But I wish they would.
Rain falls on the car, the pitter-patter an echo that resonates deep within me. When I get to my apartment, it’s pouring. I make my way up the sidewalk, looking up at the building as if it’s foreign. I’ve only been gone barely a week, but somehow it feels like years. I manage to drag up all my luggage, and before I can get to the door, it opens, and I see my brother, dressed in his sweatpants, sans shirt, his silver chain glinting in the light. His eyebrows furrow as he narrows his gaze on me in surprise, and that’s the moment I lose it.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to grab my luggage and help me in the door. I barely get a response out before he’s dragging me in and pulling me into his arms.
I wrap my arms around him and come undone. He smells… different.
I can’t pick up where I’ve smelled this familiar scent before, but right now I don’t care. All I care is that I’m home. Where I belong.
Except it doesn’tfeellike home. Home feels far away.
When we break apart, he grabs my suitcases. “Why don’t you go grab fresh clothes, and I’ll get us some ice cream. We can watch the Eras tour together,” he says softly.
I must really be in the twilight zone if my brother’s offering to watch a Taylor Swift documentary with me. Or I must look worse than I feel. Still, I can’t deny his command, because right now, I think that’s exactly what I need.
My heart keeps racing. Keeps waiting. For that dramatic, sweeping gesture to hit, for my Prince Charming to come rescue me and tell me it’snotabout the money. That it never was.
But I know that’s not going to happen. I tear off my shirt and find a clean tee, grab myTTPDsweats and cardigan. The bright city lights shine in my bedroom window, and I wander over to it, peering out at the view.
In the distance, I swear I can see the boardwalk lights, blinking like a beacon; the memory calling me like the green light that beckoned to Gatsby.
I turn away, heading for the living room to find Noah on the phone.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He says, his voice low and deep.
I watch from my hallway, noting he looks cleaner. Put together. He’s not scruffy-faced or bleary-eyed. He looks…
Good. Better than I do, that’s for sure.
He looks up at me. “There’s, uh… some pizza in the fridge if you want it.”
“Nachos,” I murmur as I find my way to the couch, curling up into my cushions. They’re soft, but certainly not as soft as Aaron’s. I hate that.
“Nachos, okay—” he says, spinning around, looking for ingredients, but instead he ends up Door Dashing it instead, out of lack of patience, and I don’t fight him.
All I can do is focus on Taylor, her sparkling outfits, crooning out her songs. Noah and I share the nachos as I watch, losing myself to the songs.
And when Taylor brings out her guitar, those first notes of “All Too Well”filling the room, I close my eyes.
I stop the song, knowing I can’t continue.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, not bothering to ask if he’s staying because I don’t want him to leave. I’m not sure I could handle being alone right now. Noah doesn’t say a word as I head down the hall to my room. How can you mourn something you never had? How can you feel so deeply for something that wasn’t real?
Because it was real. For me.
I crawl into bed, the sounds of “All Too Well”faintly picking up again as he starts it back up. And as I close my eyes, the tears fall, because I do remember it all too well. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aaron
“What the fuck were you thinking?” my father growls as he follows me into the house, my mother hot on his trail.
“Lola, go to your room,” Aunt Shannon commands as Uncle Travis tries to tell my dad to calm down.
“But—”
“Listen to your mother, please…” Travis says with a sigh. Lola catches my gaze, her frown making me feel even more like shit.
