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brITT

TIMEOUT

S elf-preservation.

That’s all this is.

Survival.

Sanity.

Four days of texting, but no touching. Four days of constant excuses about why I can’t come over to hang out. Four days of being semi-broken up, and neither of us knowing how or why it happened.

My not-so-new bracelet sits on my wrist and reflects the late afternoon sunlight as I swing on my front porch and try not to think too deeply about the fact I went to the cemetery today to talk to Steph, but Jack’s Mustang was parked on the street.

I know he still sees her.

Hell, I know he still loves her, but I don’t want to think about it. I definitely don’t want to see it.

I’ve been by to see Steph weekly for months. Today’s my day, but he took it. He’s there when he isn’t normally there on a Thursday, and now I’m lost at sea, bereft with no place to go and no one to see.

I sip at my glass of tea and hum under my breath. I sing music that my brother wrote, songs that I know word for word, and I use it to distract myself from glancing at my phone for the millionth time today.

My phone brings me pain; either with Jack’s constant missed calls and texts, or worse yet, the internet.

With the fight only a week away, it’s not unexpected that Jack has his own trending hashtag. There are a million articles about him at the moment.

He’s big news.

He was on an amazing winning streak for many years. Then he went ahead and handed his belt back last year, which set the world on fire. Everyone has their money on him winning next week; easily, early , first round knockout.

Of course, with such a successful career, comes fame. Everyone knows him. And by extension, they knew his girlfriend, too. When Steph died, when he was so publicly falling apart, the media lapped it up and turned him and Steph into a modern-day Romeo and Juliet.

Well, just Juliet.

I’m not even surprised that she’s everywhere in the media right now – oh, what a legacy, to still be known, even in death, as his. But what I didn’t expect, was to have my own trending hashtag and magazine covers.

I didn’t consent to a photoshoot.

They’re pictures I’ve loaded to my private social media profiles over the years. Candids of me and the girls during our college years.

Fortunately for me, the pictures tend to be flattering. I survived my teens and early twenties without a single drunk-girl-panty-flashing photo being loaded and tagged.

No, the photos are fine, but the hashtag … that definitely took me by surprise.

I told Steph we would never compete, but Jack’s legions of diehard fans never got the memo. There are two distinct trends this week: #TeamSteph and #TeamBritt.

Ouch.

Who the fuck has enough time that they not only think this shit up, but then they get it trending? Why do people care so damn much about his private life? And why are they voting one way or the other?

Steph can’t claim her crown!

My phone vibrates in my lap, and sighing, I drop sad eyes to the lit screen.

Jack.

Again.

I miss you.

God, I miss him, too.

Jack: Can we hang out tonight? Just me and you. Please.

My heart says hell yes. I’d die to be with him again. I want what we had back; the easy flirtation, the laughs, the sweet kisses. But my teary eyes say no way will I let him see me cry.

Me: I can’t tonight.

Jack: Bambie…

It’s like I can literally feel his frustration.

Me: I have to work.

Jack: Tomorrow.

It’s like there’s another Britt inside me. She’s screaming to be let out; she’s screaming yes, yes, yes! and hoping Jack will hear her.

But she doesn’t understand Jack’s only looking for a temporary yes. He can’t give us what we so desperately want. What we need .

Me: Tomorrow?

Jack: A date. Tomorrow night.

Hotdogs and music at the lookout. Hell yes.

Jack: Wear something nice, we’ll go out to a proper dinner.

Sigh.

Me: Okay.

Jack: Yeah? Okay! I’ll pick you up like a real date. Seven?

Me: Alright.

My phone buzzes in my hand – incoming call – and brings fresh tears to the surface at his flashing name and beautiful profile picture.

He can’t see me, and I so desperately want a hug, so I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

“Bambie.” Sighing, the sound of his breathing alone makes my stomach jump with nerves. “It’s so fucking good to hear your voice.”

I knuckle a silent tear away. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Life is busy, but it’s alright. We’ll fix it.”

“Yeah…”

“We’re gonna be okay, right?”

No. Because I love you and you love someone else. “Yeah.”

“Whatcha doing right now?”

“I’m at home, drinking tea, and grading papers. What are you doing?”

