No Feelings Involved: A Brother's Best Friend Standalone Romance

by Siobhan Davis

  We all go back to our farmhouse after the service, and I’m not surprised to see my parents getting on so well with Ryan’s parents—both sets of grandparents bonding over their loss.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Charlie asks, looming over me as I sit on the couch, tucked under Ryan’s protective arm.

  “Sure.” My voice is devoid of emotion.

  “In private.” His eyes dart to Ryan.

  “Whatever you want to say to Summer will be said in front of me or not at all,” Ryan says, holding me tighter to his side. “I won’t have you upsetting her.”

  “That’s the last thing I want,” Charlie meekly replies. “And you can come. I guess you need to hear it too.”

  We go upstairs to my old bedroom. I sit on the bed with Ryan beside me. Charlie crouches down in front of me. “I owe you a big apology,” he says, reaching out and taking my hands. “I’m so sorry for all the hurtful things I said the day you told us about your pregnancy. I planned to come to the city to apologize, because I knew I was out of line, but I never had time to before…”

  “Before I lost the baby,” I confirm.

  “I’m so sorry, Summer.”

  “Are you?” I question, but there’s no malice in my tone. You’d have to feel something to invoke such strong emotion, and I feel dead inside. “You didn’t want me to have this baby, anyway.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry! And I didn’t want for this to happen.” Air expels from his mouth in frustration. “I don’t blame you for thinking that, but I hate you’re hurting. I’m so sorry you lost your baby. I genuinely am.” He stands, offering his hand to Ryan. “And I’m sorry I was so judgmental. I never should’ve said the things I said.”

  “Forget about it,” Ryan says, accepting his handshake.

  “I forgive you,” I whisper to my brother, because I don’t want to be estranged from him any longer.

  Life is too short.

  I’ve just learned that lesson the hard way.

  I lean my head on Ryan’s shoulder, suddenly drained. He doesn’t hesitate to hold me tight, and I siphon some of his warmth and his strength hoping it’ll help get me through the weeks, and months ahead.

  ✽✽✽

  Time ceases to have much meaning. I get up, eat breakfast, go to my classes and rehearsal, do my shifts at the gym, and attend study sessions in the library, jam-packing my day so I collapse into bed at night, exhausted, hoping tonight will be the night I stop dreaming about things that have been stolen from me. But no matter how far I push myself, nothing works. I still toss and turn most nights, snatching an hour’s sleep here and there, but it’s never enough.

  I’m yawning as I stand in front of the mirror staring at my pallid reflection. I look like shit. There are massive bags under my eyes, my lips are dry and cracked, and my skin lacks vitality. I’m like a shell of a person, and I know I can’t continue like this.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asks from his position in the doorway. He’s holding onto the top of the door, offering a nice view of his impressive biceps and chest, and an inkling of desire stirs in my loins for the first time in weeks.

  “I think we’ll be adding that to your epitaph too,” I joke, in reference to how many times he asks me that question. I pad toward him in my towel, beads of moisture still clinging to my skin from the shower, and I rest my head on his chest, circling my arms around his waist. “I’m tired of feeling sad all the time,” I admit, and it’s the first real honesty I’ve given him since the day in the hospital. I’ve struggled to talk to him about my feelings which is most unlike me, but then I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. He’s shut himself off as well, and I realize, in this moment, that I don’t want to lose him too.

  “Me too,” he quietly says, enfolding his massive arms around me.

  “Let’s take the day off,” I suggest, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Let’s make love and then go out and do something together.”

  He weaves his fingers through my hair, slanting me an apologetic look. “I can show up late, but I can’t take the full day off. We’re firing Matthias today and our attorney is attending the meeting. It’s important I’m there.” My heart sinks when I recognize he’s no clue of the importance of the date. “I’m sorry, baby. What about tomorrow? We can spend the day together before we both head home for the Christmas break.”

  “Sure.” I plaster a fake smile on my face and wriggle out of his grasp, but he hauls me back instantly.

  “We can still go back to bed for a couple hours.” His eyes darken with lust as his hand climbs up my bare thigh, his fingers sweeping across my pussy. The look he pins me with is hot as fuck, but the urge has already deserted me, blanketed by a fresh layer of sadness.

  “I can’t miss two days of classes,” I lie, reaching up to peck his lips. “Rain check later tonight?” I uphold my cheery expression, feeling like pure shit when a dejected look appears on his face.

  “No problem, babe.” He moves past me, switching the shower on. “Have a good day.”

  As I pull the door shut behind me, I can’t help wondering if it’s metaphorical.

  CHAPTER 25

  Ryan

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I exclaim, banging my head against the wall when it finally clicks with me.

  “What the hell, man?” Austin asks, his brow furrowing.

  “Summer asked me to take the day off today, and I’m a dumbass because I didn’t realize why until now.” Austin looks as confused as me. “It’s one month today since we lost the baby,” I explain.

  “Shit.”

  I’m sick to my stomach. “I can’t believe I forgot. I feel like a complete shit.”

  “Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, man.” Austin clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I know this has been rough for you too.”

