“It’s late, but do you need to call the douchebag and let him know I’ve got this under control?”
I froze with the water bottle halfway to my mouth and stared at him, my brows raised. “The who?”
“Thedouchebag,” he enunciated. “Seymour.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“The guy. Sean. Seth. Samuel. Whatever—that guy from the diner.” His jaw ticked. “The one who was at your house.”
A raspy laugh burst free. “Sebastian?” I shook my head, grateful for this moment of levity after such a harrowing night and clinging to it. I could use a little redirection to focus on right now. “Honestly, what’s up with you two? I thought you’d get along a lot better than you did.”
He stared at me like I’d grown two heads. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
“Well, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve been talking about you both to each other for two years, and it’s been fine. And then, all of a sudden—”
“Whoa, whoa, wait. What the hell do you mean, you’ve been talking to me about him? I have no idea who that guy is.”
“Um, yes, you do.”
“Sunshine. I promise you I don’t.”
“And I promise you do. It’s Ash.”
Shaking his head, he furrowed his brow. “I thought you said it was Sebastian.”
“Right,” I said slowly. “Also known as Ash. My brother?”
He stared at me for a long moment, his mouth hanging open, and then the scowl was back in full force. “Then why the hell did he introduce himself as Sebastian?”
“Because that’s his name.”
He pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned. “Jesus, Everly, I feel like we’re talking in circles. If his name is Sebastian, why the hell do you call him Ash?”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t pronounce it when I was little, and Ash just stuck.”
“But he’s in your phone as Sebastian.”
I raised a brow, wondering how he knew that but ultimately didn’t care. I’d tossed him my phone more times than I could count, and he knew my passcode same as I knew his, so it wasn’t like anything was a secret on there. “That’s a long but entertaining story involving a mistaken and very blunt text meant for one of my girlfriends in college. He threatened me with banishment if I didn’t change how he was listed because of the mix-up.” I tipped my head to the side. “How’d you know what he’s listed as in my phone?”
He grunted and looked anywhere but at me. “I saw it when you were trying to text Ford.”
“So you’ve spent the past few days thinking he was…what?”
“A really shitty boyfriend.” He scowled, like the words themselves had personally offended him.
I laughed again, this time spiraling into a coughing fit. The doctor had said this was to be expected and would go away soon, along with the soreness in my throat. I may have coughing bouts from time to time, but I only needed to come back in if anything worsened.
Apparently Beck hadn’t heard that part of the doctor’s speech because he shoved my water bottle at me, face drawn in a scowl, and barked, “Drink.”
I rolled my eyes but took a small sip, raising my brows at him until he grunted his approval. Once I could speak again, I said, “Definitely not a boyfriend. Just my pain-in-the-ass little brother who made an impromptu trip to escape his recent breakup. So, you officially hate the only member of my family you’ve met.”
“I don’t hate him,” he mumbled, not meeting my eyes.
“Well, the reception was a little cold, even for you.” I sighed, shoulders slumping at the thought of having to tell them about tonight. They already weren’t thrilled with my being here—as Ash had very bluntly pointed out before he’d left—but I’d felt coming here and taking over the clinic was what I’d needed to do for Aunt Shirley. Regardless, it was not going to be a fun conversation. “I need to call him and my parents.”
Luckily, I still had my phone so I could do so, but that was all I had to my name. My single possession was a four-year-old smartphone with a cracked screen. I wasn’t even sure my car had avoided damage with how fast the fire had spread. And just the thought of telling my brother and parents all of that exhausted me.
I loved my family—how could I not? They were great, but sometimes, it felt more like I was performing a part in a play when I was around them—my parents, especially—than I was actually living my life. I’d crafted so much of myself in an effort to make them proud of me, I often wondered if the things I liked now were things Iactuallyenjoyed or if I’d conditioned myself to.
