Chapter 43
brIELLE
Roman’s car doesn’t move from the driveway.
I checked twice after I left him in the backyard and went hunting for my brother almost forty-five minutes ago.
He was supposed to leave. Knowing that he’s still here somewhere in this house is fucking with my nervous system.
I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically, and this .
. . having him stay so close, even if it is a ten-thousand-square-foot house, is making everything worse.
All I want to do is run back to him, and each time I refuse to do just that, I grow weaker, drained too dry.
My patience is shot by the time I bump into Beck at the bottom of the staircase. He offers me a grin before his bloodshot eyes strain to focus, and it falters.
“What’s up?”
“My brother. Where is he?”
He lifts a weak arm to the upper level. “Upstairs. His room.”
“Is he alone?” I ask, crinkling my nose.
“I didn’t see anyone with him, baby girl. He’s pouting, probly.”
“Right. You need to find Roman and ask him to drive you home. And to get you a bottle of water.” I ignore the way my voice catches on his name and run my hands over Beck’s shoulders, smoothing his wrinkled shirt. “You’re wasted.”
He sways slightly before gripping me back, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. There’s something blatantly sad in his gaze now.
“Do you think I’ve been stalking her?”
I take my hand back and lean a bit closer before moving a finger in front of him. He follows the movement without struggle, even as his body tips a bit. His teeth snap in front of me, aiming for my finger before I yank it out of his reach.
“Who?”
“Quinn. I think I might be.”
“The owner of Blank Page, Quinn?”
He groans, gripping the railing and sidestepping me. “You’re right. It’s not stalking. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“Nuh-uh, I never said that. You better not be acting like a creep, Beck. I like Quinn.”
“Hey! You’re my friend first. She hates me, anyway. There was a sticker on my car,” he slurs, his attention moving behind me. “And now, I don’t think she was flirting with me. I can’t get her to go out with me. She’s stubborn. But . . . I like that.”
“Okay. You need to find Roman. I’m serious. You’re going to fall down the stairs or into the pool and drown if you stay here on your own.”
There’s a pat against my cheek that I don’t feel until he’s already walking past me. My gut twists up with worry, and I reach for his wrist, already having decided to take him to Roman myself. Or preferably anyone else who can take care of him.
The moment I spin around, I realize there’s no need.
Roman’s already waiting for him at the front door, summoned by my thoughts, maybe.
Suddenly, it’s like I’m the one who’s a twelve-pack deep.
I lose my balance just enough that I have to fist the railing to steady myself.
He’s somehow speaking to Beck while staring directly at me.
I feel that gaze right in the very centre of me, prodding and tugging. Pleading.
Snapping into motion, I jog up the stairs, needing to get away as fast as possible. My breath is sawing in and out of my chest by the time I reach the landing and push forward, avoiding looking behind me.
Door after door flashes by as I rush down the hall, the music player through the built-in speaker system dulling the further I get. It’s not the first time I’ve cursed how insanely huge this house is and my brother’s dramatics for buying it, but I’ve never truly detested the size until right now.
There’s no need to have a house this big.
All of the spare bedrooms, lavish bathrooms that go unused, and the movie theatre that’s played a handful of films in the year since it became his make this a showpiece rather than a home.
The latter, we grew up in. All of this? It was a way to show our father how little he needs him and how much he’s achieved on his own.
My gut sours as I reach the shut door that belongs to the king himself. I slam my fist to it five times before pausing for half a second and then doing it again, harder this time.
When there’s no answer that second time, I open the door on my own and storm inside. The scent of marijuana smoke fills the room, making me cough. Blinking through the sudden mist in my eyes, I find the balcony door swinging in the breeze now coming in from the backyard.
I slowly pad through the massive bedroom.
It’s one of the few places in this house that actually shows Wes’ personality.
From the messy stack of comic books on the nightstand to the same curling Lara Croft poster pressed to the expensive black-and-white checkered wallpaper that he had up in his teenage room, there’s no doubt in my mind who sleeps here at night.
The red-and-white, mushroom-shaped area rug at the end of his bed tickles my toes a beat before I reach the balcony. It reeks like pot now, but I hide my disgust and step outside. Wes is leaning against the railing with the joint held between his fingers, smoke curling from the end into the air.
“Since when do you smoke?”
He flicks the white ashes into the beer can he’s balanced on the railing beside him, still staring out at the city lights. “I don’t.”
“Right. You just enjoy the smell, then?”
“At this current moment? I sure as fuck do, Brielle,” he snips.
I take the hint and drop the topic. Settling beside him, I drape my arms over the railing and look down at the pool, realizing very quickly that if he were here earlier . . .
He snorts a laugh low in his throat before taking a hit. I stare at the slight glow at the tip for a minute before stealing the joint from his loose grip and forcing it to my lips. My first inhale burns like a bitch, making me cough.
