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“That’s probably Oliver,” Dad comments. “He’s come by the last two days looking for you.”
Why the hell is Oliver looking for me? All he’s done is avoid me as much as possible since Rylee and I got together. Although, he was there the night I caught Rylee on the verge of fucking Bryant, so maybe he’s come to renew our friendship now that we aren’t together anymore. But then I think of the way he acted right before I walked out the door. He sat on that fucking bed, looking like he was trying to comfort her. Like he actually cared and was worried about her. All the while his supposed best friend stood by feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest.
I get up from the couch, stomp over to the door, and yank it open. I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, and that I’ll talk to him later, but the haggard look on his face forestalls the words. He looks like shit warmed over. His hair, which is normally styled, looks like he’s raked his hands through it a couple hundred times, and his eyes look tired and wary. His clothes are wrinkled, something Oliver wouldn’t normally allow.
“We need to talk,” he grunts.
Not waiting on an invitation, he shoulders past me. I shoot his back a glare and slam the door shut.
“What do you want, Oliver?” I ask, following him into the living room where dad is still sitting comfortably on the couch.
“Hey, Allen,” he says, ignoring my question.
“How have you been, Oliver? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
He shrugs. “Been busy.”
“Oliver!” I bark.
He turns to face me. “There are things you need to know.” He looks back at my dad. “With all due respect, sir, your son and I need to speak in private.”
“Have at it. Maybe you can talk some sense into him about whatever’s going on
between him and that girl.”
Oliver gives him a jerky nod, then tips his chin toward the hallway. “Bedroom,” he says to me.
I bite back a retort and follow him to my room. I leave the door open, but he walks over and shuts it.
“Take a seat,” he orders, like he’s my father or some shit, and my patience crumbles.
“Just spit out what you have to say and get the fuck out. I want to be alone,” I growl.
“Take a seat, Z,” he repeats firmly. “You’re gonna need the support after you hear what I have to say.”
I cross my arms over my chest, silently giving him a fuck you.
“Fine,” he grates out.
He crosses to the desk chair, takes a seat, and leans his elbows on his knees. He looks tired and worn out.
“There are things that went down Friday and Saturday night that you don’t know about. What you saw with Rylee wasn’t what it appeared to be.”
A harsh laugh escapes me. “My eyes work just fine, Oliver. I know what I saw.”
“No, you think you know what you saw, but it was wrong.”
“What? Rylee has a twin none of us knew about and she magically happened to appear at the same party we were all at?” I ask sarcastically.
The notion is ridiculous, but it’s the only possible explanation he could give.
“I need to back up to Friday before I get into Saturday night’s events.” He pauses long enough to slash his fingers through his hair a couple of times. When he lifts his head again, his eyes are glazed over in a mountain full of regret. “I heard the two of you that night.” His voice is quiet. “I knew you had sex with Rylee, and it pissed me off. I was fucking jealous, because I thought I was going to lose you to her, just like I lost my mom because of Rylee’s mom. I had a girl over, Julia, and when I heard your phone ringing in your jacket, an idea formed in my head. I sent myself text messages from your phone, faking a conversation between the two of us. They basically said you were playing Rylee the whole time, that it was all a joke between us. After you left I showed her the fake messages.”
I’m shaking by the time he stops talking. My nerves are completely shot and iron-hot lava forms in my veins. Taking out his resentment against his parent’s divorce on Rylee, I understood. But this? I was his best fucking friend. We’ve known each other for years. I considered him a brother.
“I know you want to hit me, and you have every right. I deserve every punch you’ll inevitably throw, but there’s more you need to hear first.”
There’s fucking more?
