Page 10 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

F resh out of the shower after staying the night, I walk into Selina’s bedroom.

I find her sitting on her bed, half-dressed in black panties and a t-shirt, grinning down at her phone.

Holding the towel wrapped around my waist, I give her a curious glance, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.

She keeps giggling like a maniac as I try to find my clothes on the messy floor.

Selina might appear put together, but her bedroom begs to differ.

“What’s so funny?” I finally ask, slightly irritated but unable to pinpoint why.

I step into my boxer briefs, standing near the end of the bed, waiting for her to answer me.

She’s still grinning goofily when she glances up at me before her eyes dart back to her phone screen.

“Nothing, just gossip in the Eden group chat.” It sounds like she’s dismissing my question, but she then continues unprompted. “Just that, last week, Gael hooked up with that girl Oliver Campisi cheated on — she’s in town apparently.”

She says it so casually that I don’t quite process the words until my mind finally catches up, and it suddenly feels like I’m going to puke up my own heart.

“Connie?” I croak.

My jeans are still unbuttoned as I stare at her dumbfoundedly for half a second too long.

Selina’s eyes narrow as if reading my body language.

“Yeah, Connie Broadbent … you know her?”

When I realize my slip-up, I quickly smooth away the shock from my face and look down as I finish buttoning up my jeans.

“Yeah — I mean not really. She’s just a family friend.”

Who I fucked over a bathroom sink at my brother’s engagement party last year.

I look up just in time to see Selina’s suspicion turn into excitement.

“Oh my god, really? Can you introduce me?”

“What? No,” I mutter, feeling flustered. “Why?”

She shoots me a prissy look and shrugs, looking back down at her phone. “Why not? You know she’s Instagram famous, right? She’s got like over a million followers, plus she dated the Oliver Campisi — I’d die to get a picture with her.”

We fall silent as she resumes typing on her phone, grinning and laughing under her breath. I itch to ask for more information on her latest work gossip.

Was it only once?

Are they still hooking up?

Why him and not me?

My thoughts make me sick, and anger soon surges through me like a deadly wave. Before I do or say something I regret, I find my t-shirt and hoodie and throw them on.

“I've got to go,” I say dryly.

Selina looks up, slightly surprised, her phone now hanging loosely from her hand.

“I thought we were going for brunch? ”

“I just remembered I need to help my brother with something.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but I don’t care.

Disappointment flashes across her face, but she conceals it quickly.

“Sure, okay,” she says quietly. “Call me later?”

I nod, forcing a smile, and leave without kissing her goodbye.

“Are you stocking up for the apocalypse or something?” I hear Ozzy say from behind me.

I roll my eyes but don’t say anything as I place a log on the chopping block, my back still to him. After positioning the axe so the blade lines up with the center, I take a large swing over my head, splitting the log in two.

“I just needed to think,” I say, a little winded.

Ozzy approaches me from the left and surveys my work with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Well, according to the giant pile of wood, looks like you’ve been thinking for a while.”

My first impulse is to bite his head off.

It always is when I’m dealing with my older brother.

If I were forced to psychoanalyze my resentment toward him, I’d probably blame it on him moving out when he was sixteen.

I was eight when he abandoned us. He left me and Sophia stuck in a house with an alcoholic father and a deadbeat mother; she was still around back then, pregnant with Charlie. Meanwhile, I did what I could to shield Sophia from most of the bullshit since she was only five years old.

Ozzy prides himself on having been there for us even when he moved out, claiming he was always around, making sure we were being taken care of.

What a fucking lie. It’s as if he selectively forgets those first few years when he just disappeared.

He left us to struggle alone. And I always hated him for it.

Admittedly, our relationship has gotten better since I got arrested, but I’ve never truly forgiven him for disappearing like that.

I take a deep swallow of cold winter air, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand while still holding the axe. I look at Ozzy from the corner of my eye. He has this stupidly patient look on his face, and it’s already grating at my nerves.

I could bite his head off, but I’m also currently standing in his backyard, unannounced, and chopping wood. Dropping the axe, I unzip my coat and take it off, throwing it atop the pile of wood. I pick up another log.

“So?” Ozzy says, still standing there, his hands stuffed in his jean coat pockets.

“So, what?”

I’m being intentionally dense, but I can’t help it; he brings out the worst of me.

However, Ozzy’s used to my attitude by now, and to my dismay, nothing about me really fazes him anymore.

“So what’s on your mind, dummy?” he says in jest.

As the axe splits the log into smaller pieces, I let out a small grunt before shooting him a wary side look, but say nothing. I should have checked if he was home before I came over, he’s always looking to fucking bond anytime we’re alone together.

Shoot me.

“I didn’t say I wanted to talk about it.”

The words are a muttered hiss as I pick up the split pieces and place them with the—admittedly—ridiculously large pile of already cut wood.

I grab another log.

Ozzy watches me for a few minutes, the sound of the axe and my ragged breaths filling in the silence.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but you have to talk to someone, Hux,” Ozzy finally says.

I glance over at him, and the expression of concern on his face makes me want to hurl.

“Have you thought more about therapy?”

I pick up the split wood and scoff.

“Pass.”

Ozzy sighs, raking a hand through his curls, but doesn’t press the subject. I swallow the low throb of guilt at acting so difficult when all he’s doing is trying to help.

Too little, too late.

We fall back into silence until finally, after a few more minutes of him watching me, he moves from his spot. “There’s risotto in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he says before walking back inside.