“Brady.” She patted my back. “What’s going on with you and Mac?”
Mac
I turned off the Jeep and sat motionless in the parking lot while the engine ticked like a countdown to certain doom.
My phone buzzed from my cup holder, and I jolted from the sound.
I tapped my forehead against the steering wheel a few times and then got up the courage to look.
Candace: He’s doing well. He napped a little while Mercer and I were there. But he kicked us out after dinner. Said he was a grown-ass man and he’d be just fine
Me: Thanks for letting me know. Glad to hear your brother is doing well after the accident.
Candace hadn’t really questioned it when I’d texted her throughout the day asking for updates on Brady. I figured I’d have had to explain my interest away, but maybe, in her eyes, knowing I’d witnessed the accident gave me permission for details.
I’d tried Abby first, of course. But his one and only response this morning had given me pause.
Cole Abernathy: You’re both idiots. Check on him yourself.
But I couldn’t very well check on Brady. I’d been at work, and he was supposed to steer clear of screen time to alleviate his concussion symptoms. Plus, I was actively avoiding my feelings and trying to figure out the best way out of this fucking mess I was in.
I watched the bouncing dots beside Candace’s name for a long moment before a surprising reply came through.
Candace: If you need to talk, I’m here for you, Mac. I hope you know that.
I turned off the screen and placed the phone back in my cup holder, unsure what to make of her message. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have the emotional bandwidthto handle her sincerity, not when it was taking everything in me to wrangle my own fears and inadequacies.
I walked slowly up the stairs and gave a quiet knock on Brady’s front door, willing my nerves to settle and my breathing to slow.
“I said I was fine!” he called, voice muffled through the door.
But it swung open a moment later. His very obvious irritation transformed when he saw me, and I almost turned around and walked right back down the stairs.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, I thought you were another member of my family come to check on me.”
The bruising was darker on his face, and he looked tired, his hair messy in a way that made me want to comb my fingers through it.
I clenched my hand into a fist and stepped inside but didn’t remove my coat or shoes. “They were worried about you.”
Some wariness was starting to enter Brady’s features as I stood awkwardly in the small foyer.
I swallowed hard. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than the last time you saw me.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his joggers. “Want to come in?”
I shook my head, still desperately sifting through words, knowing that none of them were right.
Brady’s sudden, bitter laugh had my attention snapping his way. “Well, at least you aren’t running and hiding this time.” He nodded. “This here, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call personal growth.”
“Brady,” I tried.
His blue eyes were cool. “Nah, go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow. “I just think that things, maybe, went too far. Got out of hand. And we should, uh, take a step back.”
He nodded again, as if considering, and then sought to clarify, “A step back where, exactly? Back to getting it out of our systems—which worked wonders, by the way. Or were you thinking a step farther, back to when you hated me?”
I hadn’t expected this—this role reversal. I thought I’d be the belligerent, angry one, rushing out my words in an attempt to just get it over with. To break things off and simplify my life once again.