Wes plucks the joint from my grip and moves it to his furthest hand, holding it off to the side. “Are you always that bad at it?”
“I’m not bad at anything, Wesley,” I say pointedly. “And no, it’s just been a while.”
I haven’t smoked since I attempted a bong rip on my nineteenth birthday and wound up guzzling a mouthful of the putrid water instead. It was a complete and utter failure, which, sure, has kept me from trying again in any capacity. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“This is the good shit, Elle. You’re probably already high. Try not to jump over the balcony.”
“Tried that a few too many times, have you?”
“Eh. It’s not that far a fall.”
I dig my elbow into his exposed side. He swats me away with little effort. “You’re reckless sometimes.”
“Yep.” It’s dull, almost numb.
Concern spears me. “Why did you throw a celebration party here if you didn’t want to enjoy it?”
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I push up on my toes and look past him into the backyard, searching for someone but finding nothing. “The music from downstairs?”
He nods, staring directly ahead, almost . . . lost. “People. There are people here. There’s noise. The house isn’t quiet right now.”
A hot, sticky ball climbs up my throat. I move behind him and take the joint before he has a chance to hide it in the beer can or crush it beneath his shoe. My second inhale is slower than the first, and while I still strain a bit, I don’t choke on it.
“Did you know that when you, Mom, and Dad would go on those weekend trips for ball without me, I’d turn every light on in the house and play the TVs loud enough that it felt like I wasn’t alone? It’s the only way I could fall asleep.”
“There were a ton of those trips,” he croaks.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. For how much baseball took from you.”
I shake my head, letting the ashes fall from the tip of the joint to the can.
“I forgave you for that a long time ago. I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t like being alone, either.
I still do that in my apartment, even now.
Not to the same extent, but I’ll leave a light on and the volume low on the TV.
Feeling lonely isn’t anything to be ashamed of.
And if this party helps you feel less like it, then throw as many as you want. ”
“I was a fucking asshole to you the other day, Elle. I’m saying so much shit I don’t mean lately, and I know I need to figure that out. I hate hurting you.”
“There are things I wish I hadn’t said, too. You’re not afraid to find love; you just haven’t yet. There’s a difference, and I shouldn’t have used that against you. Especially not when I very well might be ruining the love I have managed to find. Somehow.”
I take another hit before passing the joint to Wes, knowing I’ll be a complete mess if I risk a fourth. There’s this perfect, soft calm travelling through me that I don’t want to risk losing yet. My arms sag over the railing as I drop my head and let my head move side to side.
“With Roman? You won’t. He’s in love with you,” Wes says, his voice no longer as cold.
“I know that. How do you?”
“Let’s just say we had a conversation in his office.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“He’s alive, isn’t he? You don’t need to worry about that. So, what gives?”
“How long have you been standing out here smoking?”
He chuckles. “This isn’t my first joint tonight.”
I turn my head and peek up at him through my messy hair.
He’s grinning now, with cheeks flaming red beneath the balcony lights, and I take that as a good sign.
He looks so young like this. Unbothered by anything.
Like he was when he was just a kid, back before the weight of the world started to press him into the ground.
Just like that, I know I can’t risk telling him anything that’s going to ruin this for him. And that includes asking for details on our parents. They are not his burden to bear. I refuse to make them his any longer when they’re slowly sucking the life from him.
I’m going to protect him from them the way I should already have been.
“I’m bi, Brielle,” he says a moment later.
I blink a few times, not having realized it’d gotten so bright out here. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Thank you for telling me.” I beam up at him and loop my arm through his. With a tug, I have him stumbling a step. I press my cheek to his bicep and point at the twinkling city lights. “You should buy a boat. We could keep it parked down there at a marina.”
He laughs so loud it hurts my eardrums. “You don’t park a boat. You tie it up.”
“If you don’t park it, how does it stop moving?”
“Oh, fuck, maybe you do park it.”
I gasp, dropping my head back to stare at him. “You should date a fisherman! He’d know!”
“I hate fish,” he groans in disgust.
“Okay, fine. Maybe a boat mechanic?”
“Then he’d smell like fish.”
I huff, returning my cheek to his arm. “Fine.”
“A pirate?”
“A pirate!” I cheer, shoving my hand out in front of us, my finger curled like a hook.
“Dad would shit a brick.”
“He’s going to shit two when he learns I’m dating a man fifteen years older than me.”
Wes howls into the night and pulls his arm away from my face to drape it over my shoulder instead. He pulls me tight against him, and I smile, laughing alongside him.
Whether it’s from the pot or just having my big brother standing here with me, smiling and happy, I feel clear-headed. Like if I just closed my eyes, I’d be able to see every day of the rest of my life.
And when I do let them fall shut, I finally know what I want.