“Just taking precaution, making sure you don’t fall again. Your brother might not be here to catch you. But I am.” And with that fucking smirk on his face and an unreadable look from her, he takes Cady outside—my pathetic heart following close behind.
Blaine-2
Ben-0
Mother…
It’s time for a comeback.
Twenty-five
Songs to listen to:
“Terrible Love” by Mura Masa feat Denai Moore “Dress” by Taylor Swift
“&burn” by Billy Eilish and Vince Staples
“Hollow” by Tori Kelly
“Every Little Thing” by Carly Pearce
“Dream” (acoustic version) by Bishop Briggs
Cady
I knew bringing Blaine to the barbeque would be a failure of epic proportions and frankly, a total dick move. So why did I bring him? Simply, I’m a coward. Of course, you are already well aware of this. Ugh. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t face Ben alone. I mean, yes, my family, our family is here, but they’re Switzerland—neutral as fuck. And being near Ben, even briefly—goddess, he doesn’t even have to be near me, it could just be his damn smell permeating my senses and my knees wobble like a drunk girl wearing six-inch stilettos. It’s too much. He’s too much. He makes me so damn angry and…hot. So damn hot. I can’t breathe—the air around him is stifling. I can’t think logically. Every thought is a scrambled mess in my head. He makes me forget—forget the shit he’s put me through over the years. The constant hot and cold routine, the blatant avoidance, the ridiculous threats to any boy who dared to come near me. And then the final blow—the hit that hurt the deepest, that changed everything. The hit that just doesn’t quit. And yet, here I am, losing sight of my objective, breaking the promise I made to myself with just a single half-smile and a few sweet words. He’s a snake, and I’m being charmed.
I’m supposed to hate him.
I do, I do hate him.
I have to.
Because if I don’t hate him…I’ll love him.
And that can never happen.
Not again.
Not ever.
“Don’t you think it’s maybe time?” Dylan asks after taking a sip of Mom’s famous Sangria—his eyes solely focused on Miles, as always. He’s so damn in love with him, and we both know Miles feels the same way. So, what is he so afraid of?
My own eyes drift to the man standing with my best friend. Ben and Miles are both laughing hysterically at something only they know. Ben’s cheeks are flushed, his arm pressed to his middle as he doubles over. His smile is wide, wider than I’ve seen in a long time, which doesn’t surprise me; it’s hard not to smile in Miles’s presence—he has that way about him. Brings out the best in people. I know firsthand, the magic he possesses. His ability to bring light into the darkness. I look over to my twin once more and the pain I see, the longing, it hurts something fierce—rips through me just as it’s tearing through him. I feel it. All of it.
I wonder if he can feel mine, too.
I reach over and take the drink from his hands, replacing it with mine. Our fingers lace and we both exhale, turning back to the sources of our problems.
Bright green eyes find mine, resuscitating my still heart, holding my gaze for what seems like hours but I know it’s mere seconds, before returning to Miles and all of his animated glory. I rub my chest with my free hand before grabbing Dylan’s Sangria and downing the glass in one go.
We sit in silence, still clutched to each other, but I know I’ve stolen his focus. And then I remember the vague question he asked me. I turn to him and sure enough, his perceptive eyes are on me—the sky-blue popping against his dark olive-skin and dirty blonde hair.
“Time for what?”
He bites his lip, a nervous habit we share. But his gaze remains focused, steely. I brace myself for impact, sure of what’s to come.
“To forgive him.”
And there it is. I knew that’s where he was going, but it doesn’t stop the jolt of disbelief that feels like a slap across the face. It stings angrily, and my defenses instantly rise.
“Forgive him? You do remember what he did, right?” My question a heated whisper, careful not to let it travel too far. I do a quick scan of the backyard and release a sigh of relief when I find that Blaine is chatting up Angeleigh to the very far left of us and no one else is close enough to hear what I’m rightly assuming is going to be a dangerous conversation.