“I’m in my car, just about to go home.”

“To your house, or Kit’s?”

“Mine. It’s lonely in that big house without you, Bambie.”

It’s lonely in my house without him, too. “You train hard today?”

“Yeah.” His words come out on a lazy mumble, like he’s lying back in his car, getting comfortable and sunning himself the same way I am. “Bobby’s bitching at me. ”

His words bring a smile to my face. Bobby’s always bitching at him. “What about?”

“He wants to fight me. Thinks he’s still got it.”

“Does he still have it?”

“Fuck yes he does!” Jack laughs. “He’ll hurt me more than my opponent next week will.”

“So maybe you should fight Bobby? It would be fun to watch.”

He scoffs playfully. “Whose side are you on, Bambie?”

“Yours,” I murmur. “Always yours.”

“I wish I could see you tonight.” Laughter forgotten, his murmur matches mine. “Maybe I could just come over and sit with you while you mark your work?”

“That sounds boring. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do, Bambie. Nothing in the whole world.”

I bet he’d rather sit with Steph. “Are you parked at the gym right now?”

If my change of topic surprises him, he doesn’t let on. “Nah, I left the gym about an hour ago.”

“…Oh?”

“Yeah… I’m…” He clears his throat. “I’m at the cemetery. I was visiting Steph.”

Well, at least he didn’t lie. “It’s nice you still see her. I bet she likes it.”

“Mm–”

“Listen.” Sitting up, I place my empty glass on the small table beside the chair, and when Alex’s cruiser pulls into the driveway, I fix my hair across my face. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bambie–”

“Alex just got home, and I’ve got dinner in the oven. I’ll talk to you later.”

He bites out a frustrated sigh. “Fine, I’ll call you tonight. Dinner tomorrow, right?”

“…Right.”

“Yeah.” Snapping at my hesitance, he bites off a curse. “Alright. Talk to you later.”

“Goodby–”

“Tell Alex I said to go fuck himself.”

Even his hang up doesn’t stop the watery laugh bubbling through my chest. Bending over, I scratch Bowser’s ear when she sprints up the porch stairs.

Bowser is a she , and though her name doesn’t suit her at all, Alex felt the need to make her sound scarier, seeing as she’s a police dog and needs to be badass… according to X. In reality, she’s mostly a sweetheart. She’s bitten me a few times, but each time was a ‘hit Alex again, and I’ll rip your face off’ warning.

She’s protective of him, and when Annie stayed here and he patted her a few too many times, we had to separate them before there was a beatdown.

Annie’s bigger than Bowser, but Bowser has that killer instinct.

Touch her human, and she’ll rip your throat out.

“Hey, Brat.” Stopping on the porch in front of me, Alex kicks his boots against the concrete beams that hold the roof up and dislodges clumps of dried mud. “What are you doing home?”

I roll my eyes. “I live here, X. Why are your shoes all muddy?”

Scoffing, he works on the laces. “Just work, nothing new. Wanna order a pizza tonight?”

“Yeah, I haven’t prepared anything else.”

“That’s cool. My treat. I had a shitty day; pizza and a beer sounds perfect.”

I never made the conscious decision to stop drinking, it just worked out that way. Just like the rest of the Kincaids, I haven’t had a beer in months. Not at home alone, and especially not in front of Jack.

But today, just like Alex, my day sucks, and a pizza and beer sound exactly perfect.

Forty-five minutes after getting dirt all over the porch, I sit on the couch with my big brother, a steaming hot, freshly delivered pizza, and a six pack of beer.

Kicking his socked feet up onto the coffee table, Alex takes the remote and flicks on the TV, but instantly, we’re assaulted with images of Jack.

Steph.

Me.

Changing the channel with a huff, Alex slams the remote down onto the arm of the couch. “I fucking hate that the media knows who you are, Brat.”

Sipping my beer lazily, I shake my head. “Me too, X. It got old real quick.”

“Need me to shoot him yet?”

I smile around the lip of my bottle. “Nah, but maybe let me hide out. I don’t want to be seen anymore.”

His eyes narrow with his I’m-the-chief-round-these-wild-parts suspicion. “Hide from the media, or from him ? ”

“Both, I guess.”

