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So I just keep that fucking smile plastered to my face.
“Sure,” I tell my brother. “Maybe it’ll be Miami. Have a good trip. You earned it.”
4
MIA
March 13th
I’ve just openedPenny’s text—boys are fine, spending the night at Coop’s—when there’s a knock at the door.
I slip out of bed, shivering as my bare feet hit the floor. My head is pounding from the alcohol I threw back at Red’s, something that I’m sure I haven’t helped by squinting at my laptop in the dark, letting all that blue light wash over me. But it was between staring at the ceiling and finishing work for my stellar astronomy course, and you don’t get into NASA-funded research labs by slacking off.
And fine, maybe I wanted to distract myself from him.
Sebastian Miller-Callahan.
Sebastian, who has been smiling at me ever since the movie theater last fall.
Sebastian, who calls me sweet when I come.
Sebastian, who threw a punch for me.
Who the hell does that?
Callahan boys, apparently. I’ve heard the stories from Penny about Sebastian’s brother, Cooper, who she’s pretty much disgustingly in love with. I would hate it, except that I love her and love seeing her happy. She’s the kind of girl you want to bring home to your parents. The kind of girl who deserves a loving relationship.
And then there’s me.
I shouldn’t keep letting Sebastian in. I’m just going to hurt him, one way or another. I tried to earlier, I wore Cooper’s teammate’s sweater to the hockey game after Seb asked me not to, and he just gave me a once-over and ignored it. Patient as always. And then at the bar, some creep tried to take a video of me and Penny, and he tore me away from the fray before jumping in alongside Cooper.
I pad to the door and ease it open.
“Hey,” he breathes. His voice is hoarse—not just from the punch to the throat he took during the fight, but from the game earlier. Only his voice was as loud as Penny’s. Penny and I have talked about it before, how we’ve never seen brothers so close. “Can I come in?”
His eyes are dim and exhausted, his cheek swollen with the makings of a wicked bruise. There’s a cut on his forehead, too, half-hidden by his messy hair.
I grab his hand and guide him inside. He sits on the little couch in the common area gingerly. We have a mini fridge, so I grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a t-shirt before handing it over.
“Sure you don’t have a fucking concussion?” I ask, staying by the door.
He turns to me slowly, as if trying to minimize the pain. The movement makes him wince. I shove down the thread of worry working through me. “They checked me out at the urgent care place, I’m fine. Cooper needed stitches.”
The worry grows deeper. A rapidly expanding black hole, threatening to suck me in.
He jumped into a fight for me.
That doesn’t matter.
I try for a scowl. That’s safe. It’s the smiles that get me into trouble, not the scowls. “I didn’t ask you to be my knight in shining armor.”
“I wasn’t about to let that asshole smack you around. Or Penny. Or Cooper, for that matter.” His voice is sharp. It’s a voice that allows no space for argument. I bristle against it, even as part of me—a small, yet annoyingly vocal part of me—likes the tone and what it could promise.
I snort. “Cooper had like thirty more pounds of muscle than that guy. He was nothing. I could’ve taken him.”
“I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“I can take care of myself.”
