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“Ivy and I were different. She was my girlfriend. We were together for two years,” he argues.
“But you didn’t love her,” I bite back. “You still slept with her knowing you didn’t love her.”
He doesn’t deny it. Simply glowers at me.
“Whatever,” he finally snaps. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Why now?” I demand. “Why protect me now? Where the hell were you for the past two years when I was fucking dying?” My voice rises with every word. “Where were you then?”
Our eyes lock and a muscle in his jaw ticks. Instead of answering me, he rolls over to his other side and turns off the television. Within minutes, he’s sleeping soundly and I’m stuck staring at the ceiling in the dark.
I wonder if we’ll ever get back to the way we once were.
A groan wakes me up. It’s still dark in the room, but the first signs of morning are making their way through the windows, casting a gray hue on everything. Cope is sprawled out like the crazy sleeper he is with one massive arm slung across my chest. It’s then I realize my fingers are in his hair. My heart rate speeds up, but I don’t pull my hand away from him. Instead, I think back to a time when we were young boys. Maybe ten or eleven.
He sobs, soaking through my Iron Man T-shirt. I run my fingers through his hair like I’ve seen Francesca do before when he’s upset. It seems to calm him a little as he clings to me.
I hate his dad. Nearly as much as I hate mine.
“I m-miss him,” he chokes out.
Granger. His little dog he rescued. Cutest little mutt ever. Cope was good to that dog and took care of him. That is, until his dad found out about it. Earlier, when he discovered that Cope was hiding the dog in his room, he yanked the poor thing up and tossed him in a box. Cope begged for him to let him keep him. I even offered to keep the dog at my house, knowing full well my dad wouldn’t let me keep it either. His dad wouldn’t have a word of it. Just took the dog and left.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I murmur.
His crying eventually stops and he lifts up to regard me with bright red eyes and tearstained cheeks. “I hate him.”
“Me too,” I assure him.
“We should run away,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just you and me.”
I think about my own dad. He’s worse than Cope’s. My dad gets mean and hits me sometimes. I have the bruises to prove it. “They’ll find us,” I tell him sadly.
We’re silent for a while as we let that sink in. When your dads are friends with everyone in the community, including the police, you’re screwed.
“He can’t keep me forever,” Cope mutters. “One day, we’ll get to leave and they can’t do anything about it.”
“When we go to college?” I ask. It feels like forever away.
He shrugs before resting his head on me again. I go back to petting him like I was doing earlier. We stay silent as he traces the letters on my T-shirt with his finger and I touch his hair.
“I won’t miss them,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my shirt. “They’re not my family like you are.”
I smile because Cope is more than my best friend. He’s like my brother.
“I’m your family,” I agree. “One day, Cope. One day we’ll leave them.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I’m still thinking about that promise when I feel a finger dragging along my bare chest. He’s awake and I wonder if he’s remembering that moment too. After all that’s gone down between us, I expect him to pull away. We’re not ten years old anymore. Cope and I are men. Legally old enough to bail on our parents if we want. It doesn’t seem so black and white now, though. Everything is grayed and muted.
“One day,” I murmur, mimicking my words from the past.
He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
“Get up.”
Jolting upright, I rub at my eyes as I try to place where I’m at. As the room comes into view, I realize I’m at Cope’s house.
“Get up,” he snaps again, dragging my attention to him. Beside the bed, he paces. He’s fully dressed in a pair of fitted black jeans with pockets, his black combat boots, and a tight Foo Fighters black T-shirt. With his inky hair in disarray and his usual scowl in place, he’s intimidating as hell and looks like a damn god.
“Okay,” I groan, my voice raspy from sleep. I toss away the blanket and stand. “Why?”
His lip curls up. I wince when his gaze rakes down my bare chest and he glances at where I’m sporting morning wood through my boxers. I know he’ll never believe me that it’s just morning wood, so I ignore his scathing glare to push past him to go to the bathroom. After a piss that settles my cock, I wash up and then exit to find him still pacing.
