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It’s like a click.
Like I just gave him his heart’s version of an insurance policy. Like he needed me to go through hell with him, see his demons up close and still come out the other side before he could say it.
“Fuck, I love you,” he chokes out.
My lungs feel constricted.
My heart squashed into a fist.
“I love you, Kass. So much. Too much,” he repeats.
Someone tell that thing in my chest to calm down. Tears soak my cheeks, streaming down my face.
“I love you.” I kiss him with salty lips.
Our lips join with each thrust.
Somehow, I know these three little words just destroyed one of the last walls standing between us. And when we both find our release, I dare hope that we’ve been through the worst. That my brother will be happy for us when he comes back. Forgive our lies. And everything will fall into place.
But as Will once said, that’s the thing with high hopes…
They break your heart.
Kassidy
Seven weeks later
“What the fuck?”
It’s just before 6:00 a.m. when Alex’s voice jolts me awake. Out of it, I rub my eyes, crippled with back pain, and catch myself wishing I’d stayed at my own house last night instead of crashing with Will. Not a fan of the shitty inflatable mattress he calls a bed. I usually don’t make a habit of staying with him. He sleeps in Alex’s pool house, which means Alex could walk in on us any second and…
Wait.
Realization smacks me right across the forehead. My eyes fly open and I sit up straight, nearly having a cardiac arrest at the sight of Alex standing inside Will’s temporary home, staring at us with this striking shock in his eyes.
“Alex, wait… This isn’t… It’s not what you think,” I lie.
Will and I are lying in bed.
Together.
Cuddling.
Might take more than “It’s not what you think” to get out of this one. I shake Will’s shoulder, who groans as an answer. I shake him again.
“What?” he growls, his cheek propped on my stomach, and blinks a few times. I motion to Alex, and Will sits up, taking forever to comprehend the shit we’re in.
I expect him to panic, back me up, feed Alex a bunch of excuses, but instead, Will—being Will—yawns, stretches, and says, “Oh, hey man.”
Smooth.
“What in the hell? You two?” Alex’s gaze sways between Will and me for a second. “But… you said you were just friends.”
“And you said you didn’t scratch your mom’s car last week. Look at us. Like two peas in a pod.” Will grins.
I elbow him.
“Don’t listen to him. There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this,” I sputter.