  A lump the size of a bus wedges in my throat, as I nod. I’m trying so hard to stay strong for Summer, but I’m cut up on the inside too. Everything I never realized I wanted was in arm’s reach until it was snatched away. Guilt churns with sorrow in my gut every day, and it’s a miracle I can get out of bed most mornings.

  There’s no handbook when something like this happens, and I feel like I’m drowning in a pool of failure. Summer and I grow more distant every day. Sure, she sleeps in my arms, but she may as well be invisible. I hate that her light has faded, and I feel wholly responsible. I want to erase her sadness and openly love her, but I’m struggling with the how. We haven’t had sex, or shared intimacy other than hugs or kisses, since she miscarried, and I miss feeling close to her. I don’t know if I should be the one to initiate it or just wait until she’s ready. So, I take care of her in other ways, hoping it demonstrates how much I still love her.

  It elated me this morning when she suggested we make love, but her subsequent rejection tore more strips off my fragile heart. Now I know why she reconsidered.

  Before we lost the baby, Summer would’ve told me outright the significance of today. But that’s another closeness we’ve lost. We don’t talk like we used to, and I’m scared I’m losing her.

  Maybe she’s no longer interested.

  I hate even thinking this, but the truth is there’s nothing tying her to me now.

  Perhaps she’s realized that.

  Perhaps she’s realized that she’d rather be with a guy her own age. Someone with considerably less baggage.

  But I don’t know, because we haven’t properly talked since the miscarriage.

  Partly that’s my fault, because of the crippling guilt.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Austin asks, pinning me with worried eyes.

  “I need to make it up to her,” I say, plonking my butt in the seat and lifting the phone. “And I think I have just enough time to organize it.”

  A few hours later, I’m standing outside the theater waiting for Summer to exit the building. I couldn’t stomach watching her rehearse with Sean, so I’d rather stay out here in the biting cold than watch his hands, or his lips, anywhere near her.


  She doesn’t know I’m here. I spent the late afternoon lining things up. I’ve booked us a table at the little Italian we’ve grown fond of, and I’ve a simple bouquet of lilies waiting for her in the car. I thought we could visit the graveyard, but they’ve already closed, so I’ll offer to take her this weekend instead, if she wants to go.

  I pat the envelope in my inside coat pocket, allowing a sliver of hope to build inside me. I’m hoping the surprise trip to Venice will bring color to my girl’s cheeks again. And I think the time away will do us the world of good.

  We need to live our lives again.

  We’ll never forget our little munchkin, but we can’t wallow in grief forever.

  Summer wants to travel, and she’s never been out of the U.S. so I’m hoping this trip will set our relationship on a new path and remind her of all she’s got to look forward to. I’ve also found a great grief counselor who specializes in counseling couples who’ve lost children, and I hope she’ll agree to go to a few sessions with me, because it’s fair to say we need help. The counselor was my sister’s idea, and I’m glad I called her earlier.

  I rub my hands together, tugging the collar of my coat up higher as the door to the theater opens and people spill out. Summer is last out, and her loud peals of laughter tickle my eardrums from here. She’s with Sean, and she’s doubled over, in convulsions of laughter. Didn’t realize he was such a comedian, my snarly inner voice spits, as my insides contort painfully.

  I’d give anything to be the one to make her laugh, but the truth is, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her face light up like that.

  There have been zero smiles around me.

  Jealousy and anger batter me from all sides as I watch them laughing and chatting, lingering by the door, reluctant to leave.

  It’s the slap in the face I needed.

  The reality check I’ve been fighting every second from the instant she came into my life.

  Summer should be with someone like Sean.

  Someone the same age with no cares or responsibilities.

  Someone who can make her forget her grief.

  Not someone who reminds her of it every minute of the day.

  I’ve been deluding myself into thinking we could turn this around.

  We can’t. I see that now.

  She hasn’t spotted me yet, so I tuck my chin down, keeping my head low, and hightail it out of there.

  ✽✽✽

  We spend Christmas break at home with our respective families, and the time apart helps cement my belief I’m right to end this now before I hurt her anymore. My family notices I’m withdrawn, and they try to coax me into talking, but I don’t want to discuss it with anyone. I know what I have to do, and once we return to the city, I set about sticking to my guns.

  I’m pacing the living room waiting for Summer to return home from classes, just anxious to get this over with now. I’ve practiced what I want to say. I don’t want to lie to her, but if I tell her the truth, I’m afraid she’ll try to talk me out of it.

  I’m even more afraid that she’ll agree with me.

  So, I know what I need to say to make this happen.

  She’ll probably hate me. Austin most definitely will. But, hopefully, in time, he’ll realize I loved her enough to set her free.

  “Fuck, it’s cold out there,” Summer says, bounding into the apartment, bundled up in a puffy jacket, woolly hat, and scarf, looking adorably cute. I want to grab her into my arms and never let her go. But I can’t. For once, I need to act selflessly and let her live the life she deserves.

  “Why don’t you take a shower to warm up, and I’ll have some hot chocolate ready when you get out?” I suggest, not wanting to jump straight into this the second she gets home.

  “That sounds perfect,” she agrees, approaching me with a little gleam in her eye. Quick as a flash, she cups my face, welding her ice-cold hands to my skin.

