Page 123

“Um . . . I vote Thai.” She winces, like she’s afraid of the fallout from such a choice as she glances to a gaping Chris.

“Traitor!” he hisses, pointing at her. “And after everything I’ve done for you, too.” He wags a finger at her as he continues. “You know, I’m really disappointed, Avery. I thought we were tight. I thought you had my back. After all, I’m the one who got you and Damon back together.”

“You didnotget us back together,” I chime in.

“Excuse me,” Chris says, placing a hand over his chest. “Who was the one to lock you two into a room together until you talked it out. Who was the one who encouraged you to go on that date, huh?” I arch a brow, and he points at his chest. “Me, that’s who.”

“I mean, he does have a point,” Avery says, turning to grin up at me.

“Ha!” Chris points.

“Whatever. If it makes you shut up, you can have partial credit.”

“I’ll take it,” Chris says with a fist pump. “The Love Doctor strikes again. Still means I deserve Italian, but I’ll settle for pizza as a compromise.”

Jace throws his hands up. “Pizza is still Italian, you jackass!”

“Yeah, but it’s American-Italian, which is basically a whole different cuisine,” Chris argues. “Besides, Avery’s first night back deserves something we can all agree on.”

West finally sets his phone down. “I agree on Thai.”

“You’re practically a mute, and you choose now to speak?” Chris glares at him.

West shrugs while Jace laughs.

“Democracy has spoken, dude,” Jace says, already pulling out his phone to place the Thai order. “You can sulk and eat pad Thai like the rest of us.”

With a sigh, Chris throws himself onto our couch at the same time the apartment door flies open with a thunderous bang, hinges protesting as it slams against the wall.

Brandon bursts through the entrance like a hurricane, his face flushed, hair mussed, eyes red-rimmed and wild.

We all freeze?Chris mid-sulk on the couch, Jace with his phone still in hand, West looking up with mild interest.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jace asks, saying what the rest of us are thinking?that Brandon looks like shit.

Brandon’s chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths as he stumbles forward. His fingers rake through his sandy hair, clutching at the strands like they might anchor him to reality. Without a word, he collapses onto the sofa next to Chris, the cushions dipping under his weight. A guttural groan escapes as he buries his face in his palms.

“Holy shit, man,” Chris says, scooting over to give him space. “Breathe before you pass out.”

I exchange a worried glance with Avery, whose hand tightens around mine. “I thought you went to pick up Tatum?” I say, referring to his female best friend.

Brandon’s shoulders sag as he drops his hands from his face, revealing bloodshot eyes that can’t seem to focus on any of us. He lets out a shaky breath.

“I did. But she—” His voice cracks. He swallows hard and tries again. “She wasn’t alone.”

“What do you mean?” Chris asks, his earlier pizza grievances forgotten as he leans forward, concern etched across his features.

Brandon stares at the floor, his jaw working. “Some guy answered her door. Tall, blond, wearing her university sweatshirt.” His voice drops to a whisper before his features contort, twisting into a mask of pain.

“She’s been dating him for almost three months.” Brandon’s voice is hollow, like he’s reciting someone else’s tragedy. “She leaves me for one fucking summer and comes back with a boyfriend. She never even told me.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. Brandon has been in denial of his feelings for Tatum for as long as I’ve known him, but me and the boys know better. We see the way he looks at her. The way he follows her around like a stray cat, desperate for affection.

“‘Fuck’ is right,” Brandon mutters.

“I’m sorry, Brandon,” Avery says softly, moving toward him. She perches on the coffee table across from him, her eyes full of empathy. “That must have been awful.”

Avery is the only chick in the room, so it makes sense she goes to him. To try and get him to step off the ledge.