Page 4 of The Bro Date (Best Bros Forever #2)

“Yes, sir,” I answer robotically, glancing over at Shane, who only nods.

“And you’re still happy living in that run-down, old house with three other boys?” He narrows his dark brown eyes at me, almost as clueless as Mom is when it comes to how unhappy I was living here.

Neither of them can fathom why I don’t want to continue living in my childhood bedroom and commute every day.

I mean, yeah, there are a few things that could be fixed when it comes to campus housing, and my room is pretty small, not to mention the bathroom is down the hall with zero privacy, but I wanted the full college experience with Shane, and I definitely got it.

“I am,” I answer with more strength and resolve than I thought I had.

There was never any happiness here; I had to make my own as a kid.

With Shane.

My dad hums, not pushing the topic any further, and takes another sip of his whiskey. “Very well.” He picks up the book on the end table and opens it, effectively dismissing us.

He probably only wants me to live here as a buffer between him and Mom, anyway. They don’t get along and never really have, but they won’t get divorced. They care too much about what other people think.

I shift on the couch cushion, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.

“Dinner’s ready!” Mom hollers from the kitchen, and I’ve never been more thankful to hear her shouting at me.

“You’re excused, then,” Dad murmurs into his glass before he tips it back.

I hurry from the room with Shane right beside me. Heat radiates from my face like burning hot asphalt in the summer, and I glance at Shane, whose jaw is clenched tightly.

Assholes are his trigger, and my dad is top tier.

“Would you like some wine, Shane?” my mother asks, pouring an expensive cabernet into Dad’s glass. “You’re twenty-one, right?”

Her innocent-sounding question is likely some sort of test, or maybe an insult. She damn well knows he’s two years older than me.

“No, thank you,” Shane replies calmly and politely.

She narrows cynical amber eyes at him, but before she can launch more questions, I interrupt with a dumbass joke. “I’ll have some, Mom.”

Crinkling her brow in distaste, she shakes her head like she’s disappointed in me and serves everyone dinner.

Whatever.

Mom takes her spot at the head of the table, with my father at the other end. “Will you say grace, Matthew?”

“Of course, honey.” My dad bows his head, and I honestly tune him out until I hear an Amen , and we all dig in.

The parmesan risotto is heavenly, but the sea bass steals the show. The food is delicious, just like it always is when the chef stops by and preps everything in advance, leaving right before my mother’s guests arrive. She likes to pretend it’s her cooking, but we all know it’s not.

“So, have you thought any more about switching majors, Tobias?” Mom suddenly asks, immediately spoiling my appetite.

I set my fork down and prepare to be lectured.

“Violin is a wonderful hobby, but it’s not a career, darling.

It’s time to grow up and choose something that will make you money.

Like real estate. Right, Matthew?” She looks at my dad for backup.

“Yep. Finance or business is the way to go, not this fluffy music theory crap.”

Fluffy what?

Something nudges my foot under the table, and I glance up from the spot I was staring at on my plate, completely disassociating from the conversation. Fathomless dark eyes meet my gaze, and I’m instantly pulled into the black hole that is Shane Carmichael.

My parents drone on and on about how important it is for me to choose something else—something they approve of—while I continue to get lost in Shane’s intense stare. I feel safe with him, and that’s the only thing getting me through this dinner from hell.

I was really hoping they wouldn’t do this tonight.

“It’s highly unlikely that you’ll ever become a wealthy violinist, Tobias,” my mother says brusquely, leaning back in her seat and finishing off the last of her wine.

“I’d say it’s a long shot,” Dad adds dismissively, placing his napkin on top of his plate like he’s finished with dinner and the conversation.

“Be realistic, Tobias. You’re not a child any longer.” Mom rolls her eyes, and that’s what finally bursts the dam of how much shit I can take.

I’ve had enough of them roasting me.

“Be realistic?” I huff, completely agitated by their asshole behavior before we even make it to dessert. “I’ve only got one chance on this Earth, just like you. So, why would I waste it on some soul-sucking job I hate? No, thank you. I’m gonna chase my dreams.”

Fuck. I need to get out of here before the panic sets in.

“Your mother and I just want you to make smart choices for your future because it all starts now. Time to grow up, Tobias.”

“Even Shane chose a respectable major. You can do so much with a business degree,” Mom says matter-of-factly. “You really need to switch paths, darling.”