“Of course I remember what he did! I didn’t talk to him for three months! I’ve never been so pissed in my life! He’s my brother and I couldn’t fucking bring myself to hear anything he had to say—”
“Until you did.”
“He’s my brother, Cady. Yes, I was angry, so fucking angry and disappointed, but he’s my brother and I knew he was hurting, too. Just as you were. Shit, it hurt me, too.”
“They why are you asking me to forgive him?”
“Because it’s been over a year. Because I can’t bear to see you both in pain, no matter how much you deny it. I know it because I can feel it, too. Because I want my best friends back—the two most important people in my life, the two people who know me the best, who have my back no matter what. Because I miss how it used to be. Don’t you want your friend back?”
“Of course I do! Earlier, in the kitchen, he asked me to try to be friends with him and for a few split seconds I thought that maybe, maybe I could do it—try, at least, you know? But the thing is, I don’t know how to be ‘just friends’ with him. He was never just a friend to me, he was—he was my everything. I thought I knew who he was, who we were, and who we were meant to be, but I was so wrong. Whatever I thought… It’s done. There’s no going back, Dyl. We can’t.”
“Why not? Aren’t you happy now? You have Blaine, what does it matter if you say a few words to Ben that don’t include ‘fuck’ and ‘off?’”
I swallow thickly. “Because, it just does,” I mutter pathetically.
“Why, Bug? Why does it matter?” he presses, and I break.
“Because if I forgive him—if I don’t hold onto this anger, cling to the resentment, then I’ll crack and he’ll find it. He’ll find a way in and I’ll let him because he’s my weakness. My Achilles’ heel. My downfall and my fucking ruin. And that’s what will happen when he breaks me again, because he will. It will destroy me. I barely got through it the first time…I can’t.” My voice cracks on the last few words, sounding as if I just shoved a handful of gravel down my throat. I break my hand from Dylan’s crushing grip so I can furiously swipe the wetness on my cheeks.
When Dylan speaks again, his voice is soft and weary, making my eyes water once more. Goddamn it Cady, get it together, girl!
“I’m not asking you to give him your heart again, Cady. I’m just asking for some sort of a truce, one that lasts longer than an hour. For us to get through a family barbeque without one of you looking at the other like you’re seconds away from hurling a casserole at their head. No more silent treatment or awkward arguments or bringing unnecessary guests. And most definitely no more breaking Mom’s plates. Jake has had to buy two new sets in the last year!” Dylan sighs, scrubbing his face in frustration. Guilt slams into me. He doesn’t need this. He’s already dealing with his own shit. He shouldn’t have to deal with mine, too. This war Ben and I started…it’s not his fight.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, Dyl. I’m sorry everything is so fucked. Life isn’t going at all as I thought it would. It’s a freaking hot mess, and I have no idea how to clean it up.”
“Maybe start with the dude who hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment he met you.”
I shake my head, confused.
“How would Blaine help the situation?” I ask as Dylan rises from the cherry red Adirondack chair he’s been occupying for the last half hour, drinking more Sangria than I’ve ever seen him down before. He glances at Miles and Ben before setting his matching blue eyes one mine, a sad smile perched on his face.
I watch him walk away until he’s inside the house, worried for my brother, but I know when he’s ready to talk, he’ll talk. There’s no forcing Dylan to do anything. Stubbornness runs deep in the Adams blood.
I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn to face them. Ben’s brows furrow, his full lips purse, and he puts a hand on Miles, halting whatever wild story being told. He whispers something in Miles’s ear that sends my bestie jogging after Dylan. Ben never takes his eyes off me. He’s reaching, searching for something. Finally, he takes a step toward me, but I shake my head, shutting him down before he comes any closer. So many questions, so many words hang in the space between us, dangling, waiting to be plucked, spoken, heard. But neither of us says a damn thing.
