1. 1 #3
What the hell was wrong with me?
Brandon tossed the condom into the trash and crawled back into bed, oblivious to the thought that had just gone through my head.
I immediately curled against him, resting my cheek on his chest as his arm came around me.
This part was real. I loved his warmth and the familiar smell of his skin, loved the way his fingers automatically found my hair and began playing with it.
For a while we simply lay together, and gradually my breathing settled even if the ache between my legs didn't.
"You know," Brandon said eventually, "this hasn't been completely terrible."
I lifted my head. "The weekend or the sex?"
"The weekend, asshole."
"Oh." I grinned. "Then yes, the sex has been terrible."
The words escaped before I realized what I'd said. I slapped a hand over my mouth, horrified for approximately half a second before he grabbed me around the waist and dragged me against him.
"Hey!"
"I'm sorry!" I burst out laughing. "You walked right into that one."
"You're a terrible person."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
He kissed me, and I was still laughing when I kissed him back.
The laughter gradually faded until we were simply tangled together beneath the sheets again, his fingers playing with my hair while I listened to his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
This was what I'd really been trying to find.
Not an orgasm and not some desperate sexual test that could prove nothing had changed. Just us.
After a while, Brandon's fingers slowed in my hair. "I think I'm going to try."
I lifted my head enough to look at him. "Try what?"
"With my dad." He stared at the ceiling. "I don't know. Maybe Mom was right. I've spent so long being pissed at him that I don't even know what I'm pissed about anymore."
I knew. And now I'd given him something so much worse to be pissed about.
"You don't have to forgive him just because we're here," I said.
"I know. I'm not saying I'm suddenly going to forgive everything." He gave a small shrug beneath me. "Maybe I can just stop trying to hate him every second we're in the same room."
A little smile crept into his voice, and somehow that made it hurt more.
I slipped my arm around his waist and held him tighter because this was exactly what I'd wanted when we'd come here.
I wanted Brandon to give his father a chance.
I wanted the two of them to find some way past everything that had happened and maybe become something resembling a family again.
Yesterday, I would have been thrilled.
Now I listened to Brandon's heartbeat and wondered how I'd managed to make everything so much worse in less than twenty-four hours.
"Maybe we can actually have a good day," he continued. "Go out on the boat. Have some beers. Nobody punches anybody."
"Ambitious."
"I like to set achievable goals."
I laughed and pressed my cheek against his chest again. That was Brandon. Sweet and stupid and funny, his anger finally cracking enough to let the man I loved back through.
"I love you," I whispered.
His arm tightened around me. "Love you too."
And I did. That was the worst part.
We stayed upstairs a while longer, talking about nothing important, until the morning began slipping toward noon. Eventually Brandon sat up and announced that if we spent the entire weekend in bed, Victor would never let him hear the end of it.
We got dressed, although Brandon took forever rummaging through his bag for a clean shirt. I could have gone downstairs without him, but the thought of facing Victor alone kept me sitting on the edge of the bed until Brandon finally pulled on a hoodie.
I followed him into the hall, telling myself there was nothing to be nervous about. Victor was probably outside or down by the lake. Even if he wasn't, I could walk into that kitchen with my boyfriend and act like nothing had happened.
Neither lie survived the bottom of the stairs.
Victor stood at the kitchen counter pouring coffee, staring out at the lake. He glanced over as we entered.
"Nice nap, you two?"
I froze.
His gaze settled on me, and a smile slowly crept across his face. Beside me, Brandon looked sheepish, but all I could think about was the bedroom directly above us and exactly how much Victor might have heard.
"Yeah, it was." Brandon bumped his shoulder against mine. "Right, Zoe?"
I grabbed his hand. "Yes. It was a very nice nap."
Victor's eyes dropped to our intertwined fingers before returning to his son. He took another sip of coffee, studying Brandon with an expression I couldn't read.
"Brandon," he said casually, "I think there's something we should talk about."
My stomach dropped as every fear I'd spent the last few hours trying to bury came roaring back. He knew. Of course he knew, and now he was going to tell him right here while I stood holding Brandon's hand. My grip tightened.
Brandon frowned. "What?"
Victor let the silence stretch until I could barely breathe, then the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.
"Who's driving the boat?"