Forgotten Rules: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Eliah Greenwood

  With awful timing, Morgan comes out of the bathroom.

  “Kass!” She waves at me.

  The sound of my name is enough to capture the boys’ attention. They whip their heads back, noticing me standing there, eyes locked on them.

  Eyes locked on him.

  I can confidently say I’ve never seen Will look so pale.

  Swallowing the pain crawling up my throat, I don’t say a word, grab Morgan’s wrist, and drag her away.

  Resting my elbows flat against the bar and rising to my tiptoes, I attempt to grab the bartender’s attention with hand signals. Poor guy is swamped right now. In his defense, the club has officially reached its quota and closed access to new arrivals.

  I got stuck with drinks duty after Zoey spilled her Bloody Mary on someone’s shoes. I’ve personally stopped drinking over an hour ago as I’m not looking to recreate the last time I got wasted—wouldn’t want to accidentally make out with someone who’s not into me again.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your friends?”

  I twist my head to see the pink-haired girl who was crowding me less than a second ago has shifted into Will. I expected to be hurt, sad even, the next time I talked to him, but right now, the only thing I can feel is burning annoyance.

  “Shouldn’t you be with yours?” I say dryly.

  “Alex ditched me for Zoey’s friend. Haven’t seen him since.”

  I don’t reply, gesturing at the bartender again, who nods, acknowledging my existence and walking over at last. I check my phone notes, where I put down Zoey’s drink of choice, and make sure to add in that glass of water for Morgan. She wasn’t kidding about never drinking again.

  As soon as the bartender leaves with my order, Will buries me with questions: How are you, are you ignoring me, so we’re just never going to talk again? And that’s just a few of them. I give the performance of a lifetime, motioning to my ear and pretending I can’t hear him which pisses him off to no end. What did he expect? We’re not okay. Or on good terms.

  He hurt me.

  Bad.

  “Kass… About what I said to Ale—”

  That’s the line I stop being deaf for.

  “Don’t,” I stop him. “It’s fine. Message received. You look at me like a sibling.”

  I could gag just saying it out loud.

  “But I—”

  The bartender comes around with my drinks. Itching to get away from Will, I throw him a twenty and tell him to keep the change.

  “I should go find the girls.” I swipe the two glasses off the bar and turn on my heels. I’ve barely moved an inch when he speaks.

  “I miss you.”

  I can’t take another step.

  “That’s right, I… I miss you, Kass. I’m sorry about what I said when we…” He doesn’t dare finish. “It was dumb as fuck, and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

  I’m rooted in place, my back all he can see.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is…” He pauses. “I got used to us talking, and I’d like it if things could go back to normal.”

  Normal.

  As in back to me having an unrequited crush on him.

  “You mean you want us to go back to being friends?” I surprise him by turning around.

  He nods, exhaling in relief as though I just took the words out of his mouth. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  The answer is easy for me.

  “No.”

  His face is priceless.

  “What?”

  “I said no. I can’t be your friend.” I resume walking.

  He holds me back. “Why not?”

  “Because I caught feelings for you!”

  His composure crumbles.

  He tumbles a step back, his mouth falling open, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy any of it. He must’ve known, if only a tiny part of him, that somewhere along the way, he’d make me laugh one time too many. That there’d be one inevitable moment where it’d become more for me.

  He must’ve known.

  I think even I always knew.

  “I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s fine. It really is, Will. But I’m trying to get past it, so… I think it’s better if we stay away from each other from now on.”

  Pain rips across his gaze like a shooting star. He chases it away, reducing it to a glimmer—God forbid he ever shows real emotions—and I’m left with the same, redundant question: Did I imagine it all?

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I swallow the pit in my throat, threading to Zoey and Morgan on the dance floor. I can feel the weight of Will’s gaze on my shoulders, his eyes stalking my every move.