  I jerk back out of her reach, my skin tingling as a shiver works its way through me. “Fucking hell, Summer. Your hands are like blocks of ice.”

  She giggles, and I want to change my mind. There’s no doubt she’s turned a corner recently. Showing me glimpses of the girl I fell in love with. It hasn’t escaped my notice it’s happened while we’ve largely been apart.

  Which is why breaking up with her is the right thing.

  “Go shower.” I kiss her forehead even though I want to kiss her lips, heading toward the kitchen to make hot chocolate before I do something stupid.

  Like drag her to the bedroom.

  Or revert to selfish mode and kick my plan to the curb.

  “Ohmigawd, this is so good,” Summer says, moaning in a way that has my dick twitching in my boxers. “I nominate you chief hot chocolate maker,” she proclaims, closing her eyes and groaning as she sips on the chocolaty goodness.

  My dick now salutes her at full mast, and I subtly adjust myself in my jeans before she notices.

  We flippantly watch TV as she sips her hot chocolate. With her makeup-free face, hair scraped back in a tight ponytail, and the slouchy sweater, pajama pants, and fluffy socks combo she’s sporting, she looks every bit the young, innocent girl she should be. I hate that her involvement with me has dulled the edges off her shine, but she’ll bounce back, once she has the freedom to spread her wings. Once I’m no longer blocking the light.

  I can’t delay this anymore.

  Turning off the TV, I turn to face her, taking her hands in mine, hoping she can’t feel how badly I’m trembling. “We need to talk.”

  “Annndddd nothing good ever comes of starting a conversation like that,” she jokes, her lips tugging up until she sees the sober expression on my face. “Oh.” Her smile disappears, her eyes growing wide. “Oh.” Tears well in her eyes, and I already hate myself.

  “You know how special you are to me, Summer, and I wanted so badly for things to work out between us, but they’re not. It has strained things between us ever since we lost the baby and—” This is the hard part. The part that will devastate her. But I have to say it, because she needs to let me go. “I think it happened for a reason. To prove that we’re not right for one another after all. That there’s someone better out there for you than me.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that,” she whispers as a tear creeps out of the corner of one eye.

  I’m suffocating inside.

  Drowning in my own lies.

  Yet I push on.

  “I do. You’re the one that taught me to believe in that, and don’t say you don’t believe it now because it’s been your mantra right from the start.”

  “You misunderstand,” she says, yanking her hands from my grip and swiping angrily at the tears sliding down her face. “I still believe things happen for a reason. You think I haven’t thought of this in the weeks since we lost our child? Haven’t raged at God, if there is one, asking him why he took something so precious from us? Why he took away something I never even realized I wanted that badly until it was dangled under my nose?” Her voice cracks, and I sit on my hands to stop myself from pulling her into my arms.

  Our inner musings were so similar. What a shame we couldn’t talk to one another about it.

  “Because I’ve done all that soul searching, and I’ve made my peace with it.” She leans into me, and the floral scent of her shower gel swirls around me, almost choking me with renewed pain. “The time wasn’t right. That’s all,” she says, rubbing her finger back and forth across the locket I gave her for Christmas. “And I firmly believe our time will come again, maybe when we’re in the right place to start a family.” She cups my face. “I’m sorry I’ve been so shut off. That I’ve given you no attention. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, because I do. There aren’t adequate words to describe how very much.”

  It’s so typical of Summer to assume all the blame, but I won’t let her. She has done nothing wrong. I’m the one that’s made all the mistakes, right from the start. “Don’t,” I croak, unable to hear anymore, removi
ng her hands from mine. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  Her lip wobbles, and her face falls, as she realizes I’m deadly serious. My heart is fracturing behind my rib cage, and I need to get this done and get out of here before I cave.

  “Why?” she whispers.

  I harden my heart and force the words from my mouth. “I’m just not feeling it anymore. I’m so sorry.”

  Her chest heaves, and she licks her lips, fighting to keep her composure. Neither of us speak for a few minutes, and it’s the worst form of torture. “Okay,” she quietly says. “The agreement was we’d end it when one of us wasn’t into it anymore, and I’ll uphold our deal.”

  That deal was thrown out the window a long time ago, but if that’s how she needs to handle it, I won’t disagree.

  I stand, pulling the duffel bag I previously packed out from behind the couch. “I’ve checked into a hotel. You’re welcome to stay here until a dorm room becomes available. I’ll cover the rent and utilities and lodge money into your bank account to cover groceries.”

  “I don’t want your money, and I don’t want to stay here. I’ll go,” she says, springing up from the couch with fire in her eyes.

  “No way.” I fold my arms and stare her out. “We may not be together anymore, but I still care about you, and you are not leaving. I’ve made this decision, so it’s only right I’m the one to go.”

  “This is your apartment, Ryan!”

  “Don’t fight me on this.” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I take her in my arms for a goodbye hug, holding onto her firmly before she can pull away. “I’m so sorry, Summer,” I whisper in her ear. “But you’ll be fine.”

  And as I walk away from her without another word, with pain burning a hole straight through my heart, I remind myself I’m doing this for her.