That was the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever heard, and I can feel the embarrassment coat my skin like a glaze of shame. I glance over at my best friend, sitting stoically in his seat, completely unfazed.

“Mrs. Livingston,” he replies evenly, as if she didn’t just insult and compliment him all in the same breath. “With all due respect, Toby is the first chair violinist. It would be a blow to the entire music department if he left.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may, it still doesn’t change how I feel about the situation,” she snaps before turning to me. “You’re throwing away your future, Tobias.”

“And my tuition money,” Dad grumbles under his breath.

There’s no point in arguing with them any longer.

I’m done. Checked out. Fucking finished.

Because if this is how they feel about my major, what are they going to think of me when I tell them I’m gay?

“Cheesecake, anyone?!” Mom suddenly asks with a forced smile, standing from the table like some sort of Stepford wife in her vintage flowered dress and soft blonde curls.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Livingston. It was truly a five-star experience, but I think we’re going to skip dessert and head home. Classes start tomorrow, so we need our rest.”

My knight in shining armor.

Again.

I need to get out of here, and I’m so thankful Shane can recognize that.

We exchange hollow goodbyes and see you soons , but I don’t plan on it. Why would I want to be around people who don’t support my decisions or even like me?

“Gah! They’re absolutely infuriating!” I whisper-shout after we finally escape and step outside into the cool evening air. “And she wonders why I stayed with Gran and Bo for spring break.” Desperate to leave, I rush down the steep stairs from hell as if the house itself exorcised me.

“Toby, slow down!” Shane calls out behind me.

I don’t listen, missing the last step and rolling my ankle like a baby giraffe before falling to the ground.

“ Shit! ” I cry out, rough concrete tearing a hole in my khakis and scraping my knee.

Sonofabitch.

“Are you hurt?” Shane squats down next to me, his dark eyes slowly scanning my body for injuries and landing on my knee. “Let me see.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head no, and hoping I can wake up from this nightmare of an evening. Rough fingers encircle my wrist, gently removing the hand covering my knee. I hiss in pain when I open my eyes and see the damage.

Ouch.

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the back of my truck. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Shane says calmly.

Without asking if I can walk, he easily scoops me up, carrying my pathetic ass the rest of the way to his truck.

“I’m sorry you clocked out early for this shitshow,” I mutter, shamelessly leaning my head against his hard pec and breathing in his familiar, calming scent.

Shane pauses, staring down at me for a moment, his intense gaze analyzing my face. “Work doesn’t matter,” he grumbles. “ You matter.”

“Shane . . .”

Words elude me because everything I want to say would probably scare him away.

He carries me the rest of the way to his truck, opening the door and setting me in the seat sideways. “Be right back.”

I nod, closing my eyes and resting my temple against the headrest. My knee stings and aches, so I focus on my breathing instead of the pain.

Shane comes back with what looks like a small tackle box, opening up a first aid kit instead. He pulls out a little spray bottle, and I see the word “antiseptic” on the side, immediately knowing this is going to hurt like a bitch.

“Do you want to keep these pants?” he suddenly asks, catching me off guard.

“No?”

Shane grabs hold of the hole in my khakis with two hands and yanks, carefully ripping it farther to expose my knee without having to take my pants off in my parents’ driveway.

“This is going to hurt,” he informs me two seconds before spraying the antiseptic directly on my scrape.

“ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Sonofabitch motherfucker! ” I holler like a complete heathen, gripping the sides of the seat for my life.

It feels like my knee is on fire, and someone tried to put it out with battery acid. I blink slowly, sweat beading on the back of my neck like I’m seconds away from passing out. I’m a complete baby when it comes to pain.

“Stay with me,” Shane murmurs, his voice sounding muffled and far away. He squats down in front of me and blows on my knee, cool breath washing over my skin and soothing the burn.

“Better?” he asks, peering up at me from the ground.

I nod, mumbling a thank you .

Before I know it, I’m all bandaged up and buckled in. I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes, knowing I’m safe whenever I’m with Shane.

“What would I do without you?” I whisper, unsure if I even said the words aloud, or if they stayed inside my head where they belong.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” Shane replies, and despite the burning pain in my knee and the emotional trauma from dinner, I smile.

I sure hope that’s true.