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And I wasn’t going to spend my summer begging him for attention.
Me: Have fun. xo
Simple. To the point. Supportive.
I hit send and tucked my phone under my pillow, but it bleeped with an incoming message.
Hope bloomed inside me but dashed when I saw Carson’s name, not Josh’s.
Carson: How was your day? Did Aiden behave?
Aiden.
Ugh.
The less said about him, the better.
He’d been okay for most of the day until he started prying about Josh. Asking questions he had no right to ask.
Me: It was fine. How was your day?
Carson: Fine? Come on, Bug, give me something. Do I need to kick his ass?
Now that, I’d pay to see. I fought a smile.
Me: No ass kicking required.
Carson: I was thinking of taking him out on the boat the day after next, you up for it?
Me: Do I have to?
Carson: If I have to go, so do you. Besides, I need my first mate.
I rolled my eyes at that.
Carson: Come on, Bug. For old time’s sake.
Me: Fine. I’ll think about it.
It was only the beginning of the summer break; I couldn’t avoid him—or Aiden. But I didn’t want to keep answering questions about Josh either. Not when I didn’t understand what was going on.
I’d been ready to be with him, to show him that I wanted to make it work. At least, I’d thought I had. But maybe it was a rash decision, trying to hold on to what felt safe and familiar. Because perhaps part of me knew once he left Dupont Beach, our relationship would flounder and part of me wasn’t ready for that.
I guess in some ways, I’d taken Josh for granted. He was kind and patient, and committed. Or at least, he had been in Boston. He’d been everything I’d needed. But now everything was different, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.
Leaning over, I plucked the small photo frame off the nightstand and ran my finger over Dalton’s face. He was in his old high school hockey jersey; his arm slung over my shoulder as we laughed at the camera. I could remember it like it was yesterday—his senior year at high school. He had the whole world at his feet. College. His dreams of going pro. And I was his number one fan.
“God, I miss you, big brother.”
He’d have something witty and wise to say about my situation with Josh, no doubt.
Grief splintered inside me, leaving me hollow. But it wasn’t only grief. It was knowing that my brother wouldn’t have allowed me to wallow. To lie here full of self-doubt and pity, wondering what was wrong with me that my boyfriend didn’t want to have sex with me—knowing that it probably had something to do with all the hesitation.
The problem wasn’t Josh.
It was me.
And that was the kicker. I’d given him the cold shoulder one too many times, keeping him close but never close enough. I’d taken him for granted, and then, when he’d pulled away, I’d tried to hold on using the only way I knew how—with sex.
