by Lacey Dailey
Everything I felt towards him in those moments amounted to a pretty intense crush. The kind of crush that turned your brain into bubble gum and insides into jello.
The bed rocked again when I rolled to my side and propped my head in my hand, attempting to distract myself from his proximity. “Let me ask you something.”
He rolled to face me and mimicked my position. “Shoot.”
“Is a hot dog a sandwich?”
“Dude, yeah. For sure.”
“You think so?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? When you go to a food truck or a restaurant, they always list the hot dog under sandwiches.”
I considered all my late-night dinner endeavors. “You’re right.”
“Why’d you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Okay.” He flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. I mimicked his position. We laid there, staring at the popcorn ceiling and listening to the faint sounds of dishes being put away mixed with Wren and Sage’s laughter.
He crossed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, his chest slowly rocking with each breath he took.
I turned my head, my cheek against his mattress, long hair spilling everywhere. I studied him through two pieces of my locks and found myself wondering if he was considering my hot dog question. I suspected he was. Before Brett, nobody thought about things like that except for me. I asked whatever odd thought came to mind. There was no such thing as a dumb question.
I had a T-shirt that said so.
I grew up getting picked on when my curiosity and wonders about the world got the best of me. Brett never picked on me. He never laughed or rolled his eyes. He treated every question I asked him the same. Whether it was about processed pig meat or why the Earth was round instead of flat, he answered each question with honesty and care. But he never asked questions himself. And I thought maybe he needed to give answers as desperately as I needed to ask questions.
After what felt like only a second, he rolled his head to look at me. A grin crept up his cheeks. “Ace, your hair is everywhere.”
I watched with a faint breath and a beating heart as he reached towards me. His fingertips brushed my cheek with a barely there touch so he could tuck a long lock of blond hair behind my ear.
“Dude, you need—"
“Don’t even say I need a haircut,” I warned. “My locks are life.” I pressed two fingers to my lips and held up the Vulcan V.
My nerd brain couldn’t summon the last memory I had of a haircut. My locks went an inch past my collarbone. They were thick, and they were shiny. I spent loads of money on fancy ass conditioner to keep them nice and soft. No way was I cutting off all that hard work.
“I was gonna say a hair tie.” He flicked my forehead. “Man-bun or whatever you do.”
There was no science. I just twisted it until it looked like a bird’s nest and wrapped some elastic around it.
“I know,” I agreed. “I keep losing them.”
“Sage has like fifty in her purse.”
“Nah, I keep stealing them."
“You should re-gift them on Christmas. I did that once. Stole all her little Barbie things and then gave them back.”
“What an ass you are!” I snickered. “You probably ruined Christmas!”
“Dude, no.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. “She thought I found them miraculously, cried and thanked me. I still don’t think she knows the truth.”
I howled in laughter. It was these types of moments that affected me most profoundly. The kind of moments that rendered me speechless just by the sound of his husky laugh. The way his smile came all the way out, making you feel all dopey and incapable of words when the dimples buried in his beard tried to make an appearance.
But they were also the type of moments that irritated me to no end, tortured me from the inside out. Because I knew these moments weren’t moments for Brett. They were just seconds of silence after the laughter.
“Ace.”
I blinked, staring right at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. But he wasn’t frowning either. He was just looking at me. Blue eyes meeting green ones, creating a color just for us.
“Thanks for being my best fucking friend,” he blurted quickly.
“It’s the best thing I am, man.”
Something flashed in his eyes with my words. I couldn’t tell ya what before he cleared his throat and looked away. It could’ve been appreciation for my declaration. Or he could’ve had lint in his eyes. I knew he wouldn’t tell me either way.
After a beat, he nudged my foot with his. “You going to Pathways tomorrow?”
Pathways. Worst fucking conversation change ever.
“Yep.” He didn’t make any moves to extract his foot from my personal bubble. We weren’t quite crossing into footsie territory but we were definitely on that path. Fuck my brain and whatever the hell was racing down my spine for getting worked up over his big toe rubbing my heel.
God. I was pathetic.
I just declared best friend status. I needed to get my shit under control.
“Okay. I’ll probably tell you I’m gonna unpack some more and then eat Chinese takeout in my underwear.”
“I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.”
No, really. I was so damn sorry I was gonna miss it.
“Nah, man. Don’t worry about it. I think it’s awesome you and Wren volunteer so often.”
I nodded, even though he wasn’t watching me. A heavy dose of guilt crept up on me, and it pissed me off to the nth degree. In the decade I’d been lying about my hobbies, I’d never once felt guilty. Not one time did it feel like my ribs were contracting to the size of a quarter, or that I’d been hammered in the love spuds with a mallet.
Since meeting Brett, I was drowned in that feeling every time I took a breath in his presence.
“It’s nothing, man,” I insisted, tugging the collar of my shirt. “No big deal.”
“No big deal? Come on, man.” He sat up and smacked my thigh. “You spend five nights a week volunteering at a center for homeless youth. You’re awesome.”
Except I wasn’t.
Because I didn’t.
Pathways was nothing but a disguise. A ruse that camouflaged the big red button.
