Page 121 of The Wrong Game

“Are you serious?” I asked, pausing the movie. “With all the emotion, the real shit in that movie, you think it’s allchick stuff? This is real. This is life. And whether you’re male or female, you should be able to appreciate this.”

Micah shrugged. “I mean, the football stuff was cool. I liked his family. But, come on,” he said, gesturing to the screen where I’d paused Bradley and Jennifer in a full-on spinning kiss scene. “She’s crazy.He’sabsolutely insane. In what world does this ever work?”

“Butthat’sjust it,” I said, thumping his chest. “They’re both a little crazy, both a little messed up. But they’re choosing to be messed up together.”

Micah blinked.

There was a chuckle from behind me, and Dad came in, sitting on the edge of the bed. He glanced at the screen before his eyes found mine. “I don’t think your brother is old enough to appreciate the sentiment in that yet, son.”

“Or, I have the wrong reproductive organ between my legs,” Micah volleyed.

Dad reached over and smacked his leg.

“There’s nothing wrong with being in touch with your feelings, Micah,” he said. “Your comment is sexist. Man or woman, you should know how to listen to your emotions and deal with them.”

Micah cowered, and I knew the shadow that passed over him. I’d had my ass handed to me by my father plenty of times. When you’re battling the rest of the world telling you how to be a man, and telling you that feeling is somehow woman-like, and that being woman-like is somehow inferior? Dad was probably the only one who could ever break through that noise — for both myself and for Micah.

And he always did.

“Most would shut down in a situation like this,” Dad continued. “They’d pretend they’re fine and keep moving. Your brother is taking the time to sort through some really difficult thoughts and feelings, and he’s going to be stronger on the other side of it.”

“Or dead,” I argued. “Jury’s still out.”

Dad’s eyes softened, and I smiled to ease his worry, trying my best to pretend I was joking. It’d been two weeks since Gemma and I ended things, and still, I was a complete wreck. My appetite was nonexistent, my sleep was the same, and work was about the only place where I felt even a little okay. Even there, I had the decision to make about the bar looming over me, and my time was running out.

Doc wanted to leave after the new year. And that meant I had to decide soon if he’d be selling the bar before he left, or transferring everything over to me.

It was hard to think about that — about anything — because Gemma took up every inch of space in my mind. She was the first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes, and she haunted me every second of the day until I finally faded off into a fitful sleep. And even then, she was there, in my dreams, waiting to fuck me up more.

I was a mess.

I couldn’t blame my brother for being sick and tired of trying to help me through it. My parents were a little more understanding, a little more patient, but I was annoyingmyself— I couldn’t imagine how my sixteen-year-old brother felt.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom said, propping her hip against the door frame. She smiled when she took in the sight of all three of us on the bed. “Aw, my boys. Reminds me of when you guys were younger.”

“You just miss my hair,” Dad said, running a hand over the spot where he was balding on top.

Mom smiled, crossing the room and bending to kiss that bare skin. “You’re even sexier without it, my love.”

“Ew,” Micah groaned, but I smiled.

I wanted that. I wanted it so bad. And I thought I could have had it.

With Gemma.

Maybe I read into it too much, maybe I had always been more invested than she was. I knew she wanted to take things slow, and we had, but she’d opened up to me, too. She’d let me in, wanted me around her every day, wanted to share her past with me and ask me to share mine with her.

Of course, she’d left out one of the most important parts of her past.

I couldn’t blame her for not trusting me — not trustinganyone— after what her ex-husband left her with. It was a kind of grief I could only imagine, one I could never fully understand.

But I wanted to.

I wanted to hold her hand and love her through it all. I wanted to be a part of her healing, let her know she didn’t have to go at it alone.

But, I couldn’t choose me for her.

I had to let her go.