“Britt–”

“We have a date tomorrow night, though. I’ll stop hiding then.”

He huffs out a grumbled breath. “As much as I don’t want that fucker in my house, maybe you guys should have your date here. In privacy. Not out in public.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I would’ve preferred that, too, but he already mentioned dressing up for a restaurant.”

“I don’t like this, honey. I just… I’d feel better if you weren’t in the public eye with him.”

“I guess we knew it was coming, right? He’s Jack Reilly, and he has a title fight coming up. We knew the media would be all over this.”

“Just because we knew it was coming, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Turning back to the TV, he stares at the screen, but he probably sees nothing. I get the feeling he’s mentally planning my security for the next week.

I can’t even say that I think he’s wrong. I don’t want to be in public, either.

But it’s already done.

I get no choice, so copying my brother, I turn back to the TV and pretend to watch Roseanne repeats.

I eat until I want to explode, and drink until a pleasant buzz races through my blood. I’m tired, but too anxious to sleep. Leaning against X’s shoulder, I wait until he – predictably – throws his arm over my shoulder, and I snuggle in.

Alex may be a giant pain in the ass, but he loves me unconditionally. Even when he disagrees with my choices. Even when I date guys he doesn’t like.

No matter what he says, what he does, who he hurts, no matter how annoying it seems, everything he does, he does with my best interests at heart. Maybe if I’d let him keep talking that time at dinner, Jack and I wouldn’t have continued along this path to destruction.

It would’ve hurt to walk way, but there’s no way in hell it could hurt as much as it does now.

Eyes growing heavy, I refuse to fall asleep. Instead, I hug my big brother and chuckle at the TV. We’ve watched every single Roseanne episode there ever was, but it’s still funny. It’s so much easier to sink into their life, than it is to live my own.

My phone vibrates against my leg and has Alex’s eyes coming down to mine. I bite my tongue to stop my chin from wobbling.

Don’t make me cry, Jack. I don’t want to cry anymore .

Laying a kiss on my hair, Alex squeezes me against his chest. “Just ignore it for tonight, Brat. Relax. Sleep.”

I nod and hope he doesn’t look down as a tear slides along my cheek.

After a full minute, my phone falls silent and allows me reprieve to rest against my brother, but a minute later, it starts again.

Ignore.

A minute after that, it starts again.

“Fuck, Britt. That boy needs to cool his shit.”

“Mmhmm.” I wipe my eye with my shirt, just in time, as Alex sits up and reaches for my phone. “Alex, don’t–”

“Answer it, or turn it off.”

I take my phone to find eleven missed calls, twice as many texts, and about a billion Facebook notifications. Three texts are from Jack, but there are also some from the group chat.

“Maybe I should call the girls, we could go out for a bit.”

“Don’t be dumb. Going out to dance and drink to ignore your problems is how people get arrested.”

I scoff. “You wouldn’t arrest me, X.”

“Hell I wouldn’t! If it kept you off the street and safe–”

I tune him out and read my texts. Jack wants me to call him. Big surprise. The girls want me to check Facebook. Fuck knows I don’t want to. I’m not stupid, I know there’s a reason Jack’s so eager to get me on the phone.

Something new has happened.

Something I won’t like.

This isn’t the first time he’s called to warn me about an article or picture I might find. The first time stung, but I’ve since gotten used to it. And by used to it, I mean, I’ve learned to hide my emotions.

Mostly.

I open the social media app and scroll down my newsfeed. I literally have nearly two hundred notifications. Just seeing the little red number in the top corner exhausts me.

It takes less than two seconds of scrolling to find the pictures that I knew I’d find. Pictures of Jack and a girl. They’re not doing anything wrong, just a fan asking for an autograph and photo. This stuff doesn’t even bother me, not really. The fact he freaks out so much is enough to make me feel better. He doesn’t like this extra attention any more than I do.

Watching over my shoulder in silence, Alex turns back to the TV and switches to the news channel. There he is again. So fucking sexy. Smiling for the camera.

But his smile isn’t real.

I know him, and I know he’s faking it as much as I’ve been faking the ‘we’re going to be fine’ bullshit.

Like he knows I’m watching – or maybe another minute has passed – my phone rings and snippets of ‘Breaking News’ flash across the TV screen.