As far as he knew, I spent eight hours a night running sports programs for homeless youth to get them active and make them feel like they are a part of something important and blah blah blah. It was the biggest pile of bullshit I’d ever dropped. I sucked at sports. The only balls I knew how to handle were the ones dangling between a nice pair of thighs.
But Brett didn’t know that. He didn't have a clue that I wasn’t running around with teenagers but instead, I was sitting at a desk and breaking a million laws. Staring into Brett’s face, a smile on his lips while he praised me for something I did not do only served me an ice-cold reminder on why I fucking hated secrets and why Brett could only ever be my best friend.
How the hell could I date someone who didn’t know half of my life?
I couldn’t.
3
Brett
Waking up and getting out of bed could be so debilitating sometimes. It just reminded me of all the things I had to do, all the shit I had to worry about, and the people I had to check up on. Made me feel so fucking heavy before my day even began. My mind just took a dive into everything and it all came at me at once. I was flooded for just a moment. Lucky for me, there were little holes throughout my body. Weak spots where there shouldn’t be, acting as a place for all the water to spill out so I didn't drown.
I poked my head from beneath the comforter when I heard the distinct sound of knuckles rapping against my door. I groaned and pushed my head under my pillow. There was a ninety percent chance it was Sage. I’d been away from home for less than a month. But it was in her nature to make an appearance. Analyze my reaction to moving in and what not.
“Hey, B! Getcha ass out here!”
My ears perked up when I heard his voice. �
�Why are you up this early?”
He flung the door open. “It’s almost ten in the morning, man. It ain’t early. I made breakfast. Let’s go.”
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. It wasn’t that I was tired. I mean, I slept for like twelve hours. I couldn’t have been tired. “Dude, I thought you were my sister.”
His face twisted. “Do I look like your sister?”
I scanned him though I didn’t need to. I knew what Ace looked like. Had every inch of him memorized like some Grade-A creep. His hair was still in the knot it was in last night, but it was flopped over and hanging by his ear. There were loose pieces falling down his neck and one stuck to his eyelash. Sleep and lack of coffee muted the green in his eyes. I watched as he yawned and scratched his chest, his T-shirt lifting to expose skin right above his waistband. His knuckles mindlessly brushed the exposed skin.
I wanna be those knuckles.
He cleared his throat. The barbell in his eyebrow raised when he gave me a look.
“You checking me out, man?”
I snorted, flipping him off. “You wish.”
He winked and turned around, shaking his ass before he started down the hall. “Let’s move, sugar lips! I did not start my day off making breakfast for a lazy hunk of man meat.”
“Are you flirting with me?” I shouted.
“I sure as shit am!”
I chuckled and rolled out of bed, dragging on the first pair of sweats I could find. I trudged down the hallway and slid onto a stool, dropping my head to the counter. “Since when do you cook?”
“I cook.”
“No, you do not. You live off Red Vines, Slim Jims, and leftover takeout.”
“Well, today I cooked. So eat your damn food.”
“Fine, mom,” I mocked, sitting up straight. I wasn't at all surprised to find a turkey sandwich sitting in front of me. Ace didn’t subject himself to food norms. He ate whatever the hell he wanted when he wanted. If he wanted pesto chicken at eight in the morning, that’s what he’d eat.
“He made me a sandwich,” I joked, sinking my teeth into the bread.
“Fuck you,” he spat. “I was too lazy to make spaghetti.”
“Dude, we got any pickles?” Crumbs went flying from the small sliver of space between my lips.
He plopped down on the stool beside mine. “I’m not your pickle handler.”
“Bro," I snorted. "You could not handle my pickle.”
But I definitely wanted him to try.
Cool air spread across my chest when I yanked open the refrigerator and started to inspect. I stood there for just a second, letting the waft of the refrigerator cool down my heated chest. A man needed a good cool down when he thought about Ace Jackson getting up close and personal with his pickle. Between the hallway flirt, the ass shake, and the pickle joke, I was basically incinerated. Because, apparently, I couldn’t handle a little platonic flirting with my best friend. Not that I had a ton of experience flirting with dudes or anything, but I knew myself well enough to know my ship was tipping both ways. I liked to call my freshman year of college the “discovery” year. I discovered a lot of things with my lab partner that year. Turned out, my pickle did not discriminate.
“Do we have any pickles or what, B? Shut the damn refrigerator. We ain’t paying to cool down this whole kitchen.”
Nope. Just me.
I scanned the contents quickly before slamming the door shut. We had no pickles.
“We need to go grocery shopping stat. This pickle situation is unacceptable.”
“If you’re having a situation with your pickle, Brett, you should see a doctor.”
I flipped him off. “What else we need? Let’s go today.”
“Don’t you have class today?”
“Eh." I sat back on my stool and picked at my sandwich. "Don’t feel like going. I’ll skip.”
From the corner of my eye, I watched him set down what was left of his sandwich and swivel to face me. “You skipped two days ago.”
“So? Are you my roommate or my mom?” I gripped. “Ace, I left home so I could breathe a little. I don’t need you jumping down my throat.”
