Page 43 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

ADAM

I barge into Axel’s room just as he’s exiting the en-suite bathroom. Dripping wet, he startles, clutching the towel hanging low on his hips. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Do you mind?”

“Give me your phone.”

He doesn’t move. When he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice that makes me want to punch him. “Why?”

“I know what you did.”

He nods, expecting that, his jaw ticking as he sidesteps, putting himself between me and the bed.

“Give it to me,” I demand.

“No.”

I dart around him and find it charging on his pillow. We race to grab it, and he wins, but it’s not hard to snatch it from him since one of his hands is preoccupied holding the towel in place.

He curses. “Adam, that’s not a good idea. Trust me. Nothing good will come fro?—”

A bitter laugh leaves me as I shut the door on my way out. Trust him , he says. Over my dead body.

Clutching his phone as if he’s going to run after me and steal it, I go to my room and lock the door. Easton’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. His eyes are full of torment as he watches me unlock Axel’s phone.

“Don’t,” he says.

“I have to.”

“Adam, I’m begging you not to do this.”

My ears whoosh. My heart is pounding.

Usually, I wouldn’t be able to say no to that. I would do almost anything he asks. But not this. I need to see what he wrote to me. I need to hear what he said to me.

“It’s not gonna be pretty, Adam.”

“I don’t care,” I whisper, scrolling through Axel’s text messages.

I can’t believe this. How could he do this to Easton? To me?

When I find a text thread with the contact name ‘E’, I pause and click on it. My heart drops down to my ass as I scroll through the text messages, none of them answered.

E

Don’t go. Please.

Call me back.

Now, Adam.

Please, baby.

I just need to know you’re okay.

Did you land yet?

Answer the phone.

Why won’t you answer me? Are you okay? Please, just tell me you’re okay.

My vision blurs as I keep reading, taking in every word he wrote, feeling his pain as if it’s my own.

This isn’t funny. When are you coming back?

It’s Sunday.

Sundays are your favorite.

You’re supposed to be here.

I miss you.

I need you.

I fucking hate you.

You ruined me. You ruined me for everyone else.

Why don’t you come back here and fix me, huh?

At least have the decency to block my number, you asshole.

Do you even miss me? You send me those stupid drawings, so I know you think of me. Does being away from me not affect you at all?

Did your mom tell you I have a girlfriend? I hope she did, and I hope it killed you.

I’m moving in with her tomorrow. I hate this fucking apartment.

I hate myself.

I hate you more.

Sometimes I crave your presence so much it hurts. I’d do anything to hear your voice. Your laugh. To watch your stupid hazel eyes light up when you look at me.

It’s been two years. How long are you gonna make me wait?

It’s my twenty-first birthday tomorrow. Any chance you’re gonna show up with a cupcake for me?

The next day, at midnight, he texted me again.

Guess not.

It takes two tries for me to get the words out. “I wanted to. Every year, I wanted to.”

He doesn’t have to ask what I mean. “But you didn’t,” he says.

No. I didn’t.

The last text he sent was just under a year ago.

Can you call me please? I need you.

“What did you need me for?”

“That was the day Lauren broke up with me,” he mutters. “It was nothing.”

That’s a lie. It’s written all over his face. He winces as if he knows it.

Leaning back against the door across from him, I slide down to my ass, tucking my knees up to my chin as I read them again. And again.

Fuck, if I had known…

Sniffing, I pull up Axel’s voicemails from Easton. All the color drains from my face when I see how many there are. I grit my teeth and cover my eyes with my hand, roughly dragging it down my face. I hate my brother. I fucking hate him.

When I look at Easton again, he’s looking right back at me, his hands clutching the back of his neck. The look on his face is one I’ll never forget. Embarrassment. Shame. Anger. Heartache. Betrayal. It’s all there.

I click on the first voicemail.

“Adam…” Easton warns.

My thumb hovers over the speaker button, and I glance at him, awaiting permission. If he doesn’t want to hear them, I won’t force him to listen with me.

He closes his eyes. Says nothing. Nods.

I hit play, my expression shuttering at the raw devastation in his voice.

“Don’t do this. Please. Please, don’t get on that plane. I’ll pick you up from the airport and we’ll go home, okay? We’ll figure something else out…”

“…I spoke to your mom. I had to find out from her that you’re not fucking dead somewhere…”

“…What the fuck, Adam? What the fuck …?”

“…It’s been a week. Why won’t you talk to me…?”