  Zoey shrieks at the sight of me, banding her arms around my neck for a swaying hug. She’s completely gone, one drop away from blackout. I deny Zoey the drink I ordered for her, and to my great surprise, she agrees, admitting to her excessive state. Fifteen minutes later, Morgan says she has to take a call from her mom and walks off. Sean pops up behind Zoey at around the same time, kissing her neck until she’s putty in his hands. I peel my eyes away, wincing. Maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe I wish it was me and a certain blond guy.

  Or maybe Sean’s just a douche.

  Will’s been watching me since I ended things between us—ironic considering there was nothing to end. Morgan must’ve told me he was staring at us five times in the past thirty minutes. I jump along to the music, hoping the deafening bass will numb my pain. Mute my broken heart.

  Just until the song ends.

  Then I realize Sean and Zoey are gone.

  Probably off to bang in a bathroom stall.

  “Excuse me?” Someone taps me on the shoulder.

  I spin to see the guy who delivered our Chinese earlier.

  “Aren’t you the cute girl I delivered to?” he asks.

  I analyze him. He sure looks different dry. Cuter. I glance over his shoulder at Will. I doubt he can see the guy’s face from where he is, but that doesn’t stop him from staring holes into the back of his head.

  “That would be me.” I nod. “What are you doing here?"

  “Same thing you are.”

  “Celebrating your best friend’s birthday?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He laughs. “Fine. Different reason, then. My boys and I rented a house downtown. We’re going to keep the party going there after the bars close. Just looking for people to invite.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Nah. No luck so far, but I think maybe I’m getting there. So… interested?”

  “I don’t know. You want to keep the party going when the party hasn’t even started here,” I point out.

  He grins. “Shit. I guess you’re right. Want to dance?”

  I juggle with the idea and decide one dance can’t hurt. Chinese food guy—what? I don’t know his name—offers me his hand and draws me flush to his chest. He’s charming, but something about his mannerisms reminds me of Will. The way he moves, expresses himself. Either they’re long-lost brothers or I’m going mad.

  “Got any brothers?” I ask Chinese food, and he laughs at my rather unusual question.

  “Nope.”

  Going mad it is.

  His hands drop to my waist, and I swing my hips along to the rhythm. It’s fine at first. Until he sneaks behind me, getting a tad too provocative for my taste. He rubs himself against me, the arousal in his pants growing impossible to ignore.

  “I-I don’t feel so well. I’m going to bail.”

  “What? Why?” he asks, holding me firmly in place.

  “I don’t need a reason. Let me go. Now!”

  “Relax. We’re just having fun.” He presses his boner to my ass again, and I squirm in disgust.

  “Get your fucking hands off me or I’ll scream,” I say as confidently as I can.

  That’s when his true colors come out.

  “Now, now, Kass. You can’t dangle food in front of a guy’s eyes and get mad when he wants a bite.”

  I freeze.

  Not because he’s
a disgusting pervert.

  Because I never told him my name.

  Zoey ordered the food earlier. There’s no way he could’ve known.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Shit, did I forget to mention?” He inches forward to whisper in my ear. “Simon says hi.”

  Every hair on my body stands on end.

  “Smile for the camera, baby.” He points at a red booth containing five guys across the room.

  My heart drops.

  In the booth glaring at me is Simon, my awful rapist date who got beaten up by Will. Bearing a black eye and holding his phone up in the air, Simon offers me a cruel smile and waves. That’s why Chinese food came on to me. He probably bragged to his friends that he’d delivered to me earlier, and Simon recognized me as the girl who earned him the beating of his life.

  Why the camera? I’m not sure. Maybe he was hoping my dancing would prove his point: that I’m a tease who deserved to be assaulted. Or maybe he wanted to catch my reaction when I put it together. Either way, he must’ve gotten what he wanted because he puts his phone down, cheered on by his friends.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” I yell so loud Chinese food jumps, startled. I manage to put distance between us, but he’s not having it, gripping my wrist so tight I cry out in pain.

