“Since you’re already crying,” he starts, eliciting a scowl. I’m not crying. I’mblinking. “I figure now’s as good a time as any to apologize to you.”
I add glaring to my scowling. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I assert.
“I do,” he disagrees. “I’ve spent the last couple of weeks thinking about it and, truthfully, beating myself up about it. Poem was right. I knew you were struggling and instead of helping you myself, I hoisted you onto her knowing full well that she was a big part of what you were struggling with. Even before I caught you lobotomizing yourself, Almond and I knew that you weren’t doing well, and I didn’t do anything to help.” He frowns, nose scrunching. “I thought I needed to let you work it out yourself. Give you enough time, and you’d realize how much you meant to us, you know? That you’d just wake up one day and figure out that we think the world of you without me ever having to say the words out loud.” He scoffs. “As if a person ever just woke up and knew they were loved, no outside affirmations needed. As if a person who felt unworthy of love was going to have an epiphany out of nowhere that, actually, theydodeserve the affection they’re working so hard to earn.” His hand fists around the neck of his beer bottle at the same time that mine fist at my side.
I blink, blink, blink, blink, blink.
“I know that you love me,” I say. “I’ve always known that you love me. You weren’t doing anything wrong by expecting me to accept it.”
“I was doing something wrong by expecting you to figure everything out on your own. I was taking the easy way out—the passive way out. I’m sorry for not doing the hard thing. I’m sorry for not helping you confront your fears and worries. I’m sorry for not being the brother that I should have been.”
There is only so much a man can blink, you know.
“Forgiven,” I declare. “You were doing what you thought was best, Wolfe. I don’t blame you. Truthfully, I don’t know if I would have been receptive to whatever help you might have tried to give me. In the end, though, it worked out exactly how it was supposed to work out. I believe that wholeheartedly. I’m… not mended, exactly, but I’m on my way to believing that I’m not quite so bad as I thought. I don’t know that I’ll ever fully believe that I’m worth all the effort and trouble I cause, but…” I trail off, head tilting toward Poem where she serves the customers I’m ignoring. “I’m learning that it’s not up to me to decide what I’m worth. I have to let the people around me make their own choices. All I can do is accept those choices or not—and when those choices are love? I’d be a fool to turn them away.”
He smiles, though not pleasantly. “I’m beginning to think we’re all fools one way or another.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But we’re learning and growing. Wisening up.” I squeeze his shoulder, then muss his white hair. “We’ll get there, Wolfy. Together. Like we’re meant to.”
“Together,” he agrees, swatting my hand away. “From now on. Always.”
“Always,” I agree. “From now on.”
Together.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
?
Emerson and Almond are book three, by the way.
Poem
“Emerson Wright, Iloveyou,” I declare, eyes wide as I take in the absolute wonder that is my home. “This is incredible,” I gush. “Gracious, you can’t even tell there wasn’t a floor here last week! And the walls! I can’t see the patchesat all.” I approach one of said walls, running my hand over its smooth, pale pink surface. “You matched my paint,” I breathe. I whirl and drop, placing both hands on the firm, solid,existingfloor. “You guys are magical miracle workers.Lookat this!”
Standing by the stairs, Emerson grins. “You’re satisfied?” he asks. “The floors aren’t the same as what you had before, but we sprung for a hardwood we thought would look good with your furniture and decorations. If it’s lighter than you want, we can restain it for you no problem. We’d just need a few more days.”
“It’s perfect,” I insist. “If you change a single thing, I’ll sue you.”
“How many times can you restain it before it starts costing you money outside of the special fund?” Fox asks, toeing at a board.
I stick my tongue out at him.
He huffs, and his ruffled feathers flash at me as his arms cross over the Blackwood Brew logo stretching across his chest.
“I live less than three minutes from you,” I remind him. “Not on the moon.”
“It might as well be the moon,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes. “You’re being rather dramatic, don’t you think?” Nevermind that I don’t love the distance being introduced, either, and am already turning cogs on how to get him to move in with me. Shouldn’t take much—a flutter of my lashes, maybe. But we all know I’m a drama princess. This sort of behavior is expected of me.
“I’m being incredibly dramatic,” Fox answers. “Because this is an incredibly dramatic situation, wherein you’re leaving me for what? Some hardwood floors? I have hardwood floors at the apartment.” He pokes at the wall. “I have pink walls, too. And plumbing that’s never rebelled against me of its own accord.”
Curiosity piqued, I perk. “Pink walls?” I ask. “Pink walls where?”
“I’ll show you if you stay with me another week,” he offers.
“Sold,” I agree. There’s only one room in the apartment that I still haven’t seen—Fox’s bedroom. It wouldn’t have taken much to sell me on an extended sleepover, even with the freezing nighttime temperatures, but a chance to see his mysterious bedroom? I am all the way sold.
