Running a hand over the back of my neck, I meet his gaze head-on. “You could say that.”
His eyes sharpen, and I already know where this conversation is headed. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and my sister, or are we just going to pretend I’m blind?”
There are only so many options in front of me right now.
One, I lie. Tell him there’s absolutely nothing going on, but that’s anything but the truth. Nothing has technically happened, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to.
Two, I tell him that I think I might, no, that I know I have feelings for his sister but that it’s…complicated.
Neither of those options sounds like a great idea at the moment.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I feel like it’s up to her. I care about her, but I’m not pushing anything on her. She’s doing her best, and I don’t want to add stress to that.”
Kai’s laugh is humorless. “You don’t get to decide that.”
I hold his gaze. “Neither do you.”
Silence.
Loaded with years of brotherhood and lines and loyalty.
Kai stares like he wants to argue, then something in his face shifts—exhaustion, fear, control slipping around the edges.
“She’s not a game,” he says roughly.
“I know,” I answer immediately. Because that is the one thing I know for sure.
Kai holds my gaze another beat, then looks away like it costs him.
“Just…don’t be stupid,” he mutters.
I swallow. “I’m trying.”
Kai nods once, stiff, like that’s all he can give. He disappears into his room. I stand there for a second, staring at the kitchen counter like it has the answers I want so badly to know.
My phone buzzes, and looking down, I see that it’s a forum notification.
Fuck.
I’m at a crossroads. I don’t want to disappear on her, but at the same time, I can’t help but want to explore what is standing right in front of me. Another part of me is starting to notice the similarities between them, but I couldn’t be that lucky.
Out of so many students at PCU, how could it possibly be her?
I’m not sure, but I’m also terrified to find out.
19
HARLOW
The next few days pass in a blur, like I’m moving through water that muffles everything except what my mind chooses to fixate on.
I go to class. Same seats. Same pens lined up neatly beside my notebook. I take notes in careful handwriting and answer a question once, and my voice doesn’t shake, and I feel a tiny spark of pride that I was able to do that.
I eat.
That part is still a negotiation, but it’s…simpler. That doesn’t mean it’s easy; it’s just less sharp around the edges. I anchor myself to small things: plain foods, familiar routines, sentences I repeat to myself like a mantra.
One thing at a time.
