Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

She sighs blissfully. “Wine and books are literally life.”

  “Well, there’s no wine here, so you’ll have to lower your standards for tonight.”

  “Seriously?” she asks, and I think she’s outraged at the lack of wine.

  I laugh. “Let loose for the next two hours. Drink some beer, have fun, then you can escape to your fictional world.”

  “Define let loose…”

  “Dance with me?”

  “Nope, not happening.”

  “Come on,” I insist, grabbing her hand and walking us over to the living room, where bodies are pressed against each other, moving out of sync to the weird mix that’s playing.

  She fights me every step of the way. “I don’t wanna! I don’t dance! Why don’t you go find Jesse?!”

  “I came here with you—not him,” I remind her. Although he’s definitely the reason I showed up.

  “But you came here for him,” she says, reading my thoughts.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Don’t lie to yourself,” Emma shouts over the music. “You know that’s why we’re here.”

  “We’re just here to enjoy the party—to live a little,” I add.

  “So, you’re saying it has nothing to do with the fact that you spend your every free moment with Jesse?”

  “I spend my time with you!”

  She gives me a look I can only interpret as incredulity. “You have this last week, which makes me suspicious.”

  “Emma, I like spending time with you.”

  “You also like spending time with him. A couple of weeks ago, you guys were at the hospital together.”

  “We were visiting Maria, so that doesn’t count.”

  “Okay, and what about the day after that?”

  Dammit!

  “I ran an errand with him. He wanted someone to accompany him to the store.”

  “And the day after that one?”

  “Okay! I know where you’re going with this. Maybe I have been spending a lot of time with him, but that’s what you do with friends. I’ve spent the last week nagging you to do stuff with me.”

  “Just friends, huh? At least for now.”

  Her unfinished statement hangs over my head, because she’s right—I don’t want to just be his friend. I want so much more.

  “You haven’t been spending time with him this week, though.”

  “Nope,” I reply. I’ve barely spoken to him at all. When he messaged me, I told him I wanted to spend some time with Emma. That was my excuse, and I think he bought it.

  “I haven’t seen him here either. I’ve been trying to find him so I can hand you off to him and finally make my escape,” she says candidly, and I laugh. I know Jesse is probably outside in the back yard with the others, but I don’t want to go out there unless he takes me.

  My favorite song starts playing. “Wow, I see what kind of friend you are. Now stop distracting me with conversation. We’ve gotta dance!” I grab her hand, forcing her to move to the music.

  “Okay, my two hours are up!” Emma says as the song we’re dancing to comes to an end.

  Surprisingly, she’s loosened up a lot, but I think it was less me and more the random bottle of white wine we were able to find in the fridge.

  “Has it been two hours already?” I ask. It doesn’t really feel like it.

  “Yes, ma’am; I timed it.”

  I chuckle. “Of course you did.”

  “Are you staying?” she asks. I chance another look around like I’ve been doing every five minutes for the last two hours, and still no luck. Jesse’s nowhere in sight.

  I didn’t talk to him during today’s game, or after. He didn’t even send me a message about winning. It’s been radio-silence from him, and it feels odd.

  I really want to see him tonight, but I guess that’s not happening.

  “I’ll come with,” I tell Emma, and I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

  She searches my eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I think we’ve celebrated enough.” And so has everyone else. I swear everyone’s at this party…everyone but the one I really wanted to see.

  “Okay, let’s go home!”

  We make a beeline for the exit, bumping and running into a few people on the way. Right before reaching the door, the same shirtless guy from earlier runs straight into Emma, soaking her with the pitcher of beer he’s carrying.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” the guy slurs, clearly intoxicated.

  “It’s okay,” Emma says, reminding me of how sweet she is. Any other girl would have likely lashed out, but not my roommate.

  “The bathroom’s upstairs if you need it,” he says, looking genuinely apologetic. “I’m so sorry again.”

  Emma looks to me. “Is it okay if we go to the bathroom before heading out?”

  “Yes! I’ll come with.” We zig zag our way back through the masses and head to the stairs. When we reach the landing, we ask a few people for directions to the bathroom before someone finally tells us where it is.

  “I’ll wait for you out here,” I tell Emma, who runs in the moment the door opens and another girl walks out.

  “Thanks,” she says, pushing her glasses up on her face before shutting the door.

  I lean against the opposite wall, waiting for Emma to finish up, getting lost in the buzz of voices.

  “I haven’t seen Jesse tonight, have you?”

  The mention of Jesse’s name causes me to turn my head to where I find two girls near the stairs with red cups in their hands. There’s a blonde girl, and a brunette, both wearing Greek letters on their shirts.

  “Me neither! I was looking forward to hooking up with him!” the brunette says, and I’m consumed with anger just as quickly as the words leave her mouth. I love how she casually says, ‘hooking up with him’ like he’d just sleep with her. I don’t think he’s the type to do something like that…at least I hope he isn’t.