  Then I see him from the corner of my eye.

  Will.

  Jaw clenched, fist tights, chest puffing, he tears through the crowd in record time. Chinese food doesn’t see him coming, completely clueless as to what awaits him. Will stops a step behind the guy cutting off the blood circulation in my arm, his eyes so dark you’d barely believe they were ever blue to begin with.

  The DJ jokes about getting high for the next song, and the crowd goes wild as artificial smoke fills the air, wrapping around the dance floor and making it difficult to breathe. Add that to the blazing heat and blinking lights, you have yourself a bunch of drunk girls very likely to pass out soon.

  “Get your fucking hands off her if you want to keep them,” Will warns through gritted teeth.

  Preparing to turn around, Chinese food cackles and releases my wrist. “Would you look at that? Someone thinks you’re worth saving, tramp.”

  Will doesn’t miss a beat, shoving me behind him. A lone tear rolls down my cheek at my pulsing, red wrist. Can’t help it. I have no tolerance for pain.

  Will sees the bruise.

  And loses it.

  “So young to die. Oh, well,” he quips, gripping Chinese food’s shoulder to spin him around and crashing his fist into his jaw without blinking.

  A wave of “Oooh” streaks across the dance floor as Simon’s friend stumbles backward, nearly losing his balance. He looks dumbfounded at how fast this all went down. Chasing his composure, he looks up at Will, ready to say something, but his words trail off in an instant.

  He blinks once.

  Twice.

  His lips part.

  “No fucking way…” He blinks. “Will?”

  Do they know each other?

  The shock in Will’s eyes echoes my doubts. That’s recognition right there.

  “Will, let’s just go,” I beg.

  “Good to know you still have the same type, Martins,” Chinese food spits blood.

  Wait, what?

  “Shut up, Dixon,” Will barks.

  They do know each other.

  “What? Blonde, tight ass? You going to bullshit me and say you don’t see it? She’s a spitting image of Lyla.”

  Lyla.

  Who the fuck is Lyla?

  Will threatens him with a step forward, and I skip into his path to stop him.

  “Will, stop. Please. Let’s get out of here. Please,” I beg, but he pays me no mind, attempting to walk around me once more. The whole point was to stay under the radar tonight, and when I see two bouncers pushing through the crowd to reach us, I know we managed to do the very opposite.

  “Oh yeah. Just like that. Give me a good look, baby.”

  I see a camera flash and turn to find Dixon snapping a picture. He checks his phone screen, satisfied with the shot.

  Realization finds me.

  He just took a picture of my ass.

  That’s what does it.

  Will pounces, tackling Dixon to the floor and pummeling his face with hooks so powerful the crowd gasps in terror. Taking notice of the fight, people scatter, giving them space to kill each other. The music climbs in volume, the bass in strength, making this moment all the more dizzying. Simon and Dixon’s friends don’t dare intervene, watching Will beat their buddy to a pulp. Dixon is barely fighting back, covered in blood.

  The bouncers reach us a few seconds too late. It takes two of them to get Will off Dixon. One yells at Will to get the hell out of the club while the other helps Dixon to his feet, asking him if he’s okay. It makes me sick to my stomach, but they’re right. Will threw the first punch. For all they know, Dixon is the victim here.

  Will yanks his arm out of the bouncers’ grasp, telling him he knows the “fucking way out” and walking away.

  But just before he dashes to the door…

  He takes my hand and drags me along with him.

  Kassidy

  Pulling up in my driveway, Will pushes the gear into drive and kills the engine. We haven’t exchanged a single word since he led me out of the club with smoke oozing out of his ears. I didn’t dare ask him any of the million questions driving me mad, in fear that it would distract him from the road.

  I’d like to live, thank you very much.

  I glance around the empty lot. My mom’s still at work, and I assume from the nonexistent light in Winter’s window that she’s asleep.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  “No one.” He unbuckles his seat belt.

