Their opinion shouldn’t have mattered, especially when it was all an act anyway. Once the four months were over, their son could date the woman they wanted, and I could exit their snobby world.
Happily.
The more I thought about it all, the angrier I became. I couldn’t talk to Mum as it would cause unnecessary pain for her and Sebastian would likely lose his cool and want to confront them. I didn’t want to speak to Cooper about it, because it would upsetandembarrass him, and it wasn’t his burden to bear.
But that just meant their comments festered and would continue to do so until they left a tiny little scar. One to add to the others I kept locked away.
Like hearing the boy I loved dismiss me as nothing more than a kid, or worse, make an effort to see my mum as often as he could yet avoid me. Or how on the few occasions I saw him over the years, he watched me from across the room as if we didn’t regularly share a mattress when we were kids. It was as if the day I ran from his house after hearing his hurtful comment, he forgot despite everything, we were friends. For so long I thought this was what I wanted, that I was fine with how it all played out. But now, after spending time with him and being reminded of all he was, that loss resurfaced. It was the kind of loss I hadn’t fully understood until now, and suddenly, it hurt more than anything else ever had.
CHAPTER 17
Cooper
Stupidly, I’d called Sebastian with an offer for an impromptu sparring session. A reason to escape the quiet of my house where my thoughts were suffocating, and my emotional compass was guiding me to do things I should not be considering. But a workout would provide a much-needed distraction and a place I could healthily exert some of the pent-up energy buzzing through me. I knew Marlee was at the same dinner as Evy so Seb would be bored. But I was also willingly playing with fire, knowing the reason behind my need to move was his little sister. My current volatility would make me bold, my filter potentially not as guarded, while his meticulous assessments would see straight through me and know something wasn’t right.
“How’s it going with her?” He asked, not needing to clarify he was referring to his sister. I’d barely walked through the door, and he’d opened the conversation I was desperate to have.
“Yeah, good. My folks bought it,” I stated, leaving out the part where they’d said she wasbeneathme. Also not mentioning how perfect she felt wedged between my body and the wall or how quickly I came to thoughts of her sweet cunt only hours ago.
“Who knew a pretty little rich boy couldact so well,” he joked, although the gibe hit a little too close to home tonight and I couldn’t disguise the wince.
“What?” he asked, clocking it immediately. Our friendship was based on loyalty and banter. I would mock his meticulous regimentation, intentionally move his shit and push him to the edge of his tether at every opportunity. And he would remind me of the chef who cooked for me while growing up, that my lawns were manicured more often than his girlfriend’s nails and how much of a pretty boy he thought I was - all while wearing a shit eating grin. But his sister had entered the chat and with that came unchartered territory.
“Here goes,” I muttered, raising my padded hands ready to start our session. It was meant for sparring, but my words doubled as a warning. Because what I was about to tell him? That I was more than a little confused about his sister, would hit harder than anything he could throw. I had a fucking death wish bringing this up while he was wearing the gloves.
He moved into position, shaking his shoulders out warily, almost as though I was the one about to land a punch.
Anticipation hung heavy, before he spoke. “Spit it out, pretty boy.”
“I like her,” the confession left my lungs in a gale force whoosh, my shoulders tensed for battle, and he froze. Studied me with a quiet calculation, probably waiting for the punchline, only I returned his stare with a certainty.
“Your sister,” I repeated, almost like a promise. “The one we always vowed to protect, is under my skin.”
I’d always thought about her, but lately, those thoughts were far more devious and while I wasn’t about to run and admit it all to her, I needed to work through it with someone and unfortunately for Seb, he was the only person I had. In this moment, I needed him not to be her brother, but my friend. The same mate who could remind me to check my privilege as quickly as he stood beside me ready for whatever war I was waging. Only, thedangerous glint to his gaze told me that wasn’t going to be a possibility while the enormity of my confession hung between us.
He still hadn’t started hitting, but the silence of the gym wasn’t empty. It was working, sifting, assessing.
“Would you fucking say something,” I said finally, unable to maintain the building tension. “Or hit me, whatever, just give me something.” I pleaded, my eyes attuned to any sudden move.
Instinctively, I jolted back as his fist came through for a swift hook, his hand missing the pads entirely and passing my face so close I swear to fucking God I could smell the leather of his gloves.
I grinned.
My reflexive skills were still quicker than his hook, but I kept my hands up, ready.
This was good. We’d never really had disagreements, and as kids if something ever did come up, it was always managed physically and over quickly.
Healthy – probably not. Effective – always.
He stalked me, gauging my reaction and the familiar crackling electrified my skin, my hands twitching with anticipation. Talking about my feelings wasn’t a strength but physicality was what I knew. What I craved.
“I wish I was fucking surprised,” he spoke finally. “You’re always chasing fucking tail.” Another jab not even remotely close to the pads. He wasn’t focused - confusion and betrayal oozing from his pores as he worked through whatever he was about to say next. “Never thought it would be with my sister though.”
“I’m not chasingtail,” I gritted, offended by the assumption as I watched his shoulders waiting for the tell-tale drop.
“But youlike her.” He mocked. “She’s under your skin,” he taunted, as if the idea was absurd. As if I couldn’t have feelings beyond the superficial.
I didn’t need to repeat myself. He knew. The Micallefs wore their armour, always in control, allowing you to see only what they wanted. But the impact of my admission had taken him bysuch surprise that he may as well have had subtitles. His face said, “Youdon’t know the first thing about her.”
