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I still hesitate to reach out to my mom. Her opinion will be the one that matters most. The one that soul crushes me if she expels even a fraction of the hostility that my dad did.
“It might take time.” Beckett fixes strands of his dark brown hair, trying to smooth the wavier pieces down. “My dad has said that Uncle Ryke views the world through his own experiences. So he must have a harder time understanding things he can’t personally relate to.”
“Fucking great,” I mutter, just as the door blows open.
I jolt, thinking Akara and Banks are bursting in for a security emergency, but in walks a face I’m not excited to see.
“Charlie.” I try not to groan. His ploy to rekindle my friendship with Beckett might’ve worked, but he still blackmailed me in Montana.
I didn’t fucking forget or appreciate the strongarming.
“Hello to you, too,” Charlie says and gives a short goodbye wave. “Oscar.” And then he shuts the door, leaving his bodyguard with ours. To Beckett, he asks, “You’re on in twenty?”
Beckett affirms with a nod, stretching his arm to his foot, and Charlie lounges against the Swan Lake poster.
“You’re staying?” I ask Charlie, bummed out. But for a second there, I thought I had Beckett all to myself for twenty awesome minutes. Selfish? Fucking maybe, but I miss being on good terms with Beckett and our one-on-ones.
“Don’t sound so excited, Sullivan.” Charlie massages his leg. His wrinkled, white button-down is half untucked in pink velvet pants like he woke up in yesterday’s clothes.
“You’re not my favorite person right now,” I admit with a shrug.
Beckett stretches his left quad. “Told you not to blackmail her.”
“Worth it,” Charlie says simply.
Beckett slips me an apology. “If you want to be mad at someone, just be mad at me.”
“No, I’m done being angry at you. I’d just like an apology from Charlie.”
“You’re not getting one,” he states.
“On behalf of Charlie, I’m sorry,” Beckett says with honesty and depth, and I sigh heavily, hating that Beckett has to make amends for Charlie.
That’s not how apologies work.
“I guess I accept on your behalf,” I say, because I love Beckett and I know he loves Charlie, and I’d rather not have a hate-fest on someone he loves right now.
Charlie is staring strangely at me. His lip is slightly corkscrewed, arms lightly threaded.
I crinkle my brows. “What…?”
“I heard you’re no longer single.”
Oh fuck.
“From who?” I turn fast to Beckett.
Confusion touches his face. “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Sul.”
Charlie answers, “I overheard Moffy and Jane before I sat down with them at breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“At Lucky’s Diner.”
“Just the three of you?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but holy fuck, they’re like really friends now. Crystal clear evidence just keeps piling on and on, and I thought I’d be happy about Charlie reuniting with Moffy. But the powerhouse of this friendship tripod is fucking terrifying.
At least they’re on my side.
Are they?
My roommates are all supportive but cautious which has made everything fucking awkward. These days, I spend a lot of time in my bedroom.
Now that Charlie knows the truth, I ask, “What do you think?”
Charlie tugs at his hair, glances for a brief second to Beckett, then says, “You’re not ready to hear my opinion.”
I bristle. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Beckett tells his twin brother.
Charlie smiles. “My opinion is the asshole.”
“More like you’re the asshole,” Beckett says smoothly and actually sweetly. He smiles over at his brother.
Charlie’s lips rise even more. With a hand to his heart, he says, “Undisputable.”
“Charlie,” I chime in. “I want to hear your opinion. I can handle an asshole one.”
Charlie taps his lips in thought before he says, “Only because Beckett’s here, I’ll let this opinion out freely, but I did warn you, Sullivan.” He locks eyes with me. “I think it’s great that you found love in two men. The fact that they’re bodyguards—I don’t really give a shit.”
I sit on pins and needles. “Where’s the asshole part?”
“I think to be in a polyamorous relationship and in the public eye, you need to be a certain type of person to survive. And quite frankly, I think you’re too weak for it.”
I go cold.
“Fuck you,” I curse hotly.
He unfolds his arms, opens his palms. “You wanted to hear it.”
“Yeah, I did,” I mutter, frustrated that I’m letting his opinion cut deep. Who cares what Charlie thinks? I remember what Banks would tell me.
He doesn’t know you like you know yourself.
And Akara’s optimism, We’ll survive together.
“His opinion isn’t mine,” Beckett suddenly says, the tone of his voice as melodic as the way he moves. “Charlie doesn’t understand that you have courage and grit, especially towards the things and people you love, and if you love your boyfriends as much or more than you love your little sister—no one will get in your way.”