  Is he serious right now?

  “What kind of idiot do you take me for, Will? You knew his name was Dixon. Who is he?”

  “I said no one. Fuck.” he snarls, storming out of the car and slamming the door. These two definitely have a past. And if Will lashing out at the mere mention of Dixon’s name is anything to go by, it’s a rather destructive one. I don’t let his anger faze me, following him out of the vehicle and scampering to his side.

  “Will, who was it?” I grab his arm.

  “A fucking terrible friend. That’s who!”

  Seemingly annoyed with himself for telling me, Will curses, his chest rising with shallow, ragged breaths. For a reason I can’t pinpoint, my instinct is to grab his hand—the way he previously grabbed mine on his way out of the club—to show my support.

  His fingers are cold, rigid in mine, but he doesn’t move away, staring down at our linked hands as though he can’t compute my affection.

  Rejection in 3, 2, 1…

  He doesn’t say a word and intertwines our fingers.

  Wait, what?

  “He’s the guy I told you about.” His shoulders relax like a burden was just lifted off his body. “The one I thought had my back.”

  Memories flood my brain. He’s the friend Will told me was a masculine version of Zoey. Must be why he hates her so much. Because she reminds him of his past.

  She’s like salt to his opened wounds.

  “I met him when I was seven at the homeless shelter my mom and I had to move into. We practically grew up glued to each other. He taught me to survive life on the street. Made it bearable. He’s two years older than me, so I looked up to him. Wanted to be just like him.”

  This explains a lot. The similar way they carry themselves, the way they talk. They spent so much time together they eventually rubbed off on each other. This leaves me to wonder how Will and his mom ever got off the street. Will said his mom recovered from it all, and he obviously isn’t homeless anymore.

  So, what, or who, pulled them out of this hell?

  “Then what happened?” I push my luck an inch too far, and he puts me in my place.

  “Then we grew up, and he dropped me when it mattered the most. The end.”

&nbs
p; He unlatches our hands, stalking toward my house.

  “And the girl he was talking about? Lyla? Who is she?”

  Was she his first girlfriend? His first love? The girl who broke his heart and made him… Will?

  Does she really look like me?

  “No one.”

  His stubbornness sets me off.

  “Will, I swear to God, say ‘no one’ one more time and I’m kicking you in the balls.” I stick my finger in his face.

  In response to that, he laughs.

  Yes, laughs.

  And I know this is arguably the worst moment for laughter, but it feels insanely good to see him smile. It takes me back to the beginning. Back to the nicknames, the jokes. This is the reason I caught feelings in the first place.

  Our back-and-forth banter, the teasing.

  That laugh.

  I missed it.

  Straightening out his hand, he asks me for my keys, which I dump into his palm.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside.” He unlocks the door.

  I’m not sure why he’s sticking around. My guess is he thinks I’m too drunk to function. I’ll admit drinking Zoey’s cocktail for her might not have been the best idea, but overall, I feel fine. But I can’t tell him that. I’m scared if I did, he’d leave.

  And, at the risk of pissing off sober, done-with-boys, Kass…

  I don’t want him to.

  Knotting my arm around his shoulders, he pushes the front door open and helps me inside the kitchen.

  “He was lying, by the way.” He catches me off guard.

  I frown.

  “She doesn’t look like you.”

  I know he’s talking about Lyla.

  He shuts the door as quietly as he can. “He just wanted to start shit between us. That’s so Dixon. I guess he thought… we were together or something.”

  I wish, Dixon, I wish.

  I want to ask him a thousand more questions, discover what Dixon did to make him so angry, who Lyla was to him, but something tells me I’ve gotten all I can out of him tonight.

  “Let’s get you into bed.” He eyes me when he thinks I’m not looking, his gaze lingering on my V-neck for a second too long. I flush when he chews on the inside of his cheek, forcing his eyes off me. Does he really think I don’t see that?