Chapter 2 #3
I closed my eyes. I could hear my heart beating in my ears as my blood pressure shot through the roof.
Bram and Whit were still friends. I talked to Whit at least once every few months, and he’d never mentioned him to me.
I never heard Bram’s name. I could count on one hand the times I’d said it aloud. Yet I thought of him almost every day.
“Well, yeah. He moved in after I bought it. But he bought some land with a house out in the county, and he’s moved out there now. It’ll be good to have you in it for a couple of months until I find a renter or something.”
Hundreds of questions swarmed through my mind, and maybe some should have been about the house and the logistics of Whit’s omission of info, but instead, they were all related to Bram Winchester.
Fleeting teenage memories of Bram’s body pressing into mine that night of the Christmas party flooded my mind.
Was he married? He was thirty-four, so odds were that he was. But I was thirty-three and unmarried, unattached even, so maybe he was as well?
Oh my God, Julianna. It doesn’t matter!
I’d searched for Bram on social media over the years, but I had never found him.
Unlike Whit, I’d lost touch with the people and the news from Mill Creek years ago, and anything I’d gleaned was from context clues from Facebook friends who weren’t friends.
I had no way of knowing what Bram looked like, much less if he was attached.
He had been intelligent and drop-dead gorgeous fifteen years ago.
I doubted that had changed much. I was sure he was thriving.
I was about to bring it all up when Whit spoke again. “I want you to get the surgery in Roanoke. I want you to have the best of the best. I’ll take care of everything. Who do I need to call? What do I need to pay for?”
“There’s nothing for you to do.” The lie felt sour on my tongue, but I pushed forward. “I just wanted you to know. If I decide to do the surgery in Roanoke, and I probably will, I would appreciate the use of the house. And I’ll pay rent while I’m there.”
“No, you won’t.”
I took a deep breath, overwhelmed.
“I can’t live with myself otherwise, Whit.”
He chuckled. “You always were the goody-two-shoes of this duo.”
My cheeks heated as words from the past haunted me.
“Good girls like you don’t belong with assholes like me.” Why did those words, spoken by none other than Bram Winchester, still sting to the core?
“You have no idea what I’ve done,” I replied, attempting to sound mysterious .
He made a derisive snort. “Like what? What’s the last ‘bad’ thing you did?”
I couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t a lie. I was a “good girl.” I was quiet, low-key, a little withdrawn, and a whole lot bookish. I’d never so much as stolen a pen from the bank counter. But Whit didn’t need to know that.
“If I told you my secrets, I’d have to kill you.”
He laughed, loud and clear. “Don’t make me fly to Charlotte and box your ears.”
The euphemism conjured Grams in my mind. The saying was one of her favorites to use on us as kids.
“I won’t argue with you on the phone. Let me kick your ass in person.”
I could hear him still snickering. This was the most connected we’d been in so long.
“Well, the season is on, but I can fly out for a few days during bye week,” he said. “Is it okay if I drop in then? It’ll be early November.”
“It’s your house, so come anytime you want.”
“I can hire you a caretaker for after the surgery.”
I sniffed. “My best friend Kallie is coming for the aftercare.”
“Oh. Okay, good. Bram will be in the area too, if you’re in a pinch.”
I would never find myself in that big of a pinch.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to Bram since Grams died,” I whispered.
“Then it would be good for you guys to catch up.” Whit sounded as if it was the grandest of plans. “I don’t get to see him much since we’re both so busy. Maybe you can bring me up to speed.”
I swallowed hard, choking the words out. “Yeah, maybe.”
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face. I miss you.”
My heart pounded. Why didn’t he call me back if he missed me so much? Why didn’t he ever get on a plane to see me ?
“You too,” I replied.
“We might have to schedule some calls,” he went on. “My time isn’t my own again until next March.”
I couldn’t imagine his grueling schedule, the money, the social obligations—all the things that made him one of the most favored quarterbacks in football. Our lives were so different.
“I’ll watch all your games, even if we can’t talk.”
I never missed a game. I loved seeing my brother succeed and exceed expectations.
“I know.” I heard a high-pitched voice in the background call his name. “Sorry, I gotta go. My assistant is on my ass. I’ll text you the code for the front door at Grams’. Keep me up to date, please.”
“Sounds good. And thank you so much.”
“Not another word.”
We ended the call, but the weight I’d carried didn’t release as I had expected. I couldn’t shake the truth that my brother and I had a lot more to discuss later if we wanted a chance to feel like family again.