figure out how I want to handle this. I should hang up on him and be done with it, but part of me needs to get this out. Knows I’ll feel better if I stick up for myself.
“I know what I saw, Daniel. Regardless of what you or he say.”
“You saw wrong. Don’t you miss me?”
“No, not really.”
He laughs. “Stop lying to yourself. Of course you do. I took care of you, Bryson. Bought you new clothes and took you out to eat.”
He’s right. He did do those things—and always held it over my head too.
“I never asked you to do that.”
“Exactly. I did it because I wanted to. Meaning it meant more.”
Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I sitting through this bullshit? I don’t have to. There is nothing making me listen to the shit he’s saying.
“I have to go.”
“What could you possibly have to do at two in the morning?” he argues.
“Sleep.”
“You sound wide awake.”
I huff out a sigh and look upwards. “I’m hanging up.”
“If you hang up on me, we’re done.”
I’ve been trying to break up with you for a fucking year.
“Hope that’s a promise.”
I end the call and let out a long sigh. Life will get better. I’m going to make it better. That’s why I’m here. Why I moved across the country. I’m going to find a job, get my shit together, and make my life something worth living. The last thing I need to worry about is a boyfriend. Especially a gaslighting ex who can’t move the hell on.
“Everything okay?” I whirl around, spotting Cole standing on the patio, hands in the pockets of his grey joggers. The white t-shirt hugs every inch of him, and I swear I can make out the dips of his abs. There’s a slight frown on his face and I know he knows the answer to the question before I give it.
I hold my phone up. “Just ex-boyfriend problems.”
He gives me a knowing nod. “You really should be more confident in yourself, Bryson.”
My chest tightens. I hate that he sees me.
Really sees me.
Sees how I hide. Avoid. Self-sabotage and destruct.
And maybe it’s because I’ve been drinking, but I answer more honestly than I should.
Or maybe it’s relief over knowing there is someone in this world who knows the real me. Sees past the facade I put on every single day. It’s tiring. So fucking tiring.
“I used to be. Not really sure what happened.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t let people walk all over you.”
I huff. “No point in not allowing it. I’ve been a doormat since the day I was born.”
Cole moves toward me quickly. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. My mouth goes dry, the memory of me between his legs popping into my head. The last thing in the world I need to think about right now is that night. Not while I’m this intoxicated. This hurt and vulnerable over Daniel being an ass. Over my father being an ass. When I’m feeling low, I do stupid things. Because I’m not thinking right.
“Don’t say shit like that, Bryson,” Cole rasps out.
I search his eyes; the moonlight glinting off them, making them appear almost clear. They’re so fucking beautiful.
“It’s just how I feel,” I whisper, hating how weak the words are.
But loving how I can be so open with Cole and not a single part of me worries he’ll judge me for it or use it against me.
Cole slides his hands to my shoulders.
“Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You’re probably right,” I say. “But it’s how I feel.”
He holds my stare, and I swear his gaze dips to my lips for a split second before darting back to my eyes. I could have imagined it. Probably did. Wishful thinking, and all.
“I am right, Bryson. You need to be good to yourself. Take care of yourself.”
I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper, gritting my teeth.
Cole pulls me to him, wrapping his strong arms around me. I don’t hesitate to wrap mine around his waist. There is nothing sexual about this. Not at all.
He did this a lot when I was a kid. He’s always been an affectionate parent to Chris, and to me too. He was never afraid to show anyone how he felt, yet at the same time, he’d knock someone to the ground if they disrespected him or someone he cared for.
But right now, this feels different.
It doesn’t feel like the type of hug a father gives his son to comfort him. Still, there’s nothing sexual, it’s just more.
Cole is holding me, and he’s holding me tight. Our bodies are pressed together so closely I feel the ridges of his abs, the cut of his pecs. Feel his heartbeat against my chest. I can hear him breathing, this slow rhythmic sound that could lull me to sleep. Hell, I could fall asleep, right here, right now, in his arms…
It’s safe, and warm, and comforting—and so much more than what it was when I was a teenager.
Yet… it can’t possibly be. It’s just the alcohol making me think that.
He lets go, taking a small step back. Nothing in his gaze tells me that it was meant to be more than just a comforting hug.
Maybe I’m just so fucked up in the head I can’t tell the difference between comfort, intimate, sexual, and all that other stuff. I’m so desperate and starved for attention that I see things for more than they are.
Fucking pathetic.
As much as I wish it could be more with Cole, it’s obvious it’s just me being me. Because I’m drinking, my ex is an asshole, and I have hardcore daddy issues.
But… imagine having the freedom to fall into his arms whenever I needed? Imagine being able to ask him to hold me whenever I felt like this, and it not be weird? Imagine having a place I can go to, that is safe, all the time?
Cole’s arms would be my safe place always.
But they can’t be. Because he’s Cole. My best friend’s father.
That reminder, though it’s still like a bucket of ice water over my head, doesn’t hit as harshly as it did in the beginning. But we grow tolerant to the same punishment over and over, until eventually, it isn’t punishment at all. It’s just the norm you learn to live with.
“I meant what I said about you staying here, Bryson. For as long as you need. If you need anything, I don’t care what it is, you tell me, okay?” I nod, unable to form words. My throat is tight, and my eyes are burning. I refuse to let him see me cry though. “Come on, let’s get your drunk ass to bed,” he says with a laugh.
I chuckle, not wanting to tell him I’m not drunk. At least I can use that as cover if he noticed how emotional I am—which I’m sure he did because he doesn’t miss a thing. He keeps his arm around my shoulders and guides me toward the house. He locks up, walks me to the stairs, and watches as I go up. I pause halfway, wondering why he isn’t following me. It’s got to be nearly three am. What are his plans this time of night?
“Get to bed. We’ve got breakfast plans in the morning, remember?”
I frown, holding onto the railing so I don’t topple down. I put the pieces together, recalling tomorrow is Sunday, and huff out a disbelieving laugh. “You still do that shit?”
He grins. “Traditions don’t die in this house.”