Carter finally clears his throat. “He’s a good guy. I know that. I’ve spent years telling him that I want him to find someone. Someone good. And you’re thebestperson I know. It’s theimmature, protective part of me that resists this,” he admits quietly. “I should have been a safe enough space for you to tell me how you were feeling, that you were seriously interested in him. I don’t want you to be scared to tell me anything. Even if it’s something I don’t like.”
I nod, brushing my cheeks with the pads of my fingers. I needed this. Every single one of these words. The little girl in me has always wanted to live up to the pedestal that he put me on. I don’t think I was prepared for the feeling of him yanking me off it. That’s how it felt in the kitchen—like he no longer was proud to be my brother.
He glances at me again, pain in his eyes. “And I’m so sorry that I hurt you to the point where you hate me, Ari. I hear you say that every fucking second on a loop in my head.”
His voice breaks, and my heart follows in its wake.
I shake my head, my face crumbling. The only thing worse than using your words as weapons against the people you love most is the regret that comes afterward.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay. I get it,” he says quietly. “That was probably the worst possible version of myself. I hate myself a bit right now, too.”
“No.” It’s not true. It’s not how I feel and it destroys me that he believed it. I slide down the couch, frantically reaching for him, and pull my brother into a hug. He lets out the biggest, deepest breath of relief as he winds his arms around my back. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend, Carter. I didn’t mean it.”
“I could never be embarrassed of you, either,” he murmurs, giving me a little squeeze. Those were the words that sharpened my blade to deliver the hateful, final blow. “I’m sorry I said that.”
“I’m sorry, too.” I sniffle over his shoulder. “How in trouble are you?”
“Even if I was in trouble, I’d deserve it,” he mumbles, patting my back. “But I’m not. Not really.”
“He hasn’t been playing, though.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Regret is not a familiar look in my brother’s eyes, but it’s there now. “Not until he heals. He’ll be back next week.”
I settle back into my seat, not understanding how his coach hasn’t benched him for what he did to Boston, not caring why he hasn’t. I have a feeling it has something to do with Boston advocating for my brother. There is no way he got by unscathed after what he’s done.
I’m overwhelmed. The relief over having this sorted, knowing that at least one part of my heart will start to feel better soon, overpowers the rest of it.
I’m still angry at my brother. I’ll be angry about what he did forever because it was horrifying, and he was in the wrong. But I love him, and I’m willing to support him while he gets the help that he clearly needs. I forgive him for what he said to me, but I’m not forgiving him for what he did. That’s Boston’s choice to make, not mine.
“I love you, kid.”
I smile weakly as I drag my sleeve under my eyes. “I love you, too.”
He holds out his hand and I breathe a laugh through my tears. We smack our palms twice and do our handshake. Every single step. The second we’re done he slaps his hands on his thighs and gets to his feet, letting out a long groan as he does.
“Alright. That’s my cue.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, watching him tread to the kitchen. He grabs his keys off the island. “You were in the middle of a movie!”
“I’m good. Already seen it,” he says, retreating to the fridge. He pulls something out of it and strolls back toward mewith a casual ease. Without a word, he drops a full, stunning charcuterie board onto the coffee table.
Everything stops. My brain. My heart. The world.
I stare at it for a long moment before I slowly look up at him. “What is that?”
“A drive-thru charcuterie board, whatever the fuck that means,” he grumbles, waving me off. He shoots me a look, like this pains him, but he has to do it. “It looks like Cupid’s job is never done. Arden and I are getting a hotel tonight. See you in the morning.”
“Carter!” I snap, jumping to my knees on the couch.
He ignores me, tossing on his coat, and throws a peace sign over his shoulder. The door to the condo gently shuts behind him. I stare at it for five minutes, waiting for him to return and explain himself, but of course he doesn’t.
Why would he make it easy and explain whatever the hell this is?
I drag my eyes back to the beautiful board, decorated with food. The board itself is gorgeous, a deep wood with pink and gold markings. I lean forward to examine the artistry. There are so many olives, I could live on them for weeks. They’re arranged in a giant ‘A’ at the center of the spread. Fresh, curated meats. Different types of cheese. Pretzels, chocolates, crackers.
There are little sticks in some of the food with neatly printed labels. I slowly read them, one by one.
