Page 172 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CONNOR

Ifollow Marcus into the living room and watch him throw himself down onto the sofa, the cushions dipping beneath him. For a second, I just stand there staring at the side of his face, still trying to reconcile my brother with the guy who was throwing punches at Theo less than twenty minutes ago.

Then I drop down beside him, our shoulders knocking together.

“Why would you do that?” I sigh.

There’s no anger left behind it. I think I used all of that somewhere between watching Marcus split Theo’s lip and seeing Theo look at me like touching him hurt worse than the punch did.

Marcus twists towards me as much as the cramped space allows, his brow lifting like I’m the one being unreasonable. “He broke your heart,” he snaps, throwing his hands up. “What the fuck did you expect me to do?”

A breath slips out of me that almost sounds like a laugh, except there’s nothing fucking funny about any of this.

“I broke my own fucking heart, Marcus.”

The words come out so quietly I almost wish he doesn’t hear them.

He does.

Marcus goes still beside me, the argument already sitting on his tongue disappearing as his brows pull together. “What?”

I sink farther into the sofa and drag a hand over my jaw, staring somewhere past him because I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to explain something I still don’t fully understand myself.

“I couldn’t,” I swallow, trying again. “I don’t know how to be,” My hand lifts uselessly between us, gesturing at myself because apparently that’s the best explanation I’ve got. “This.”

Marcus sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

I glance over just in time to catch his eyes widening before he lets out a low whistle and shakes his head.

“Messy,” he mutters.

My eyes narrow. “Fuck you.”

He winces slightly, but the bastard still shrugs like he stands by it.

I look down at my hands, catching a loose thread at the cuff of my hoodie and winding it around my finger. I pull it loose, then tighter, watching it bite into my skin while the question that’s been sitting in my chest since Marcus found Theo’s jersey claws its way back up.

“You really don’t care?”

It comes out quieter than I mean it to.

Marcus doesn’t answer immediately, and that tiny stretch of silence is enough to make my stomach tighten.

I keep my eyes fixed on the thread.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. Marcus has never given me a reason to think he’d care about that, but knowing something and saying it out loud are apparently two completely different fucking things. Everything felt easier when it was just Theo. When I could convince myself that if nobody knew, I didn’t have to work out what any of it meant.

Marcus’s hand closes over mine, stopping me from picking at the thread.

“The fact that you’re into guys is the least of my concerns, Con,” he huffs, like I’ve asked him the stupidest question he’s heard all day.

My head lifts.

He’s looking at me exactly the same.

No disgust. No shock. Not even the confusion I’ve been carrying around for weeks.