Page 18 of Don't Say You're Sorry
Bypassing my old bedroom, I walk into Adam’s room, just like I do every time I come here, and quietly close the door behind me. The room looks the same as it did when we were in high school, but also not. The bed, sheets, curtains, and walls are the same, but most of his stuff is gone. He took almost everything with him when he moved to London. His clothes, his jewelry, his sketchbooks, the picture he kept of me and him on his nightstand. The only things he left behind were some old things from his childhood, which are stored in the closet, and an empty bottle of cologne in the trash can in the bathroom.
Flopping on the bed, I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Just for a moment, I allow myself to think about the old him—the one I don’t hate—my mouth ticking up at the memory of all the dumb shit we used to do together. Right here on his bed, I woke him up on his eighteenth birthday by shoving a cupcake full of frosting in his face. I pinned him down and licked it off afterward, and he fought me off, both of us laughing as he used my shirt to wipe the rest, exposing my abs to his greedy eyes. That was before we became more. Back when I wanted him, andhe wanted me, but we were both hesitant to do anything about it out of fear of ruining what we had.
Still, we went ahead and did that. We ruined it. We ruined everything.
It’s not Adam I should be blaming. I’m the one who pushed. If I had left it alone, maybe I wouldn’t have lost my best friend, my stepbrother, and the only person I’ve ever let myself love.
I ruined us long before he did.
CHAPTER 6
EASTON
FOUR YEARS AGO
“So, birthday boy,” I say, dropping on my back beside Adam and sucking the icing off my fingers. “What do you want to do today?”
“Sleep,” he grumbles into his pillow. “Go away.”
I huff a laugh. He’s so moody in the mornings. He’s nice to look at though. His dark hair is a beautiful mess—I’m sure there’s frosting in it from our cake fight just now—and he’s shirtless, his smooth, lightly tanned back exposed where the blanket tangled around his knees. I drop my gaze to his gray sweats, to the curve of his round ass beneath his low-riding waistband. I can’t see the band of his boxers, meaning he’s probably free balling.
As I stare at his body, I say, “There’s a party tonight?—”
“No,” he interrupts. “No parties.”
“It’s not a party foryou.” I roll my eyes, knowing he’d probably murder me if I threw him one. My stepbrother’s not a very social being. “It’s just a regular party.”
“Ugh.”
Turning on my side to face him, I lean on my elbow and put my mouth near his ear. “If you hate parties so much, why do you go to them?”
He stiffens for a beat, then relaxes into the mattress, his arms curled beneath the pillow. “To make sure your dumb ass doesn’t do any dumb shit.”
“My ass isn’t dumb.”
“Your ass had my ass running from three huge dudes last weekend because your ass thought it’d be fun to sleep with their little sister.”
“You talk a lot about my ass,” I state, and he turns, one eye screwed shut as he cracks a small grin. “And I already told you I didn’t know she had three crazy protective older brothers. If I did, I never would have touched her.”
“Still, I worry you’d get yourself killed without me there, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“How thoughtful of you,” I joke. “What do you want to do today?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs as if he hasn’t thought about it. “See a movie, maybe. They’re showingDie Hardat the drive-in tonigh?—”
Holding my phone up between us, I show him the tickets I bought last week.
The drive-in.Die Hard.Eight o’clock tonight. Just the two of us. The way he wants it to be.
He looks at me from beneath his lashes. “How did you know?”
“I know everything there is to know about you, little brother,” I tease, swiping another bit of frosting from his cheek and licking it off my thumb.
He flicks his gaze between my eyes, one brow cocked.
“Come on. Get your moody ass dressed.” I give his ass a little smack as I stand. “I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
He grumbles into his pillow again, but I can tell he’s smiling.