“…Please, talk to me…”

“…I got your drawing. Are you sadistic? What the fuck are you doing to me, baby…?”

“…I moved into our apartment. Your mom helped. She left in tears, you fucking prick…”

“…I just won my first NCAA game. Did you watch it…”

“…I know how lucky I am. My teammates are great. Like brothers. Coach is great. My professors are great. It’s all great. But between you and me, this is not at all what I thought it would be…”

“…I hate it here, Adam. I don’t want to do this without you. You were supposed to be by my side…”

“…I miss you. I miss you so much. I hate not knowing what you’re doing…”

“…I hate you so fucking much…”

“…You can still change your mind, you know? You can still come back…”

“…Are you ever gonna talk to me…?”

“…Everything reminds me of you, you know that? Everything . I can’t even order fucking Chinese food without thinking of you…”

“…You promised me. You promised you’d never do this to us. Was it all a fucking lie…?”

“…Adam, please. I miss you. Come back to me…

At some point, I end up on my knees in front of Easton. My head is on his lap, my arms around his waist, his hand in my hair as I listen to his broken pleas, his angry outbursts, his heartbreak, his longing for me…

Hours pass. The sun is long gone, the room clouded in darkness. All that remains is me, Easton, and the boy I broke talking to me through the phone.

I ache for him—for that boy—wishing I could go back for him.

“That’s enough,” the real Easton says gently, trying to take the phone.

I don’t let him, batting his hand away and hitting play on the next one. It’s the last one, and it crushes me.

“Hey,” he says, his voice cracking. “Lauren broke up with me. She found out about my little secret and she…” He laughs. “You know what she said to me? She asked if you were dead. She thought I was talking to a ghost. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her she was half right.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I won’t be calling you anymore. And, if you’re even listening to these messages, I hope this is the last time you’ll ever hear my voice. You hear me? I hope I never see you again.” He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “Goodbye, Adam.”

I get up to my feet and stumble.

“Where are you going?”

“Wait here,” I say.

He doesn’t.

I barge into Axel’s room again, coming up short when I find it empty. It’s almost one in the morning, and his bed is still made.

Sidestepping Easton in the doorway, I head downstairs.

“Adam, stop,” he says from behind me.

“No.”

I find my older brother in the kitchen with Carter. They’re standing side by side, leaning on their elbows on the kitchen counter, their heads close as they talk quietly, the only light coming from the strip lights beneath the cabinets.

Easton comes up beside me and wraps his fingers around my wrist. Carter straightens up when he sees us, and Axel follows suit, his shoulders dropping as if he’s accepting his fate. He looks miserable, and it makes me even more furious with him.

He knew how miserable I was in London, and he did nothing. More importantly, he knew how miserable Easton was. He must have read those messages. He must have listened to at least some of those voicemails. He must have heard it in his voice—how much pain he was in—and the bastard did nothing .

And he called Easton his brother? Told him he loves him? I almost laugh at the thought. If he cared about him—if he cared about either of us—he never would have kept these from me.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He has nothing to say to me. Figures.

I pull my wrist out of Easton’s grip, take three steps toward my brother, and punch him in the face.

Easton curses under his breath. Carter looks stunned, keeping his big mouth shut for once. Axel wipes the drop of blood from his nose with his thumb, rolling his shoulders as if he’s preparing for another hit. Good. I’m glad he got the memo.

Just as I’m about to punch him again, two things happen. Easton’s arm locks around my waist from behind, and Carter steps in front of me, blocking my view of Axel.

My nostrils flare as I struggle to catch my breath.

“Move,” I say to Carter.

He shakes his head. “One’s enough. You want to hit something? Hit me.”

I consider it for a moment.

He raises a brow. “Go on. I don’t bite. Well, not you anyway. Easton wouldn’t appreciate that, and I like my teeth where they are.”

As if proving his point, Easton tightens his grip on me.

Carter grins.

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to diffuse the situation with his stupid fucking jokes. And to my surprise, it’s working.

I sink back into Easton’s chest, and he drops his mouth to my shoulder, his fingers brushing my abs beneath my T-shirt. My heavy eyelids threaten to close. Carter chews the inside of his cheek, and it’s only now I realize my face is wet with tears.

Dropping my head to look at Axel’s phone, I forward all the messages to myself before deleting them.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I say numbly, tossing the phone on the island. Axel can’t see me—Carter still hasn’t moved—but I know he hears me. “Pack your shit and get out.”

Carter looks down.