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I stumble to my feet and I bolt.
“GARRISON!” Davis yells.
I don’t look back, my feet carrying me to my car in the driveway. I’m shaking, and I fumble with the keys before I unlock the door.
Slipping inside the Mustang, I turn on the ignition. Heat almost immediately blasts from the vents. Great car, thank you. Exhaust gurgles from the pipes.
My hands are still quaking. My teeth clanking together, but I glance through my rearview and start to back out.
I almost think Hunter might stand at the end of the driveaway just to fuck with me and block me in. But the three of them don’t move off the yard. And I start to get it.
Why they always let me go…
Because when I run away, I seem like the petulant child. Like the overly sensitive son who can’t handle playing rough with his brothers.
Fuck that.
Fuck them.
I leave anyway.
She can tell something is wrong.
I never told Willow that I was having dinner at my parent’s mansion. Even now, I don’t tell her about what just happened with my brothers—how Hunter repeatedly nailed me in the ribs.
Part of me is ashamed. Shame is strong, even years later when I know my brothers are complete shit and it can’t be all my fault. Right?
But she can sense that something’s off—just over the phone. Elevators to my apartment complex are out of order, so I take the stairs. Slowly, one of my arms hovering around my battered ribs.
With the other hand, I press my cell to my ear, my boots making wet puddles on the concrete steps.
“Garrison.” Worry coats her voice. “Can you please talk to me?”
“I’m talking,” I say tightly, pain in every movement.
“No, you’re breathing,” she refutes. “Really weirdly.”
“Then I don’t want to talk.” It hurts to breathe, and my fingers itch for a cigarette. Which makes no sense—I can barely breathe but I want to smoke. Sounds like me.
I reach for a pack in my jacket. I started smoking again a couple weeks ago. Just to stay awake during the later hours at work. Now, I light a cigarette because it calms my nerves.
My fingers shake while I put the cigarette between my lips. I stop in the stairwell, my shoulder bracing my phone to my ear.
Willow stops talking, but I hear the familiar pounding of a keypad like she’s typing on a computer. She’s back in her dorm room in London. She flew out there a couple days ago so that she could celebrate New Years with her friends from school. She invited me.
But I declined because I feel like that’s her world.
Not mine.
Mine is here.
Apparently getting ragged on by my brothers. Oh, and I got this special text from my dad five minutes ago.
Dad: your brothers are just trying to make a man out of you. You’re lucky to have them. I only had a sister. If you’d just stop and listen maybe you’d learn a thing or two.
Thanks, Dad.
I suck on my cigarette, and one more level up the stairs, I reach my floor. Slowly pushing through the heavy door and into the hallway.
“Do you have your passport ready?” Willow suddenly asks.
I cough on the smoke. “What?”
“Your passport,” Willow says.
“I heard you—”
“Garrison!” Jared yells at me, just as the heavy door clanks shut behind me. He’s leaning against the wall next to my door. He’s been waiting for me?
“Shit,” I curse. My hand hangs, cigarette burning between my fingers.
“Jared?” Willow guesses.
“Can I call you back?”
“No,” she says. “I’ll stay on the line. Don’t hang up on me.”
I clutch the phone, almost about to break down because that gets me for a second. Someone cares. She cares. Okay. Okay.
I take a deeper breath and walk forward to confront my asshole of a neighbor. “Jared,” I say. “I don’t have time.” I put the cigarette back between my lips, and with my free hand, I fish out my keys from my pocket. Trying not to shake.
“Hey, man, yeah.” Jared nods and scratches his neck. “I just wanted to invite you to—”
“Just fuck off,” I growl out, my words mumbled through my cigarette.
“Look, this party is going to be lit. Maybe you can invite some of your friends, too. Promise, they won’t want to miss this.”
My anger surges like a geyser. My door clicks, unlocked. I pluck my cigarette from lips and turn on Jared. “How do you not understand this? I don’t want to go to your party. I don’t want you standing beside my fucking door.”
“Come on.” Jared reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder.
I jerk back. “Don’t touch me.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Dude, I’m just trying to be a friend.”
My nose flares. “We’re not friends. Read my lips when I say we’ll never be fucking friends. Ever. You know why I disconnected my smoke detector? So you couldn’t offer your stupid broom again. You want to get down on your knees and suck me off, as your girlfriend propositioned?”
