Just like that, any playfulness that might’ve been left in the air is gone. We all sit silently, wasting away in the awkwardness.
Eventually, Bastian forces out a long exhale. His hands come unclenched, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make lunch,” he announces. “Everyone hungry?”
I nod mutely. Sage just shrugs.
Bastian disappears into the kitchen without another word, leaving me alone with his brother in the most awkward silenceI’ve experienced since… the time I walked in on Bastian changing clothes in the office. Or, wait, since Patricia catching me with my boobs out post-elevator disaster. Or maybe since walking in on Yas and Zeke doing the nasty?
God, it’s been a bad couple weeks.
Sage wheels over to the entertainment center and picks up a controller. “You play?”
“Play what?”
He gestures at the massive TV. “Video games.”
“Oh. Um, not really? I mean, I’ve tried a few times, but I’m terrible.”
“Perfect.” He tosses me a controller. “I could use an easy win after that disaster.”
I catch it clumsily with my bandaged hands. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
We settle into an uneasy rhythm. I die repeatedly while Sage racks up kills with an ease and glee that’s honestly a little frightening.
“So,” he says after my fourth death in as many minutes, “you and Bastian, huh?”
I fumble the controller. “We’re not— It’s not?—”
“Relax. I’m not gonna make a big deal out of it.” He glances at me sideways. “Though you should probably know he’s been in awaybetter mood lately. Like, suspiciously better.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Usually, he’s all broody and asshole-ish. But the past week or so?” Sage shrugs. “Still broody, but less… I don’t know. Less of the barking.”
“Oh. That’s, uh… That’s nice.”
“Anyway,” Sage continues, “if you’re the reason for that, then cool. Just don’t hurt him, okay? He acts all tough, but he’s actually kind of a softie.”
I snort-laugh. “Bastian? A softie?”
“You’d be surprised.” His avatar executes a perfect headshot. “He pretends he doesn’t care about anything except work, but that’s bullshit. He cares too much. It’s his whole problem.”
From the kitchen comes the sound of chopping, steady and rhythmic. Maybe a little bit intense, too, though I might just be projecting.
“So you have to work with him, huh?” Sage asks. “What’s that like?”
“Nightmarish, most of the time.”
Sage coughs out a pleased laugh. “An honest woman. I like that.”
“Honest to a fault, unfortunately.”
“That’s better than the opposite,” he says as he puts several bullets through the head of my player on-screen. “I hate liars.”
I’m about to respawn when Sage abruptly pauses the game. He turns to me. “Go ahead and ask. I know you’re wondering.”
I blink at him. “Ask what?”
“Ask how I ended up in a wheelchair.”
