11. Chapter Eleven
12 years old…
Curling my beat-up drawing pad in half, I shove it into my back pocket. I slam my locker shut just as the bell rings, signaling there are two minutes until class starts. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late. Again.
“Bry!” I look over my shoulder and stop when I see Chris jogging my way. He gives me a fist bump and we walk to homeroom together. Thankfully we get there before the bell signals we’re tardy.
We move to the back, and I pull out my pad and pencil as I sit while Chris stays standing.
“Whatcha working on today?” he asks, hovering over me. I shove him away with my elbow.
“I can feel your breath,” I groan.
“At least it smells good.” He blows in my face, and I shove him away again.
“You are so gross, dude!”
He backs up and gives me space so I can open up to the page I was working on last night. Drawing is the only thing that keeps me calm at home. I can so easily get lost in what I’m doing. Hours pass and I don’t realize.
“You did not draw that,” Chris says, gaping at the picture.
The bell rings, and he takes a seat beside me but doesn’t stop staring.
“Yes, I did,” I say, staring down at the drawing I’ve been working on of a dragon curled around the tower of a castle. It’s only if you look close, like really close because the pad isn’t nearly big enough to put the details into it that I want, you’ll see it isn’t just the castle he’s guarding. But the person inside.
Chris blows out a sharp breath, shaking his head.
“You’re going to be the next Beethoven.”
“You are so dumb! Beethoven was a composer.”
“Yeah, he composed pictures.”
I turn to face him, slow blinking. “Remind me why we’re friends again?”
He flips me the middle finger just as the teacher walks in. He quickly yanks his hand away, and I hide my laugh. But throughout class, he sneaks more middle fingers at me. Which makes me laugh. And I remember this is why he’s my best friend.
Present day…
Ever since I can remember, the Harpers went out for breakfast on Sunday mornings. I remember Chris telling me about it in school, even when his parents were still together. Cole kept up the tradition with Chris after Tabitha left and happily had me tag along on the weekends I stayed with them. The fact they still do this blows my mind. So much has changed here, yet so much has stayed exactly the same. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact they can keep something so stable when my life is such a mess.
What’s it like to have a father who cares about you enough to cement things into your life, to make you feel safe? To make sure traditions live on?
“Morning, Cole, Christopher, and…” The waitress trails off, looking at me with a curious smile.
“Bryson,” Chris says, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “My best friend ever.”
“Good morning, best friend ever,” the waitress says with a playful smile. “I’m the best waitress ever—Tori.” She winks, grabs one menu, and leads us toward the back of the diner.
“She has a serious crush on Dad,” Chris whispers, chuckling to himself.
It turns my stomach.
But who doesn’t have a thing for Cole Harper? Anyone with eyes and a brain can see he’s a catch.
Hot. Successful. Handy. Smart. Supportive. Protective. Safe.
Does there need to be more? I could keep going.
It isn’t her wanting him that has my stomach in knots though. It’s that she has a chance.
And I don’t.
“Here we are, boys.” Tori stops at a table in the far back corner, surrounded by windows. We scoot into the round booth, and I somehow end up in the middle. She slides the one menu she has to me. “I’ll give the best friend a minute to look over the menu and be right back.”
“Thanks, Tori,” Cole says.
I think too hard on the way he says that. Was he flirting with her? Being nice? Suggestive? I hate that these thoughts run through my mind. Cole isn’t mine. Never was, never will be.
I glance around the diner, vaguely remembering it from when I was younger. I think it went by a different name then. It’s certainly had a facelift. The time I’ve been gone may as well have been a decade. It seems a lot of the older generation retired or passed away, and the new ones who took over did a ton of remodels and upgrades. This place still holds the classic diner look, but long gone are the ripped booths and chipped tables.
Tori returns a moment later with a pot of coffee, pouring a cup for Cole.
“Coffee?” she asks me.
“Yes, please.” I flip over the mug, and she fills it.
“I’ll have my usual,” Chris says.
Tori nods, leaves again, and I pick up my menu to look it over.
Cole leans into me, his arm pressing against mine. “Get the Big Stack,” he whispers. I raise a brow, looking at him. “What? You don’t like pancakes anymore?”
I huff out a laugh, surprised he remembers that.
“I do. I just don’t eat as much as I used to.”
“I can tell,” he comments.
I frown, and say, “College will do that to you. I lived off frozen food and packaged noodles for four years.”
“I’ll eat whatever you don’t,” he adds. “Trust me; get the pancakes.”
I hold his gaze for a moment longer, trying to see if there’s anything there. Something more than Cole being Cole. Finally, I nod when I can’t figure it out.
“We ready to order?” Tori asks, putting down a White Russian in front of Chris. The thought of alcohol this early in the morning has my stomach sour, especially after everything I drank last night. No clue how he’s drinking already. But he’s an adult, so he can do whatever he wants.
I was not a typical college kid. I did not go out and party, even though my roommate always invited me. He and I weren’t close, and I hardly talked to him while I lived there. We never even exchanged numbers.
For the entire four years, I went to maybe five parties, and three of them were Halloween parties. I spent all my time focusing on school, other than the stuff I did with Daniel. Which was dinner, movies, and whatever random thing he came up with.
“The usual,” Cole comments.
“Same,” says Chris, reaching for his drink and taking a long sip.
