Page 22

Chapter 22

Trials

Parker

I’ve never forgiven myself for what I said to Brandon.

I don’t even remember doing it, but that’s no excuse. It haunts me. When I see him again, I need to get it right. Say it right. Whatever ‘right’ looks like.

I remember his face perfectly. A picture of anguish and desire. How he made me feel like I was living and dying at the same time. And now, I didn’t know where we stood.

Were we ‘not speaking’ again, or had we just not spoken?

More importantly, why didn’t I find it strange that I was the one who instigated things. Because I know that I did. We had both wanted it, but I had started it, and finished it.

Determined to clear my head, I smash through a workout and then hit the showers. Clad in just a towel, I wipe condensation from the mirror with my palm, revealing a blurred version of myself that’s closer to reality than I dare admit.

There’s a single truth that I’m finding harder and harder to deny, even to myself.

I kissed Brandon. And he kissed me back.

And I wanted him to.

And now it feels unfinished. Like we left the movie before the mid-credit spoiler. And if I’m being really honest with myself, I know what I want to happen.

My whole life, I’ve only ever been with women. I lost my virginity at a party when I was barely sixteen. With the exception of Millie, sex for me has always been fun, a free transaction between two consenting adults.

The night on the beach between Millie, Brandon and I had lit something within me. A fire that continued to burn, no matter how many different girls from different bars I went home with.

I’m not ashamed of any of it. And my frisson with Brandon doesn’t cancel any of it out. I wasn’t sleeping with girls because I thought that’s what people expected from me. Let’s be honest, nobody ever really expected anything from me.

My stuff with Brandon is an ‘as well as’. Not an ‘instead of’.

Maybe you’re bisexual , my reflection suggests. Just the thought sends a fear-thrill trickling down my spine.

It’s not the first time the thought has occurred to me. But the truth of it is that whatever I am, it only seems to happen around Brandon. I grew up in locker rooms and fraternities, so I’ve noticed other guys before. It’d be weird if I hadn’t. But I’ve never felt anything for a guy before.

And Brandon is the only one I’ve ever acted on it with. And let’s face it, all those drunken nights in the frat house. If I’d ever wanted something to happen with some nameless, faceless dude, it could have.

But Brandon was different. Would it really be so messed up if we just tried it one more time? He had feelings for me once, but does he still? I don’t want to fuck things up. An uncomfortable truth occurs to me.

Who’s to say he would even want me ?

“Maybe we should just fuck it out of our systems”, I say out loud.

“Even for a shameless narcissist”. I jump out of my skin. Brandon stands in the doorway, a sheepish smile littering his perfectly symmetrical face. “Hitting on your own reflection is a new low”.

He’s in shorts, one leg rolled slightly higher than the other, a vest and a baseball cap. He looks just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. All my questions fly out of my head. There’s only one thing I want to say. Need to say.

“Brandon”. His name lingers softly on my lips. “I am so truly, utterly and desperately sorry”.

His jaw clenches tightly. His shoulders are raised, like he’s ready to lay into me. I swallow. Hard. I’ve had this coming. But he surprises me with the gentleness of his tone.

“I don’t like that side of you”.

It takes a second to process what he means. “The fight. Okay. I’m not a big fan of that side of me either”.

“I know you dealt with a lot of shit growing up. Stuff happened to you that shouldn’t happen to anyone. But you can’t come out swinging every time something doesn’t go the way you want it to”.

“That’s not what happened”. There’s a pause which I expect him to fill. But he doesn’t. “Don’t you want to know what actually did happen?”

“It doesn’t matter”, Brandon folds his arms. “I grew up with a target on my back. You saw that more than anyone. If I took the gloves off every time someone said or did something I didn’t like, I’d be throwing down every ten seconds”.

My blood simmers at the thought of someone going after Brandon.

“You’ll get hurt. Or in trouble. Or both. I don’t want that for you. Or us, whatever that is. And I can’t get in trouble either. Not with how hungry the press are for my family”, Brandon says. “Do you understand me?”

I nod, feeling heavier.

“I mean it. If something were to happen to you…” Brandon leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid.

“It wasn’t me who got hurt, though”, I take a careful step forward. The cut above Brandon’s eye has just about healed, but it’s still visible if you know where to look. I brush his hair out the way. “Is it bad?”

“What? Oh”, my face is very close to his. “I didn’t even notice it”. I’m close enough to hear him swallow. “My sponsorship deals will survive”.

I ignore the joke. He inclines his head slightly, and I clear my throat to break the spell. But he doesn’t take a step back, and neither do I. “Since we’re being honest with each other…”.

