“Love is a risk,” Sebastian says. “Do you think I’d be with this guy right now if I hadn’t taken that risk?” He gestures to Aidan, who goes beet red. My brother, as if he can’t help himself, leans over to press a smacking kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek. The sight makes my heart hurt. I want that. Ihadthat.
“You don’t know what will happen unless you try.” This from Kellan.
“It just wasn’t meant to be,” I say. And that’s that.
“You should tell him how you feel.”
This silence is the greatest of all. It was Mav who had spoken, and it’s Mav who stares me right in the eye, a bit of life to his features. It’s been months since I’ve seen this much interest from him. His eyes are always sad these days, but there—a hint of determination. It brings lightness to my heart. I grip my fork tighter than before.
“Kaylie’s gone,” he murmurs, a small catch in his voice. His throat bobs. “I know that. But I never regretted telling her how I felt about her every chance I got. If you care about this guy, Noah, you should tell him. Before it’s too late.”
He returns to eating as if he didn’t just drop an emotional bomb at the dinner table.
I’m exhausted with the conversation. I still have to pack the rest of my things. I’m excited to start my internship, but my dull mood has overshadowed it somewhat. Things will improve, in time.
My head tells me this is for the best.
But my heart feels otherwise.
Chapter 28
Max
I don’t remember getting in my car that evening. I don’t remember turning it on, pulling out of my apartment complex, the twenty minutes on the road, and pulling into Noah’s apartment complex. The car is off, keys in my hand. It’s the middle of the night—early morning, rather. I couldn’t sleep. My conversation with Sebastian days earlier swam through my head, clouded my thoughts until the only thing I could think of was Noah.
Now I’m taking the stairs two at a time. Striding down the carpeted hallway, the lights overhead dim, the air smelling of laundry detergent. A fire burns inside me. Not sure if it’s elation from finally breaking through that forgiveness barrier, or fear that I’m too late.
Though it’s past midnight, I’m hoping Noah is up. I knock once and wait, burying my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Summer isn’t yet here. A few weeks more and I’ll be able to wear shorts again, but it’s still chilly enough to need a jacket.
Two minutes pass without a response. A light shines beneath the crack in the door, so he must be home. A second knock, more forceful. If he’s wearing headphones, he won’t be able to hear me.
After another few minutes, I begin to worry. Noah is anal enough that he wouldn’t leave the lights on to waste electricity. Unless he fell asleep while coding? That’s a possibility.
Suddenly, the handle turns. My heart soars. I’m fighting a grin when the door opens and I stare into Noah’s face. I’m already lunging forward, grabbing the front of his shirt, when he holds up a hand, a hard look in his eyes. “I’m not Noah.” Careful.
I blink. No, not Noah. He’s not wearing black. It’s Kellan wearing a garish-looking shirt with a peacock pattern, and dark jeans. He’s barefoot.
My hope plummets. “Hey.” I wave half-heartedly, unable to drudge up any excitement at seeing my teammate.
“Well, this is interesting.” Kellan, arms folded across his chest, regards me with interest. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. Last I heard, you hated my brother’s guts.”
He’s wrong. I don’t hate Noah, not even close. But sometimes hurt can feel so akin to hatred. I needed time, that’s all.
“I don’t hate Noah,” I explain, shutting the door behind me. “I’m here to talk to him. But first—”
I slam my fist into Kellan’s face.
His head snaps back. I hear the crack of his neck popping from the force. He stumbles, tripping over the corner of the rug and landing with a spectacular crash against the coffee table, books toppling onto his lap and a glass of wine spilling onto his shirt.
Kellan rolls onto his side with a groan. “Fuck, Max. That hurt.”
My anger spikes, then dulls. I’ve been wanting to do that since learning about the switch, but I hadn’t gotten the chance until now. “That was kind of the point.”
He looks down. “Oh, no. You prick. Look what you did to my shirt!” He moans as if the world is ending. Which, for Kellan, it probably is.
A huge copper stain currently spreads across his right shoulder and down his chest, the rest of the drink dripping from the table onto the floor. “Honestly, I think the shirt is an improvement.”
“Ass,” he growls, grabbing a blanket off the couch and trying to mop the color from his shirt. It doesn’t work. For some reason, that makes me chuckle. I quite enjoy taking Kellan down a peg.
