AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Josh’s hands are on the guy's elbows, trying to push him away. I hear "no," but the guy leans in, going for Josh’s neck with his mouth, and I realize he's trying to kiss him!
All the blood leaves my head. I'm an apparition, just a booming heartbeat, straining my eyes in the dim light to see if Miller's really struggling.
He says something in a raised voice. Then he gives the other guy a light shove. I take the stairs two at a time, and as the other guy grabs for him again, I catch the fucker by the throat and toss him back against the stair rail.
Josh
It all happens in slow motion. One second, that dickbag Zane is trying to hump me on the fucking stairs, and I'm worried someone will see. I try to shove the guy away, but he bounces back up like a giant car-lot inflatable, swaying like he's drunker than I am.
Then the guy is off me. I hear, "What the fuck is this?" at the same moment I see Ezra.
Ezra holding Zane's shirt collar. Ezra with his burning lake eyes on me. My body shorts out, going icy cold then white hot as my stomach bottoms out and my throat closes. My heart starts to pound as Zane frowns from Ezra to me.
"Ezra Masters?" he gapes.
"Get the fuck out of here."
Zane looks at me, wide-eyed. Then he staggers down the stairs, moving so fast he almost trips and has to grab the bannister.
My legs feel like they might give out as Ezra's gaze lands on my face. Fuck, my head is spinning so hard.
"Why are you here?" I rasp.
His eyes are just...holding mine. They won't let go.
"I need to talk to you." His beautiful, familiar face, suntanned and aged up a year, looks both different and the very same. Looking at him, being near him, makes my body flush and buzz, and every second that I’m here beside him, I feel like I’m buzzing harder.
"I don't owe you anything." It's all that I can manage. Even as I say the words, I know I'll give him anything he asks for.
"So it was real," he whispers, his eyes wide. His face takes on a look of shock. "We...weren't just stepbrothers."
A weird cold feeling moves through my limbs. "What do you mean?"
"Did we…love each other?"
I blink, and black spots swim in my eyes.
"I don't understand," I whisper.
Ezra comes in close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I can feel the pressure of his warm chest pressed against mine. I can smell him, feel him breathing. Ezra! His arm loops around my back, and my head feels so hollow that I wonder for a second if I’ll pass out. "Come with me, Josh," he rasps.
When I don't move, he looks at me, all eyes and alarm—and then something like determination. He wraps me up against him again, lifts me off my feet, and hauls me like a piece of furniture into the nearest bedroom.
I feel hot, disoriented, like I'm on a bad ride at the carnival. Ezra's in front of me. He's crouching down a little, frowning up into my face. Then he's standing. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom’s bathroom. Gray tile. Goldfish on the shower curtain.
I watch his gaze flick to the goldfish, then to my face again. "Sit down," he says, pulling back the shower curtain. I sit on the tub’s ledge, and he starts opening cabinets. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and he looks bulky. He’s wearing a hat. He pulls it off. Shorter hair—a shorter buzz on the sides. All the blond is gone just like the picture on the stadium screen showed.
My heart is climbing up my throat, trying to get out and throw itself at his feet. Jordans. They look new. Did he ask me if we loved each other?
I watch as he puts a washcloth under the sink’s faucet. Then he crouches down in front of me and holds the thing to my neck.
"Miller.” His voice cracks on my name. “You don't look well."
I close my eyes. When I open them, his head is hanging, almost like he's bowing down in front of me. Then he looks back up, and his eyes look so lost that it makes my throat ache.
"Josh," he whispers. "Can you tell me how we know each other? Besides stepbrothers?"
My heart beats off-rhythm. "You don't remember?" Something's building in me, something quiet and far-off, like an approaching train.
He looks down at the floor. Then his eyes are on mine. "No," he whispers. "But I just heard your voicemails tonight." He swallows, looking back down. “Before that…” His dark brows furrow as his mouth twists downward, and his eyes come back up to mine. “I’ve been obsessed with you. I followed you on Snap and Insta, watched your stories for months." He swallows, his cheeks sucked in. "When I woke up from how I lost my memory,” he rasps, “I had your name on my arm. I wrote it...before," he whispers.