Swiping, I pretend to be happy. “Hey, Jack.”

“Bambie! Jesus, why’d you take so long to answer?”

I frown at his snapped words. I did nothing wrong. “I was busy. What’s up?” I plug my other ear in an effort to hear over the noise blasting on his end of the call. “Where are you?”

“I’m stuck at Pinocchio’s.”

“Oh… what are you doing there? I thought you were going home.”

“Are you not watching the news?”

“Yeah, X just switched it over.” I study the screen for a long minute, then it clicks. “Oh, this is live! You’re there now?”

“Yeah.”

“I just assumed this was old footage.”

“No, I’m here right now. I just wanted to check in with you.”

“You’re there right now with your arm around that girl?”

“No! That was like ten minutes ago.”

“Oh, well.” I shake my head. “That’s better, then.” I sit up and set my beer on the table. Swaying in my seat, I smile at the buzz that cushions my heart. Now I get why he drank after Steph. “I thought you were going home.”

“I was, but then the girls wanted to go out for dinner.”

“Wouldn’t wanna disappoint the girls,” I reply. With the jealousy and contempt coloring my every word, I’m being exactly who I said I wouldn’t be.

I’m such an idiot.

“No, not random girls, Bambie! My sisters. Kit knew I was…” Trailing off, he changes direction. “You didn’t wanna hang out, so she thought we could all go out, instead.”

“Lucky your sister’s saving you from your bitchy girlfriend, huh?”

“Bambie!”

Smiling, I sway in my seat. “What?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Nope. ”

“You’re slurring your fucking words!”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Why are you doing this to us?” His plea, the simple sentence, has my heart flopping in my chest. “I thought we were happy, Britt? I thought we were good for each other?”

“No, Jack.” Smile gone, tears rush furiously over my cheeks. “I think you lost your chance at happiness. She’s in heaven.”

“Alright!” X snatches my phone and crushes the power button until the screen goes black. “That’s enough of that. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“X–”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” When I finally look up to meet his eyes, his face turns white. “Brittany, what the fuck? I haven’t seen you cry since you broke your arm.” When I begin sobbing, noisy, chest heaving sobs, he takes me in his arms and rocks.

I never sob. Not even when I was eleven years old and told – sternly, since it was the second cast in as many weeks – no skating for two whole months.

“Honey, what’s the matter? Talk to me.”

“I’m in love with a man who doesn’t love me back, X.” I scrunch his shirt between my fingers. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve run the other way. Instead, I jumped in head first, fell in love, but he’s still in love with his dead girlfriend.”

“Brittany,” he groans into my hair. “Honey, stop crying.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Has he hurt you? Has he actually done anything to cause this? Because from where I stand – even though I really don’t wanna see it – that boy’s in love with you, too.”

“He’s not. He…” I take a halting breath. “He said her name the other day… when… when I…”

“Ugh!” Jumping back with disgust, his expression is almost comical. Almost . “Okay, gross. Okay.” He shakes his entire body to rid the grossness of his sister having a sex life. “That’s… unfortunate.”

I drop my face into my hands. “He doesn’t even know. He was asleep when I…” I peek up at my brother’s pale face. I’ve thoroughly grossed him out. “He doesn’t even know. But I can’t tell him. I’m such a fool, X. We never made promises. I knew about Steph, I knew what I was getting into. I thought we were just fun, but now I love him, and he loves someone else.”

“You need to talk to him, honey. Despite what women think, men cannot read minds. He doesn’t even know why you’re mad. ”

“But what does it matter? He loves someone else! That’s not gonna change, and I’m not going to guilt him into loving me. I’m not a puppy that needs a new home.”

Sitting forward, Alex pries my hands away from my face. “But Steph is gone.” He waits for my eyes to meet his. “He might miss her, they have a lot of history, but he can’t be in love with her anymore. She’s gone.”

I sigh with exhaustion. I’ve been around and around this a million times before. “I can’t fight her ghost, X. And I can’t live my life playing his second choice.”

“So what are you gonna do? Ghost on him? I’m always on your side, Britt. You’re my baby sister, and I don’t even like the prick, but ghosting him is cruel. He deserves better than that.”