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Nathan: Please, Charlie. Talk to me.
Nathan: I’m so sorry.
Nathan: We agreed to keep this private.
My phone buzzed. I practically flung it out of my hands in my haste to see her response.
Charlie: I understand why you did what you did, but this is over for me.
Nathan: You can’t be this upset with me. We agreed to keep this private.
Charlie: Goodbye.
In frustration, I flung my phone across the room. It clattered against the wall before falling to the ground.
“What the hell.” Oliver ran into the room and looked from my phone to me, dumbfounded. “Dude, be careful. You can’t just throw shit at my walls.”
Oliver picked up my phone and read the text convo still open. He snorted. “Wow, pissed off your girlfriend enough that she finally left you.”
“It’s none of your business,” I snapped.
“It’s my business if you throw your phone at my wall.”
“Won’t happen again,” I muttered, plucking my phone from his hands.
His face softened. “Look, dude. Are you okay? I know you really liked her.”
I shrugged. “Apparently, it’s over. She won’t be around anymore.”
Oliver shook his head. “You don’t need to be short about it. I know you’re probably hurting. You can talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. She’s being unreasonable, and if I can’t reason with her, then I guess it’s over.”
Oliver tipped back his head and chuckled.
I glared at him. “Is something funny?”
“Is it really her that’s being unreasonable? Seems like with your track record it might be you.”
Clenching my fists, I resisted the urge to hit something. “We had to keep our relationship private so I could keep my job. Apparently, that upset her.”
“Ahhh.” Oliver snapped his fingers. “Now it all makes sense. You’re putting work before her, right? Classic, Nathan. It’s all you’ve ever cared about.”
My scowl deepened. “Easy for you to say when you’ve never cared about anything.”
Oliver’s smile dropped. “Not this again. I’m so sick of you always saying that about me. Just because I care about different things, doesn’t mean I don’t care. I swear to god you’re just like Dad.”
“So? Dad provided for us. He gave us everything.”
“Dad was a cold-hearted dick.”
“Just because he was logical doesn’t mean he was cold.”
Oliver shook his head. “Yes, it does. Cold is when your eight-year-old son breaks his arm during soccer and you see it fit to critique his technique.”
“He wanted us to be the best!” I yelled. “Something you obviously never got.”
“And something you always took too seriously!” he shouted back.
