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Levi glances at me, a question in his gaze, but I’m already untying my apron, the fabric slipping from my fingers like a flag of surrender. The room feels suddenly too small, the air thick with words left unsaid and emotions unchecked.
I leave Levi and Dad in the kitchen, the sound of their voices fading behind me as I step toward the front door. “You’ve got the kitchen, Levi,” I call over my shoulder, not waiting for his reply. The apron crumples to the floor behind me, forgotten.
I stride across the tiled foyer, a blend of surprise and wariness knotting in my stomach. Each footfall on the hardwood is a drumbeat to the rapid pulse in my ears. What now?
My fingers brush against the cool metal of the doorknob, hesitating for the briefest moment before I pull it open. Sunlight spills into the entryway, casting long shadows that stretch out like omens.
“Xavier?” My voice barely rises above a whisper, but it’s all I can muster. He stands there with that easy smile, the one that never quite reaches his eyes.
“Hey, Brielle.” His cheer is bright, too bright. “Your dad invited me for the game. Brought my folks along too.”
“Right, the game…” The words tumble out clumsily. In the back of my mind, I hear Levi’s accusations, feel my own tangled feelings. But here stands Xavier, unaware of the storm he’s stepped into.
“Come on in.” My smile is plastic, stretched tight over the chaos inside. I step aside, letting him pass, the scent of his cologne an unwelcome reminder of the pretense I’m about to uphold.
The muscles in my throat tighten as I fight the urge to blurt out everything about Grayson and Conrad. I imagine Dad’s face, the disappointment there if he knew, and clamp my lips shut.
“Your mom brought snacks?” My attempt at casualness sounds forced, even to me.
He nods, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. “Yeah, she went all out.”
“Let me help.” The words are out before I can stop them. I need something, anything, to do with my hands.
We move toward the car where his mother is unloading trays from the back seat. Her smile is warm, but it doesn’t reach her eyes—not really. When she sees me, her arms open wide.
“Brielle, dear!” She clasps my face, thumb brushing my cheek in an affectionate gesture that feels more invasive than comforting.
“Hi, Mrs. Delaney.” I muster a grin, hoping it hides my discomfort.
“Call me Laura, sweetheart.” Her voice is honeyed, thick with unspoken expectations.
I nod, swallowing hard, and take a tray laden with mini quiches. The flaky crusts crumble under my careful grip, a contrast to the solidity I’m struggling to project. Xavier watches, saying nothing, but I can feel his gaze heavy on my skin.
Back inside, I set the snacks on the counter, my movements robotic. I should be relieved, grateful for the distraction, but unease coils tighter in my stomach. Xavier’s presence is a mirror reflecting all the things I can’t say, shouldn’t think. And somewhere behind me, Levi’s frustration simmers, adding heat to the already stifling room.
I slip into the living room, the noise of cheers and commentary washing over me like a wave. The big screen blares with the excitement of the game, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my chest. My dad and Xavier are already there, huddled together in camaraderie I can’t quite share.
“Hey, Brielle,” Xavier calls out, patting the cushion beside him with a casual smile that somehow feels loaded. “Come sit here.”
I hesitate, every inch closer to him feeling like a betrayal of the chaos in my heart. But the expectant look from my dad nudges me forward, and I lower myself onto the spot. The cushion dips under our combined weight, tilting me slightly toward Xavier.
“Great view, huh?” he says, gesturing at the TV.
“Best seat in the house,” I murmur, but my gaze drifts past the screen to the empty doorway where Levi’s shadow loomed moments ago.
Xavier laughs at something on the screen, his shoulder brushing mine. I should laugh too—I know I should—but the echo of Levi’s voice, sharp and laced with something unspoken, clings to the edges of my consciousness. The room is warm, too warm, and it has nothing to do with the close proximity of bodies or the heated competition playing out before us.
“Enjoying the game?” Xavier’s question pulls me back, and I force my eyes to meet his.
“Of course,” I lie, a brittle smile stretching across my face. Beneath the surface, my emotions churn, an unpredictable current threatening to sweep me away. Levi’s words, his frustration, it all lingers like the taste of something bitter.
“Looks like we’re going to win,” Xavier continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.
“Looks like it,” I echo, though the scoreboard barely registers. Victory seems a hollow concept when my own thoughts wage war within me. I shift, trying to focus on the plays, the strategy, anything but the tension that coils tighter with each pounding heartbeat.
“Is everything okay?” Xavier’s voice cuts through again, sharper this time, tinged with concern.
“Perfect,” I say, a little too quickly. The word feels foreign on my tongue, a thin veneer over the truth of my inner conflict. Levi’s anger, my own confusion, it’s all a tangled mess that refuses to be ignored, even as I sit here, trying to pretend that everything is just fine.