“I’ll have the Big Stack,” I say with a smile. “And a side of bacon, please. Well done.”
“You got it, boys. It’ll be right up.” She takes the menu, smiles, and heads off again.
“So, where’s the first place you’re going tomorrow?” Chris asks, picking up his phone to look at something.
“Not a damn clue,” I say, putting cream and sugar in my coffee. “This place has changed so much.”
“You gonna take a cab down to Main?” Chris asks, referring to the main part of town where all the businesses are.
“I figure that makes the most sense.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip, almost choking when Cole speaks.
“You can take my truck,” he says.
“What?” I blurt, turning toward him. “No way.”
“Yes way,” he retorts.
“How will you get to work?”
“I’ll have one of the guys pick me up.”
“I couldn’t do that,” I say with a shake of my head, putting my coffee mug down.
“Better than wasting money on a cab or rideshare, Bryson.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, presses something on it and brings it to his ear. After a moment, he says, “Can you pick me up in the morning? Yeah, normal time. Thanks.” He pulls the phone from his ear and puts it on the table. He turns to me with a smirk. “All set.”
My jaw drops open. “Cole—you really did not have to do that.”
“Well, I wanted to.” He holds my gaze, his tense and gives me no room to argue with him. I finally pull away and look at Chris, who is on his phone, not paying attention to anything going on over here.
He finishes up what he’s doing, puts his phone down and says, “There’s a new place that opened up on one of the side streets. Third, maybe. They may need some stuff done. Logo or website or something. Freelance is better than nothing.”
Did he just miss the entire conversation between me and his father? I blink a few times, opening my mouth to ask, but Cole speaks before I can.
“Wait, you’re doing website stuff?” he asks, as if he didn’t know this. He knows I went for my BFA.
I nod. “My major was in graphic design.”
“Shit, I didn’t know that. I’ve been looking for someone to redo my business stuff. Okay, maybe not actively looking, but I’ve been wanting to do it.”
I chuckle, as Chris says, “There you go,” pointing at his father. “You got your first gig.”
Uh…
“We can talk about it this afternoon. I’ve got a few things to do after breakfast, but I’ll be home around two,” Cole tells me.
“We’re going to Mark’s,” Chris says, looking through his phone again.
“We are?” I ask. This is news to me.
Chris looks up. “Yeah, don’t you remember telling him we’d go by today?”
“No, but I think talking about a job is more important.”
“You can talk to him about it later,” Chris says with a wave of his hand.
I glance at Cole, who’s staring ahead with a blank look on his face. Okay, this is awkward.
I look back at Chris. “I’ll meet you at Mark’s when we’re done.”
“Whatever,” Chris says, resting back against the booth. He grabs his drink and finishes it. When Tori walks by, he asks for another. I pay special attention to the way he and Cole interact, only to realize they don’t. Not a single word is shared between them directly.
When the food comes, my eyes practically pop out of my head with how big the stack of pancakes is. It has to be at least six inches tall—damn.
Cole chuckles at my reaction and leans close. He lowers his voice and says, “I told you I’d help you finish.”
Christ, my dick likes those words.
But there’s no way he meant them the way they came out.
Cole is not flirting with me.
He’s just not.
I eat maybe a third of the pancakes and all my bacon. Cole finishes what I don’t eat after his full meal, which is impressive. And oddly attractive. A man who can eat and still look the way he does?
It’s about ten when we get back to their house and Chris hurries upstairs, but I follow Cole into the kitchen.
“You really don’t have to do stuff for me,” I tell him, still bothered by the truck thing.
He turns around. “What do you mean?”
“The truck? Paying for breakfast. You’re already letting me stay here.”
“I don’t mind, Bryson. It’s not a big deal.”
He holds my gaze, waiting for my response. He knows I’m going to keep arguing, and nothing on his face tells me not to. Which is interesting, because sometimes he does get that look.
“I’ll put gas in it,” I offer.
“Don’t have to do that either.”
“Why are you helping me so much?”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m not your kid.”
He flinches, and I regret it immediately. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at him, but more toward my father. I want to open my mouth and say that, but he speaks before I can.
“You don’t have to be my blood for me to care about you, Bryson.” He steps closer to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking into my eyes. “Sometimes people go through tough times that aren’t their fault. I want to be the person I wish I had when I was going through mine.”
I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “You went through bad times?”
He stands straighter, dropping his hands from me and looking past me for a moment. “I honestly thought you’d have heard all about it from Chris.”
I frown, digging through my memories to figure out what the hell he’s talking about.
“The divorce?” I question.
He shakes his head, takes a deep breath and goes to the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen shrimp. “That was one part of it,” he begins. “But there’s been more than one instance. Maybe it didn’t bother Chris as much as I think it did.”
“Guess not.”
“Anyway, I don’t care about the truck. Take as much time as you need tomorrow. But if you want to do me a favor, you can pick me up from work.”
“Yes! Definitely. I will definitely do that.”
He chuckles as he rips open the bag and pours the contents into a large bowl. He fills it with cold water and puts it into the fridge to defrost.
“Fine,” he says, washing his hands. He grabs a towel to wipe them, turning to face me. “Two o’clock later, right?”
“Right,” I say as he walks by me to leave the kitchen.
I follow him but stop in the doorway.
“See you then.” He winks before heading toward his office. My heart does a damn flip in my chest.