  I wonder what makes her think he would?

  Girl, breathe. It’s not your place, I remind myself.

  “Isn’t he dating someone?” says the blonde, and I smile.

  “There’s a rumor he’s been hanging out with this girl who just started school. She’s got cancer or some shit.”

  The smile falls from my face in a heartbeat. I didn’t think people knew. Maybe they remember me from when I started school but had to leave?

  “Seriously? I heard the last girl he dated had cancer too. She died though. Does he have a thing for cancer patients?”

  “Maybe he likes projects,” her friend says. “He seems like the kind of guy who likes charity work.”

  My rage intensifies.

  I want to go over there and hit her. I hate the way she’s talking about people with cancer—as if they’re projects, or pariahs—like we are nothing but misfortunate people.

  “She’s not even pretty. I doubt he’s dating her. He’s probably just entertaining her because she reminds him of his ex,” the blonde says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

  “You’re right. I’d say go for it. He won’t turn you down, especially not for a girl like that.”

  A girl like what? She has no idea what I look like. If she did, I doubt she’d be talking about me while I stand mere feet away.

  I’m seconds away from putting them in their place when I feel someone grasp my hand. Looking up, my eyes connect with Emma’s. By the concern there, she must’ve heard everything that was just said.

  “Ignore them. They’re not known for being nice,” she breathes, pulling me beside her and directing me towards the stairs.

  But ignoring them is easier said than done. Walking past them, I throw up a prayer for patience so that I don’t knock the pathetic satisfied smiles from their faces.

  One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Just breathe, Zoe. Just breathe. They’re not worth it.

  I repeat my mantra until I’m out the front door.

  The walk is quiet, and the air is tense. I know Emma wa
nts to comfort me, but she’s hesitant because she doesn’t know how. All I need is silence right now. All I need is a moment to hold it together before it all falls apart.

  His girlfriend died of cancer.

  His girlfriend died of cancer.

  I had cancer.

  It must be some twisted joke.

  Project.

  Replacement?

  Charity case?

  27

  JESSE

  I grab my phone, checking it for the hundredth time. No new messages. Throwing it into my gym bag, I get ready to hit the field for practice.

  For some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

  I haven’t spoken to Zoe much over the last week. For anyone else that’s normal, but for us it’s not. We talk every day. It’s been like that since the day I met her—every day since we became friends. Even though she said she wanted to spend time with Emma this week, I’ve still sent her a few messages today to check in, but she hasn’t responded.

  It feels so wrong to not talk to her. It’s almost like a part of me is missing.

  “Get your ass outside, Falcon,” Coach's voice booms from behind me.

  “Yes, sir.” Shutting my locker, I join the others.

  Coach blows the whistle—practice is finally over.

  If I didn’t love this game, if this game didn’t help keep me sane, I would’ve dropped it a long time ago.

  This week, I’m glad I have practices to push me past the point of exhaustion. I crave the pain that comes from it because I needed to hurt physically to avoid thinking about all the other ways in which I was hurting.

  “Are you okay?” Chase asks as I come out of the locker room shower.

  “Yeah,” I say, throwing the towel on the bench and putting on some sweatpants.

  “You sure?” he presses, and I know why.

  “Just another year.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. “You know we’re here if you need us, right?”

  “Yup,” I respond, watching Chase walk away without saying anything else. I think this is the time of year when he talks to me the most because he wants me to know he cares.

  I hear my phone ping with a notification, and I quickly search the depths of my bag to find it. When I pull it out, I see Zoe’s name displayed across the notification screen.

  And just like that, an invisible weight is lifted from my shoulders.

  Unlocking my phone, I read her text.

  Can we talk?

  That’s all the message says, and I wonder if there is something wrong after all.

  Of course. Do you want me to come over?

  I type out the words quickly and press send. I’m too impatient though and add,

  I can be there in 15.

  Sure.

  On any other day, a message like this one wouldn’t raise red flags, but on a day like today, and after not talking properly to her for almost a week, something tells me I should be worried.

  ZOE

  Bracing myself for a conversation I wouldn’t have dreamed of having, I head down to the lobby. I know Jesse said he’d meet me here in fifteen minutes, but I don’t want to have this conversation inside my apartment, or even in my building. What I need is neutral territory.

  I sit on the front steps, waiting for him to arrive. When he finally does, he’s wearing sweatpants and a sweater with the school logo on it. He must’ve come straight from practice. As he approaches me, he smiles widely like he’s extremely happy to see me.

  As if he actually cares about me.

  Like I truly mean something to him.

  The joke’s on me.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk towards him, stopping him from coming any closer.

  “Hey,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

  I sidestep his attempt and cross my arms. “Hey.”

