“Sorry,” I add quickly. “That was—I’m tired. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t.” His voice is firm. “Don’t apologize.”
We drive in silence for another minute. Two. I’m staring out the window again, mortified, wishing I could go back and just sayI liked knocking down pinslike a normal person.
“Can I ask you something else?” Brody says finally.
Oh no. Here it comes. “I think you’re reaching your contractual limit soon, so choose wisely.”
He chuckles, his lips quirking in that very Brody way. “I don’t remember that in the contract.”
“Ah, well, it’s in the fine print. I had my people add it in,” I say, waving a hand flippantly.
“Oh, I see. Well then, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“What’s the question?”
“Your family.” He pauses, and I can feel him choosing his words carefully as the mood changes again. “Your parents. The way they—” He stops. Starts again. “Your mom redirected every conversation back to Maya tonight. Five times during dinner. Your dad barely acknowledged the decorations you did. And you just—took it. Like you’re used to it.”
My chest constricts.
“How long has it been like that?”
I still, my heart lurching into my throat. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he noticed it, or that I’m so used to it I didn’t.
“My entire life?” And now I sound pitiful. Just toss my pathetic bones on the pile of unpaid bills and send me off in a blaze and call it good at this point. “It’s not intentional. Patricia is my stepmom. My real mom died when I was three—car accident. I don’t even remember her. Dad married Patty about a year later, and she came packaged with Devon and Maya, who were in elementary school. Devon was already playing hockey.Maya was in ballet, then drama and…you know, a star. I sort of tagged along behind.”
“Chloe.”
The way he says my name—it’s suddenly too much. We’ve jumped off the deep end, from the safe shallows of bowling and fake dates into a deep, dark drop-off. And I so want to trust him. But this is too much too soon, and he’s not my boyfriend. Not really.
“Really, Brody, it’s okay.” I aim for a gentle shutdown. “I’ve gotten used to being a little…invisible.”
The car rolls to a stop, the red from the traffic light pouring through the windshield, and Brody looks at me, his lips pressed tight. “You are not invisible.”
My throat closes up completely.
“Not to me.”
The light turns green, and Brody drags his gaze away as we start moving again, and I try to jumpstart my brain back into survival mode. Air, Chloe. You need air to live.
“What about you?” I manage finally, desperate to change the subject before I do something mortifying like start crying. “What about your family? You never talk about them.”
He stiffens slightly. I notice because I’m hyperaware of everything about him right now.
“Not much to talk about.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He glances at me, surprised. Then almost smiles. “Fair enough.”
Another long pause. I wait.
“My mom died when I was fourteen,” he says finally. “Cancer. My dad’s—” He stops. “Well, I told you all about his stuff. We’re not close.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Not your fault.” He pulls up to a stop sign, then continues through the quiet neighborhood. “Point is, I get the family stuff. I get wanting to be someone other than who they made you.”
