I snap my head around. Blink at the screen, stupefied. “Sorry,” I tell whoever was speaking to me. “Must have missed it.”
The game is Germany versus Argentina. Germany must have scored, because as one, the team whoops and hollers, Jason sprinting around the room like a maniac until Javier tackles him. Normally, I’d be joining in with the celebration, drinking myself blind, reveling in the feeling of being young and free. But not tonight. Pushing to my feet, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water, snagging my coat on the way.
The door leading to the backyard is partially ajar. I push it open on squealing hinges, looking around. A shadowy, snow-laden yard greets me beyond the porch railing. I tug my jacket tighter to protect myself against the cutting wind, spotting Kellan out of the corner of my eye. He’s so still that I almost miss him.
He doesn’t give any indication of my presence as I take a chair across from him. Lying on his back on a small sofa, legs tossed across the back, he stares at the sloped roof, hands buried in his coat pockets and hood pulled forward. The faux fur frames the bones of his exquisite face.
For some time, the only sounds are the crickets and our breathing.
“Nice night,” I say, hunching into a smaller ball to conserve warmth. The air is so cold it makes my teeth ache. It doesn’t appear to bother Kellan.
His chest swells beneath his coat. His mouth is pulled into a frown, but I’m not sure if it’s out of anger or contemplation. Maybe a combination of both.
Guess he’s not in a conversational mood.
That’s cool. I don’t need to talk. I’m happy enough to sit in his presence. I even convince myself it means something, that he doesn’t go elsewhere. If I’m intruding, it’s not enough for him to leave.
An owl hoots from far off. His face softens a touch at the sound.
“Got this for you.”
He glances at the cup I offer, then lifts his eyes to mine. They’re unreadable in the flickering porch light. “I’m not drinking,” he says in a deep, neutral voice that is very unlike Kellan.
My hand trembles, but only slightly. “It’s water.” God, please don’t let me spill it on him. I saw Kellan hadn’t been drinking his beer, just holding it in his hand, so I thought he might be thirsty.
The only evidence of his surprise is the twitching of his facial muscles. A heartbeat passes before he takes the offered cup. “Thank you.” He sips. I watch his throat work and wish I had the courage to cross the barrier between us, stroke a finger down the smooth skin, feel the bunch of muscle.
Gradually, my eyes adjust to the surrounding dark. The difference in atmosphere is jarring. Outside is peace, solitude. Inside Terry’s place, it’s full of noise. Judging by the round of disappointed groans I hear, I’m guessing Argentina scored.
My attention never leaves Kellan’s face. I wonder about the emotion he’s feeling. Anger is my first guess. My second would be anxiety, though I’ve never seen it on him. Myself, I have a flare up every so often, mostly when I’m afraid my teammates will discover how different I am from them. Soccer isn’t my life. It’s no longer my passion. It’s not my identity.
If I don’t fit in with the team, then where do I fit in? Where is my place? I’m too much of a coward to find out, so I hide behind my flimsy mask.
“You didn’t want to come here,” I state, having not the slightest clue as to why. Kellan has always been the life of the party. He is first to plan something and last to leave. Sometimes, I think there’s too much of him.
He tilts his head toward me a little. The backyard has his attention for the moment. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
“So then why are you here?”
A humorless laugh. It raises the hair on the back of my neck, because I’ve never heard that sound come out of his mouth before. “In case you haven’t noticed, my brother is an asshole.”
I want to smile, but Kellan looks so pissed I know it’s not the reaction he wants. He’s as remote as the stars. I’ve been stoking this fire the last six months. A fantasy of him, me. In bed, and out of it. I’d be happy to start with a touch. Hell, a look. But he never looks at me. Doesn’t matter what I do or say, how hard I try. I’ve been friend-zoned, hard. I won’t give up though. If I’ve done all this work to build my persona for this long, it has to pay off somehow.
“Sebastian is good at that,” I say. “It’s harmless, for the most part.”
“For you, maybe. Not to others.”
“It’s just fun.”
“Fun. Right.” He goes quiet.
Great. I’ve said something wrong.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks abruptly, staring out at the strip of sky visible beyond the trees.
There’s a difference in his tone. It holds an edge that wasn’t present a moment ago. I’m not sure what has changed. All I know is that something has. “Sure.”
He scratches a fingernail against the side of the plastic cup, contemplating. “Are you always an asshole, or do you just pretend to be an asshole to get other people to like you?”