  He frowns. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “What do you mean?” he says.

  I start walking away from my building, praying he follows. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care. I just know I need to have this conversation, and I don’t like what the outcome may be.

  He follows me cautiously, allowing me the time to gather my thoughts.

  “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I need you to answer them directly and honestly,” I tell him, holding myself together while the world he and I have lived in for the last few months threatens to collapse. Knowing this, I don’t allow myself a moment to slow down and let things catch up to me. We walk side-by-side, and I make it a point to look straight ahead and avoid his eyes—the eyes that have withheld the truth from me for far too long.

  He stops me, guiding me to face him. “Are you okay?”

  I give in and look at him. His eyes search my own for a sign of hurt, injury, or pain. I can tell he’s trying to assess what’s going on, but I give nothing away. I school my expression like the best poker players.

  “I will be,” I tell him, because I will. I’ve gotten through worse. “Yes or no answers only, okay?” I add, turning from him and walking towards the quad.

  “Zo, you’re scaring me.”

  I can’t prolong this conversation any longer. I stop, turning to face him.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of; I just need answers.”

  He shifts his weight from one foot to another, and I know he’s thinking about a million different scenarios.

  I start off easy. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any serious relationships?”

  He lifts his brows, confused. “One,” he says. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Did she die?” I cut straight to it, and he flinches. I kick myself for not being sensitive enough. Still, if true, this isn’t something I should’ve found out through sorority girls gossiping behind my back. This is something he should’ve told me.

  “Um…” His eyes latch onto mine, searching for clues. He clears his throat and adds, “Yes” in a whisper so low that I almost miss it. I can see the pain in his eyes, and for a brief moment, I feel the desire to bring my arms around him—to comfort him. But I hold on to that small sliver of doubt that keeps wondering if he’s been using me. Does he only see me as a charity case? Whatever the answer, I want to hear it straight from his lips.

  I inhale deeply, asking the question that could—will—destroy it all. “Did she have cancer?”

  “She did,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I push a little further for clarification. For more. “Did she have ALL?”

  “Yes.”

  They were right. I wanted them to be wrong, but they were right.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about her?” The weakness in my voice betrays the tough exterior I’m trying to project.

  He stares at me, crossing his arms defensively this time. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

  I realize he’s not one bit sorry for withholding that information from me.

  “You start hanging out with someone who has the same cancer your girlfriend died of, and you don’t think it’s important to mention it?” I feel like I’m shouting, but my words have no strength behind them.

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t see why I need to share that with anyone,” he snarls, and I take a step back.

  “You don’t see why you being with me looks suspicious?”

  He wipes his hands on his pants. He’s on edge, and I’m nudging him closer.

  “Why would me being with you be suspicious?”

  “Because your girlfriend had cancer!”

  I’m walking on glass, and something is bound to break—most likely me.

  “A lot of people have cancer,” he says, frustrated. His bag crashes to the cement path, and I look around to make sure no one else can hear this conversation. This is something I need to know, but the re
st of the world can do without.

  “You’re missing the point.”

  He pulls at the hair on the back of his head. “Then spell it out for me, Zoe, because I’m tired of trying to figure it out.”

  “Isn’t it odd that we’re…” I lose the courage I had earlier because maybe I shouldn’t be mad at him for this. Maybe I’ve been overthinking what we are. Nothing.

  “We’re what?”

  “It feels like you being with me was all a lie. You talking to me. Me thinking you liked me…” The words tumble out of my mouth in an uncontrollable wave.

  “I don’t understand why you’d think that,” he says, my heart breaking at his admission.

  “It feels like you talking to me was your way of trying to replace her,” I spit it out. That’s my fear—that I’m the replacement for his dead girlfriend.

  “No. That’s not… I didn’t… we aren’t…”

  We aren’t even on the same page here, are we?

  “What made you want to be my friend? What made you want to spend so much time with me? What made you want to hold my hand?” I ask all the questions that have been running through my mind at once. He should have told me about her.

  “I… I just saw you, and I can’t explain it… I was drawn to you.”

  Drawn to me? At hospital?

  “Did she—” I stop and look away so that the tears threatening to spill over stay at bay. “Was she at the same hospital as me?” I ask. He looks at me like I’m a fragile object that can break at any moment, and then, with a subtle nod of his head, the tears I’ve been holding back start to fall.

  “Do I remind you of her?” I ask, wiping the tears away.

  “Zoe…”

  “Do I?” I press, my tone harsher.

  “A little, yes, but—”

  “God!” I laugh humorlessly. “Are you even over her?”

  “I… I don’t know,” he says, fisting his hair.

  “Why are you with me?”

  “I don’t… know. I like you. I like spending time with you.”

  I scoff. “Those girls were right, you know? To you, I’m just a charity case. That’s all I’ve been to you.”