Breathe a little was a vast understatement. The house I grew up in was an active grenade. The pin was pulled the second my sister disappeared, and I’d been struggling to hold it in place ever since. Her return did nothing but make it harder to stop the bomb from blowing. At some point, I lacked the strength it took to stop the inevitable.
I was on edge, jittery, feeling like a stranger in my own bedroom, and desperate to leave yet not knowing how to at the same time. How could I leave two parents who didn’t know how to fit their broken pieces together? Or a sister who never talked, touched, or smiled? I just couldn’t. But then Sage found Wren and things calmed down.
So, I took my hand off the pin and ran like hell. It’d been easier to breathe ever since. I wasn’t sure if it was being away from home or being with Ace.
My money was on Ace.
“Alright. Cool.” He stood up and walked around our small counter to drop his plate in the sink. “Let’s just act like you don’t skip class all the time and stare at your blank computer screen.”
“Is this a lecture?”
“It’s an observation. Just a couple weeks ago I about gave myself a hernia hauling in a boulder of textbooks. I haven’t seen you crack open a book once.
“Maybe it’s because you aren’t ever here.”
He blinked. “You want me around more?”
Palm, meet face.
Mortification statured my body. “No, man. That’s not… Pathways is cool. What you do is cool. And your day job isn’t half bad either.”
He grunted. “I could cancel an appointment with Earl to hang if you wanted.”
I gasped and threw my hand over my heart. “You’d give up massaging a wrinkly old man for me?”
He chucked a dish towel at me. “Don’t change the subject, man. What gives? I thought you were pumped about going back to school.”
“Yeah, I thought I was too.” I shoved away my plate, my appetite diminishing.
He looked at me earnestly before leaning across the counter, arms resting on the linoleum top. “B… Did you go back for you? Or for Sage?”
I blinked.
“I love Sage,” he said quickly. “That girl is my soul sister. I’m just as proud of her for going back to school as you are. After all that happened to her, it’s a huge win. But it’s a win for her. Is it a win for you, Brett? Did you go back for her?”
Of course I did. Because what the fuck was a man supposed to do when his baby sister asked him if he wanted to be part of her healing process?
“It’s who you are!” she'd said. “Who you’ve always wanted to be! Let’s take our lives back!”
I swallowed a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat and registered for classes alongside her. There was no feasible way I could’ve told her the truth. That I wasn’t sure a biochemist was who I wanted to be anymore, or that I didn’t care about school like I used to. That I wasn’t even able to crawl out of bed before noon let alone apply myself to something as tedious as college. How the hell could I tell my baby sister I’d lost myself when she’d just spent so long finding herself?
My moment of hesitation was enough of an answer for Ace. Nobody was as intuitive to themselves and other people as he was. I wasn’t sure if it was the masseuse thing or just something that was hidden in the core of who he was. I’d place big bets on the latter. Ace was like no other person. Beneath all the random questions and bad jokes at horrible times, he was a good fucking friend. The kind of friend who oozed loyalty and kindness. The kind of friend who’d chop their arm off and give it to you if you said you’d lost yours.
“Dude, come on.” Ace pushed. “Talk to me.”
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth. Not even a noise came from me. That grapefruit from all those weeks ago found its way back into my throat. The world behind my eyes went blurry, and I swayed on my stool.
�
�Brett.” His hand wrapped around my wrist, intense eyes finding mine. “Breathe.”
I gasped. It was then the tightness in my body made its presence known. I hadn't even noticed the rope that'd been wrapped around my lungs, tightening with each second that passed by. But Ace noticed.
He always noticed.
I rubbed my fist over the stiffness in my chest and let out a rough breath. That deep inhale was enough to remember how he came into my life.
* * *
I stood there, shaking in my unlaced tennis shoes while I watched my sister struggle to breathe in the lap of a man who clearly loved her. My chest was constricting as I watched tears run down her face while she wailed into Wren’s chest, clawing at his shirt like she thought he somehow might float away.
With each sob, the rubber band on my lungs got tighter and tighter until I thought I might faint. It was too much. Too much to process while I took in the walls of the prison, the federal agents and correction officers. My father fleeing the room and my mother without a husband to comfort her.
My sister’s cries and Wren’s soothing noises were bouncing off the concrete as I panted and struggled with what to do next. Follow my father and make sure he’s okay? Comfort my mother and wipe away the tears she’s hiding? Watch my sister like a hawk and make sure she doesn’t try anything this stupid again? Stomp down that hallway and rip out Kade Wilson’s throat with my bare hands?
I was confused.
Conflicted.
Angry.
Torn between what I wanted to do and what I thought I was supposed to do. Where the fuck was the middle? I couldn’t find it. Things were blurry and my chest hurt. My brain was racing but no answers were coming to mind. Hell. I couldn’t have told anyone what two plus two was. I was sure I was gonna pass out without knowing why. I swayed on my feet, my knees threatening to buckle when I felt it.
A palm pressed against the muscle between my shoulder blades and rubbed gently. “Brett, breathe, man,” he said, a voice so damn tender I thought I imagined it. “Breathe.”
A reminder to breathe was apparently something I needed. I sucked in a massive gulp of air, wheezing slightly.