I brush the remaining tear off my cheek and his hands clench into tight fists. He takes another step before bending over and releasing an audible curse—a pained “fuck” that reverberates through every inch of me. He rises, rakes his fingers through his hair and takes off in the same direction Dyl and Miles went with Mom hot on his trail, leaving Blaine and I alone in the backyard, underneath the twinkle lights Jake strung out here years ago.
One glance over to me and Blaine is at my side in three wide strides. He picks me up off the chair and cradles me to his chest before sitting back down. He holds me tight. And I let him because we’re together and that’s what you do when your girlfriend is hurting; you hold her and tell her everything’s going to be okay even if you have no idea why she needs comfort, and even if it’s a lie. You hold her. And he does.
But for the first time since meeting Blaine, his embrace is not what I want. His hold, his comfort, his arms are the not arms I want wrapped around me.
And I have no fucking clue what to do with that.
So, I don’t do anything.
***
The next hour could be described in three words: awkward as fuck.
Blaine and I stayed put, silently. Well, I was silent. He talked. A lot. About nothing and everything, most likely to distract me and to fill the void. I tried to follow, to engage, but my head was so damn foggy, plagued and weighed down by chaotic uncertainty. Eventually—after the Mariners game was over, we lost, by the way—members of the family began to trickle out of the house. Jake and Dad manned the grill with matching aprons, arguing over whose burger flip was better (Jake’s). Zig, Griff, and Stella played Frisbee, completely oblivious to the tension swelling around us. Mom and Angeleigh sipped on large glasses of Sangria, whispering to each other and attempting to casually check on the three oldest and yet most immature children of the bunch. Dylan and Miles sat glaring at each other. Ben stood with his arms folded, glaring at me while I burrowed further into Blaine’s chest, wishing it was Ben’s and hating myself for it.
This lasted a good thirty minutes.
Now, we’re all sitting at the large farmhouse table, surrounded by amazing food that is only getting picked at by half of the people in the room. There is no boisterous laughter. No memories being retold for the hundredth time. There isn’t even any small talk about the weather. There’s just nothing. Nothing but tension that has reached a roaring crescendo.
A fork clatters on a plate, wine sloshes out of its glass, a chair screeches, and then before we know it, the wrath of Evangeline Moretti unleashes on all our petty asses.
“This,” she hisses, pointing between Ben, Dylan, Miles, and I. “This needs to end right now! Tonight was supposed to be a celebration! But instead of a welcome home party, it’s turned into a damn pity party! Stop sulking. Stop the silent treatment. And stop avoiding your problems! Talk to each other, for eff’s sake! Say whatever needs to be said and get your effing shit together!” Mom sits down, huffing out a very annoyed sigh before picking up her glass of wine and taking a healthy sip.
Dad, Jake, and Angel all raise their glasses with a collective, “here, here” while my younger siblings snicker around us.
I look up from my nearly untouched plate and meet Ben’s eyes. Then Dylan’s. And out of nowhere, we all three burst out into hysterical laughter. Miles joins in a second later, and soon enough the whole table is laughing—snorts, tears, and all. I look over to Blaine and he’s looking at us all like we’ve lost our damn minds, which is quite possible. Our family is definitely…special, to say the least.
“Damn, Mom, tell us how you really feel,” I say while swiping a tear from my eye.
“I’m sorry, I know I should’ve waited to say all that in private, but you guys gave me no choice here. It’s been a year of this. This mess you’ve created amongst yourselves—you have to resolve it. For the sake of this family and for your own happiness, you need to figure this shit out.”
Mom gives Ben, Dyl, and I, each a very pointed look, the kind of look that says: listen to every word I say because I know what’s best for you and you damn well know it. Moms sure love their truth bombs. And damn it, the debris that follows is a bitch to take in. They never drop them lightly, but there’s always a purpose, necessary for the greater good. And they’re always fucking on point.
Damn her.
“We’ll figure it out, Mom.” Ben promises her, but his eyes are trained on me, searing and resolute. In the corner of my eye, I see Dylan grab Miles’s hand, whisper something into his ear, and smile for the first time all day.
