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I can actually hear the annoyance in his voice when he responds with just my name. Sighing, I close my eyes briefly, and then I give him the truth.
He’s my family, too, Brooks. Whatever happened…it doesn’t matter right now.
His conversation bubbles pop up, and a second later, words flash across the screen.
Love you, Nala.
I respond with the same and then click my screen off, shoving my phone into the small pocket of my shorts. The security guard, who’s paid to patrol the sidewalk and keep us from parking at the curb, is headed back my way. Even though Mal’s plane has landed, I don’t know how long it will take him to get out here. I offered to park and come in to get him, but his one-word answer told me how he felt about being taken care of—even to this extent.
Don’t.
I’m sure others would have been offended at his curt reply, but it actually put me a little more at ease. Although I would never admit it to him, or any of the rest of our friends, I’ve been worried about him for a while. He hasn’t won a major competition in a couple of years, and his tricks are getting increasingly more wild. This break…I was concerned that it would sink him emotionally, as well as physically. When his response came this morning, I was relieved that some part of him was the same.
Now I just hope that I can somehow breach the barrier we’ve put up in the past few years, and be the friend he needs.
If that ends up threatening my emotional self, well…I’ll deal with it when he leaves again. I’ve gotten good at doing that over the years.
I wait another two minutes, standing next to my Jeep and keeping an eye on the security guard who’s still making his way to me. Right as I’m about to take my phone out and send Mal a text, letting him know I might have to circle back, I spot him. I’ve braced myself, of course, but it never does any good.
Even on crutches, Malcolm Brady stands a head above most.
He sees me at the same time, and though my hands have gone a little clammy and my heart is galloping in my chest, I hold up my cardboard sign while he hobbles over, studying every inch of him while he focuses on the words.
Brady: First Place Bone-Breaker
“Clever,” he says, stopping in front of me.
“Truth,” I shoot back, eyeing the large cast on his left leg. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a broken leg.”
His voice is tight, and it puts me on edge, like usual. In all of the years we’ve known each other, even the bad ones where we didn’t speak, he’s never admitted to weakness. This, being broken? Relying on other people? It’s his worst nightmare. Maybe because his dad died so brutally, losing his ability to function on his own in the end, or maybe because Malcolm has always been the strongest, physically and emotionally.
He closes in on obstacles, using his fists, battling until whatever was holding him back or standing in his way is no longer a barrier. Knowing this, and reminding myself that he’s part of the family—however much I have managed to avoid him for the past several years—I don’t snap at him. Instead, I keep calm and raise a brow. “Breaking both major bones in one crash isjusta broken leg?”
He grinds his teeth, his jaw flexing and eyes all but boring holes into a spot over my shoulder before he gives a brisk nod. “Like every other broken bone I’ve had.”
This time, I have to physically battle the urge to call him on his shit. I want to ask him if it wasjusta broken leg why he passed out after his fall…why he’s already had one surgery to put a pin in his ankle, with a possibility of another already scheduled. I do it for me, because it’s easier to let it go than to fight with him—something we do often when we are alone together. But I also do it for him, because however strong he’s portraying himself to be, one look at his posture tells me his pride is the only thing holding him together.
His normally carved face is bordering on gaunt right now—those slashing cheekbones like knife-edged points, his blue eyes heavy with dark circles visible even with the brim of his black cap pulled low.
The fallen prince looks a little broken right now, and in the same way I can never prepare myself for the shock of seeing him, of being in the same vicinity as him, I can’t help the ache that blooms in my heart now when he’s in pain.
For all of his asshole ways, Malcolm has always hurt more than he’s told anyone…except me. Once upon a time, Malcolm Brady was my best friend, and he told me everything.
And then I told him I loved him, and ruined it all.