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Do you really think that I swoop in and save you?” He scans me. “That I like playing that part? Of making out like I’m better than you?”

I could lie. It’d be so easy. But he deserves the truth. “It wasn’t always easy. Being your best friend. Being the less better half”.

“Did I make you feel like that?”

“Sometimes”, his mouth drops, “But never intentionally. I know that. Mostly it was other people. Our teachers. Parents. Kids at school. Everyone knew you were going to blast off, and I was tagging along in your jet stream”.

“You were secretive about what you were really doing”, Brandon points out quietly. “You were running around training, competing, winning prizes in all those fighting competitions. But you never wanted it to get back to your parents. You had lots to be proud of, but you hid it”.

That’s hard to deny. My mom would have gone supernova if she knew I was kickboxing or learning judo every night after school. Brandon covered for me a million times. “For what it’s worth”, he adds, “I was proud. And I liked cheering you on”.

“Maybe I should have been more upfront about what I was…passionate about”. I admit. “Maybe it would have made things easier”.

“My family would call that ‘taking control of your own press’”, Brandon leans against the wall. Most people wouldn’t detect the note of damage hidden within his tone. But I’m not most people.

“Do you do that, then? Take control of your own press”. He doesn’t reply, takes a sip of water from his cannister. “I’ve seen the comment section, Brandon. It’s brutal”.

“It is what it is”.

“What it is, is bullshit”.

He bristles. “What’s the alternative?”

“Fight back”.

“Oh, of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that”. Brandon fiddles with the rim of his baseball cap. “It doesn’t bother me”.

“Coping with it isn’t the same as being unbothered by it”.

“I don’t engage. I don’t read it. Mostly. That’s how I cope”.

“Do you ever talk about it?” I’m having a hard time believing that Brandon’s dad wouldn’t be falling over himself to shut it down. “Your dad’s team surely has someone who…”

“I talk to people about my problems about as much as you do about yours, Di Rossi”, I recognise the end of a conversation when I hear one. “Back it up to high school again for a minute. I’m sorry that I didn’t do something about the way you were being silver medalled. I did see it. I just didn’t know it affected you. Was life... easier for you without me in it?”

I’m so surprised by the bluntness I almost forget to shake my head. “The only thing harder than being Brandon Carter’s best friend is being Brandon Carter”. He smiles a little at that. “I know that now. You can consider yourself forgiven”.

“You too”.

“You know getting into the fight wasn’t what I was originally apologising for”.

“Did something else monumental take place the other night?”

“You know it did. You know that I…” I grope for the right words.

“Used me as a jerk off sock”. Brandon deadpans so plainly that I can’t help giving a snort, and suddenly a grin splits both of our faces. “I vaguely recall. Why are you apologising?”

“It wasn’t fair of me”, my hand slips to his shoulder, “To initiate something. Not when I knew you had feelings for me”.

“We said we were moving past that”.

“We didn’t move very far”.

“Whose fault is that?” Has his voice always hummed like this? Why haven’t I noticed before? “Besides, who’s to say I still have feelings for you?”

“You don’t?”

“Sure I do. Frustration. Irritation. A general sense of exasperation”. Brandon counts off on his fingers. I’ve never noticed how big his hands were. “But I’m getting over it. That’s actually what I was doing before I found you”.

A flash of jealousy jolts through my body. What the hell?

“With the bartender at Marvin’s. Jacob”, he continues. “He and I hooked up. Or were mid-hook up, technically”.

“What do you mean, mid-hook up?” The thought of some other dude with his hands all over Brandon ignites fury inside me. “How long had you even known him for?”

“I finished. He didn’t”, Brandon studies my face, “And for about 10 seconds longer than you knew the girl you hooked up with”.

“Don’t bring Katie into this”.

“Her name was Kelly”, Brandon says, laughing at my scowl, “Did you get her number? I could ask Jacob if he knows her”.

“Don’t”, I say, before I can stop myself. “Don’t do that”.

“Why not?” He rubs his stomach. “You don’t want to see her again?”

“No”. And I don’t want you to call your bartender boyfriend either. “It was just a drunken mistake”.

“Kelly and I have that in common”, Brandon shakes his head, “I’ll tell you, Di Rossi, as drunken mistakes go, you sure reach Final Boss level much quicker than other guys I know”.

His chest is rising and falling quicker than it was a second ago. “It wasn’t a mistake”. My stomach flips over. “Don’t call it that”.

“Why not?” My hands catch his, “Why does it matter?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about it”, I reach down, and loosen the towel from my waist. It falls silently to the floor. “And I want—fuck, I need to do it again”.