I look over at Blaine, who has so many questions burning behind his eyes that my palms began to sweat. I then look to my family, and concerned faces stare back at me. But I also see how much this line Ben and I have drawn between us is continuing to weigh them down, just as it’s done to Dylan. We’re hindering their happiness with our issues.
Shit, I’m a dick.
A self-centered dick. Which really is just a dick.
Yes, I had every right to be angry with Ben, but now…it’s been a year and I’m in a different place, I’m with Blaine so I can let go, right? Move on.
Right?
Right?
As always, my eyes drift to Ben, and it’s like he can see everything. Every thought. Every feeling. Every fear. He knows what’s about to happen before I even get up.
“I’m sorry.” I breathe the words, not even sure who they’re aimed at or why I’m saying it. But he knows. Of course, he knows. And then I do what I do best—I bolt.
I can hear the table erupting behind me, hear my name being called, footsteps hot on my trail, but I don’t stop. Not until I’m in the car. I give myself a single sigh of relief before I start going again. I pull out of the driveway, spotting Ben and Blaine standing on the porch watching me go, and then I do just that. I go, leaving this mess behind me, even if it’s just for a few miles.
I’ll take what I can get so I can figure this shit out.
Ugh, fuck me.
Goddess take the wheel.
Twenty-six
Songs to listen to:
“Be Your Love” by Bishop Briggs
“Pray” by Bishop Briggs
“Untitled (How Does It Feel?)” D’angelo
“Adorn” by Miguel
“Retrograde” by James Blake
Ben
Mother trucking motherfucker.
I knew it. I knew she would run. I could see it in her eyes. I was on my feet the second she apologized. Goddess, she couldn’t even make it an hour before Usain Bolting me and shit, she’s fast.
“All right, I’ve kept my mouth shut. Gave you the benefit of the doubt. Waited for her to open up, but I’m kind of at my wit’s end here ’cause no one’s throwing me a damn bone. What the hell is going on?”
I turn to find Blaine looking confused as eff. His eyes are narrowed and accusing. His breathing staggered. One hand rakes through his long hair, the dark strands sticking up every which way, while the other is clenched at his sides, almost as if he’s ready to throw down if need be.
Yeah, I feel ya, asshole.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, turning my back on him in favor of pacing the damn p
orch, trying to talk myself down—quelling the need to chase after her when I know she just needs space. Time. An effing moment. Right there with you, Bug. “Look, this is family business, and last time I checked, you aren’t fucking family, so maybe you just get the f—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence because the asshole comes at me, his hands fisting my shirt in a death grip. I’ve got about two inches on him, but he definitely knows the gym personally. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let him fucking touch me, though.
“If you want to keep your hands, I suggest you get them the fuck off me,” I warn, grinding the words out low and with promise. We glare at each other for a few seconds because he releases me with a curse.
“I’m sorry. Fuck! Look, I get that you don’t know me or like me or whatever. But I’m a nice guy, okay? I’m a good fucking person, and I care about her. A lot. But I’m not stupid, nor am I blind. You and I both know that I walked in on something earlier. I know something isn’t right, and I know it has everything to do with you. The moment you got here, she changed. It’s only been a week and she’s not the girl I fell—she’s not the same. She’s quiet, stuck in her head one minute and the next she’s furious, fuming, dropping an f-bomb every other word. And then today? I’ve never seen her cry. Ever. Never seen her so…lost. I never want to fucking see that look on her face again. So, I’m asking again, man to man, as someone who just wants to see her fucking happy. What. The hell. Is going. On?”
Eff me.
Well, the asshole has balls. I’ll give him that. I roll my shoulders, wincing at the tightness between the blades, and weigh my options. On one hand, he’s a dickless ass-hat who isn’t entitled to anything from me. On the other, there’s no point in hiding the truth. He asked for it, right?
He laid his cards down. Guess it’s time to lay down mine.
Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3) Page 26
