Page 7 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

“Oh, boy. Would you look at that.” I force a smile. “Talk about not understanding boundaries, am I right?” My facade cracks. “Anywho, I’m gonna…” I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward the stairs. “I’m gonna go check on Hades and make sure he didn’t jump in the pool or start humping Fasa or…yeah.”

Praying my legs don’t give out, I push to my feet, keep my pace steady, and walk out of the theater room while the rest of my family stares at me without a word.

Hell, it’s so quiet I’m pretty sure you could hear a pin drop, and I don’t mean it figuratively.

Can they even hear my erratic heartbeat?

Probably. I sure as hell can. Gripping the handrail, I stride up to the main floor, my pulse thumping in my ears with every deliberate step.

I hate it. How no matter what I do, no matter how I act or where I hide, I still can’t get rid of it. The reminder that my entire personality as a kid was who I loved. Who I idolized. And how I handled it in the worst way possible.

When I reach my bedroom, I collapse onto my childhood bed, willing the floor to open up and swallow me whole if it’ll get me out of this mess.

Knock. Knock.

The rap of knuckles against wood cuts through my inner spiral as I cradle a pillow to my chest.

Not now.

Knock. Knock.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I say, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Jaxon.

Despite how much time has passed since we really used to talk, I’d recognize his voice anywhere.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

He’s literally the last person I want to see right now. The last person I want to see, ever , actually .

Go away , I silently seethe. I really don’t think I can handle dealing with him in this moment.

Not now. Not after the front-row seats to my childhood lunacy we were both privy to downstairs.

However, if I want to keep even a sliver of what’s left of my pride, begging him to go away and leave me alone isn’t the greatest way to handle this.

So even though it kills me, I let out a slow breath and call out, “Can we talk later, please?”

“Let me in, Squeaks.”

Squeaks.

I used to love when he called me that nickname. Not because it was a reminder of how much of a bawl-baby I am, but because he was the one who gifted me the nickname. He was the one who was clever enough to paint my most annoying trait as something cute and innocent instead of ridiculously annoying.

Now, it only makes me sad.

“Come on, Squeaks,” he begs.

Pushing to my feet, I stride toward the closed door and press my forehead against the solid piece of wood, unsure what to say or do. “I’m serious, Jax. I’m not feeling well.” It’s a lie, and we both know it. “Just…we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Listen, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

A pathetic laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Nothing to be ashamed of? He’s kidding, right?

I have everything to be ashamed of. But rehashing any of it with anyone, let alone the star of every embarrassing decision I’ve ever made, feels about as comfortable as scooping my eyeballs out with a spoon.

So, yeah. I do have a few things to be ashamed of, but thanks for the bold-faced lie, buddy. Really appreciate it.

“Come on, Squeaks,” he repeats. “Please?”

Tapping the outside of my thigh, I steel my shoulders and open the door .

When he sees me, he pulls back, surprised. “Oh. Hey. I kind of thought?—”

“I wouldn’t open the door?” I finish for him.

“Yeah, well, color us both shocked.” I paste on a fake smile.

“As you can see, I’m totally fine. I’m just not feeling one hundred percent, so you should go back downstairs and give your two cents on all the videos.

I’m sure there are plenty more to sort through, and… yeah. I’m good. Okay?”

I start to close the door, but he slaps his hand against it, preventing it from closing. “Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not?” I demand.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he mutters, “Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it was just a stupid video, all right?”

“Well, I’m glad we can agree on something,” I tell him. “Definitely a stupid video that deserves zero attention. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

I start to shut the door again, but he slaps his hand against it like before. “Squeaks.”

The nickname hits like a lash, and I peek up at him. “Please don’t call me Squeaks.”

His chest swells on a heavy breath, but he lifts his hands in surrender. “Rory.” He takes another deep breath. “I know you’re not a fan of confrontation or anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, but if either of us wants to survive this, we gotta air this shit out, okay?”

He’s probably right. This week already feels like a decade long, and it’s only been a couple days. How the hell am I supposed to survive with him hanging around?

It isn’t his fault. I know that. It’s mine. But giving in? Airing out my most embarrassing moment to one of the people whose opinions I actually care about? No, thank you. Tongue in cheek, I offer, “Or, we can simply avoid each other. ”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We’re basically family.”

Good point.

My body sags against the doorjamb in defeat. “Here’s the thing. I appreciate you coming and trying to clear the air or whatever, but there’s no need. We’re good. I’m just tired.”

“I thought you felt sick,” he argues.

“Headache,” I toss back at him. “Which can be from exhaustion or illness. Seriously. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his eyes. Feel it in what little space separates us. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be avoiding me like this.”

“I’m not…” The lie falls flat on my tongue. I close my mouth and cross my arms, unsure what to say when we both know he won’t buy it anyway.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” he offers.

My lips part as I register his words. Seriously, am I hallucinating? What the hell?

“ You’re sorry?”

“You’re surprised?” He scoffs. “Yeah, Rore. Of course, I’m sorry?—”

“Why?” My fingers dig into my folded arms. “Jax, you have no reason to be sorry.”

“Rory, I rejected you?—”

“I’m not mad at you for rejecting me.” My shoulders sag even more as I fight the urge to tap my fingers against my outer thigh.

Part of me wants to slam the door in his face and run in the opposite direction because this conversation is so freaking embarrassing.

The other part? Well, I guess this is way past due, isn’t it?

Fine.

“Of course you didn’t kiss me back,” I mumble. “Of course you shouldn’t have kissed me back. You did the right thing, Jax. I was the one who screwed up. ”

“Rore—”

“Let me finish,” I beg because if I don’t, it’ll continue haunting me like it has for years.

“I was young, Jaxon. I was young and underage and stupid and reckless and head over heels in love with a guy who would never and could never love me back. A guy who looked at me like I was a little kid, which I was,” I emphasize.

“And now that I’m on the other side, I’m older and I see it, which…

in all honesty, kind of sucks.” A dry laugh lodges in my throat as I fight past my shame.

“I get it, though. I completely understand, and that’s why I came to my room tonight.

Because I can’t even watch home videos without being reminded of exactly how embarrassingly obsessed I was with you.

” Another pathetic laugh escapes me while I mentally replay the video from earlier tonight. “Jax, I was the one in the wrong?—”

“You were a kid?—”

“Yeah, but I’m not anymore,” I argue. “And with every passing year, it only reinforces how…inappropriately I acted, and how stupid I feel about it.”

“Rore…” His frown deepens. “I think you should cut yourself a little slack.”

“Trust me. I’ve been working on it for years, but the good news is that I’m over it.

Not the beating myself up part,” I clarify, “but whatever weird childhood obsession I had with you.” I wave my hand through the air.

“Genuinely. It’s over,” I repeat, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to convince.

“So, there you go. We’ve now aired out the dirty laundry.

You understand that you did nothing wrong, and I understand that I was nothing more than a babysitting gig and…

we’re good.” I take a deep breath, grateful my hand is still clutched onto the edge of the door so I don’t collapse into a ball right here and now.

“Now, I really do have a headache,” I mutter to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Goodnight, Jaxon. ”

I close the door without waiting for his response and slide to my ass, pressing my knees to my chest.

There. I said it.

It’s done.

So, why do I still feel so terrible?