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“We’re not actually siblings and I get that,” he murmured. “You won’t owe me a damn thing. You’ll run off, find a new life, someone to make you happy. You said it to me before—that it has always been like that for you. Starting from scratch, adapting, moving on. The thing with your mom was so fucked up and your dad is a piece of shit who—”
“Just stop, Clay.” I held up a hand, turning my head to focus on him. Anger had crawled like ice in my veins. I didn’t know my mom for long, and I didn’t care about my sperm donor whatsoever, but I couldn’t deny that it didn’t sting to think about how he rejected me. As if I were some lost, sad puppy and not his own blood. “You should be glad that you’ll never have to see me again. What is it that you told me the last time we saw each other? That you wish I’d never wormed my way into your life?”
Clay stood taller, jutting his chin. “Frankie, I never meant that and you know it—”
“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. It was your truth in that moment, and you said what you felt.” I blinked, feeling my eyes getting watery again. “Let’s just…let’s not do this tonight. Okay?” I placed my beer bottle down. I didn’t want to drink with him, not after remembering those hurtful words.
He’d only said them because I wanted to tell Aria the truth. I wanted to tell her that I’d never seen Clay, her son, as my brother—that I’d had a crush on him since I was five years old and with each passing year that crush blossomed into more. I wanted to tell Aria that I was jealous of all his girlfriends, and that I was sad to see him go to prom with Bethany Campbell, the cheerleading captain, and not me. I wanted to tell my adopted mother everything because I was tired of holding it in. But after having time to think about it, Clay was right. Telling Aria wouldn’t have changed much. And it didn’t matter how much I wanted him if he was too afraid to ever act on it. Out of respect for his mom—my adoptive mother—and even me, he never wanted to. He’d have rather let it be a secret than to own up to his feelings.
I walked out of the kitchen, biting back tears as I curled on my end of the sofa again. The kitchen light turned off and I picked up the remote, continuing the movie. I would have rather watched it alone than with him.
I figured Clay would make his way upstairs, run away from this same argument like he always did. Why did he even care what I did? So what if I moved to California? I had my life, and he had his, and his clearly did not involve me. He had girls like Bethany and Katy to tide him over.
Footsteps padded through the house and in the corner of my eye, I noticed a silhouette. When I looked over, Clay was standing next to the other end of the sofa with his eyes trained intently on me.
“Frankie, you know I didn’t mean what I said.”
I moved my attention to the TV again, pretending he wasn’t there.
“Frankie,” he said, more bass in his voice now.
Still, I ignored him.
Clay huffed, then stormed through the living room to get to me. He snatched the remote out of my hand and turned the TV off. I shouldn’t have retaliated, but I did. He knew it would piss me off and get my attention. He’d been doing it since we were ten.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Give it back, Clay. Now!”
“Not until you talk to me.”
“No!” I climbed off the couch, reaching for the remote, but he jerked his hand away. “There’s nothing to talk about!”
“There’s a lot to talk about!” he snapped.
“Like what? Huh?” I demanded, staring into his eyes. “What could there possibly be to talk about, Clay? Our life is what it is! Who cares? Just let it go!”
“I care!” His voice was a soft roar, if that was even possible. Loud but also deafening by how powerful it was. Clay smashed his lips together, studying my eyes. He looked like he wanted to cry, and I’d only seen him cry twice before. Once when we were eight and he’d jammed his finger in the car door. The second when Aria received her diagnosis for pancreatic cancer. But this time, it was different. His face was full of sorrow, as if he wanted to apologize to me, but he had nothing to apologize for. It was what it was, and there was no denying or changing it.
I expected him to say more, elaborate on what he said. Instead, he let out an exasperated breath and offered the remote back to me. I grabbed the end of it, ready to snatch it away, but before I could, he yanked his end of the remote toward him and reeled me forward. I smashed into his body and he cupped my face with his other hand, crashing his lips down on mine.
