“Shewas,” I admit. “But…I don’t know. Things have been… changing? Kate’s been going through a rough time, and I just wanna be there for her.”
The oven chimes from down the hall.
Mom pats my shoulder, then stands with a small smile. “Admirable quality, hon. Just don’t make too many nests.” She leaves the room.
Tuck’s head flops to the side. “Nests? Kate’s a bird now?”
A tired laugh puffs out of me, but Jules looks equally confused. Suddenly, I long for the optimism and simplicity of my seven-year-old self. Before I understood the gravity of what it meant to be abandoned.
Ortoabandon.
The thought jolts a shiver through me.
If I give up on Kate, am I no better thanhim?
thirty-two
PRESENT DAY
KATE
The treadmill flies beneath my feet as I sprint. Sweat courses down my body, across my black sports bra and leggings, but I only run faster.
No matter how many times I jack up the speed, the comfortable numbness I seek is nowhere to be found. There’s a few people dotting the row of treadmills beside me, but Pulse Fitness is almost empty.
Granted, it’s almost midnight on a Friday.
My two French braids bounce across my shoulder blades as I run. I try to forget the distant look in Brandon’s eyes this morning as we worked silently inside that stupid office. He tried to mask whatever he was feeling beneath his cocky smirk, but it didn’t work.
Either I’m getting better at reading him, or I’ve finally cracked Brandon Roberts.
I curse myself and run faster. Roping him into my ugly family dynamics was a terrible idea. Utilizing him as a shield from Hopefully Yours was every bit as unfair. I don’t know what I was thinking. All I knew was that a breath of fresh air stood across that parade route, and I threw myself at him.
Pathetic.Selfish.Disappointing.
Now I’ve ruined whatever was mending between us. I know I can’t rekindle our relationship without likely breaking his heart again—something I adamantly refuse to do now that I know what he’s been through—but we could still stay friends, couldn’t we?
I’m shocked by the impact of that thought. Of how much Iwantto be friends with Brandon. The desperate need to keep him in my life—in a strictly platonic way, of course. But it’s ruined now.
Rivers of sweat pour from my hairline. I smack the emergency stop button on the treadmill, snatch my sweat towel, and stalk toward the hall. Anger bubbles over my sadness, and I let it.
I’m pissed at my parents, pissed atmyself.
I want to hit something.
So I make a pit stop at the front desk where Levi thankfully is not and check out a set of black boxing gloves. These ones have velcro so I can tighten them fairly easily myself. I’ve already got one glove on as I shove open the door to the boxing area.
I freeze across the threshold, surprise paralyzing my body.
A very bare-chested Brandon rains down punches on the farthest punching bag from me. His tan torso dips and flexes as he throws blow after blow like it’s been choreographed. Sweat drips from the tips of his hair. The room is otherwise empty, and I still have one foot out the door.
I could leave. Pretend I never saw him. Pretend I don’t feel this pang of longing.
Tears spring to the surface, but I clench my jaw.
Despite the desperate need urging my legs to run to him, I refuse. I can’t—I won’t—take Brandon to Marisol Bay. The goodness in this man is raw and real. My family doesn’t deserve him anymore than he deserves to be exposed to their toxicity.
I shift to escape when I hear my name panted from across the room.
