“Yeah it is,” Brad said. “Look, I know you only dragged the poor guy along to make me jealous, and it worked, okay? I’m jealous. I amseethingwith jealousy, have been since the second I saw with the Big Friendly Giant.”
I wrinkled my nose at that description. Not that it was inherently rude, but I knew Bradmeantit as rude.
Morgan didn’t deserve this.
“Yeah?” I asked, not really interested in continuing the conversation. I couldn’t really afford to fight with Brad right now—he was the only support I had—but I didn’t like him talking about Morgan. Especially likethat.
“Yeah, I mean, shit, Devin.” Brad gestured vaguely one-handed, holding his ground as someone else swerved around him on the narrow gravel road. “Ifthat’sa suitable replacement, what did you think of me?”
I swallowed down a response. If we got into a fight, I’d cry. If I cried in front of Brad, there was a distinct possibility I’d die of shame.
“But I get it now,” Brad went on. “And I’ve been thinking over the weekend, y’know, that I’d be willing to give you a second chance.”
He was willing to give me a second chance.
Brad waswillingto givemea second chance? What the hell made him think he had the right?
“You’re willing to give me a second chance,” I repeated, toneless.
“Sure, I mean, you’re still cute as hell, and now that you’re taking your life seriously, I think we could be great for each other. A real power couple.”
The worst part wasn’twhathe was saying, but the way he said it, with this vacuum salesman smile, like it was the most generous offer anyone had ever been on the receiving end of.
“Taking my life seriously,” I repeated again.
“Yeah, with the competition, I mean. You’ve trained hard for this and you’re not giving up like those losers back there. You’re not letting your dead-weight boyfriend hold you back. God, was he even your boyfriend, or did you just drag him along for my sake?” Brad laughed.
My stomach turned.
I had. I’d dragged Morgan along because of Brad, and now I waslosinghim because of Brad. Because of what Brad thought.
Brad, who thought my friends werelosersfor choosing not to risk their lives for a competition they could just as easily compete in next year. Brad who thought Morgan was dead weight. Brad who thought Iwanteda second chance with him.
Why the fuck did I care what Brad thought?
Sowhatif he thought I was unambitious, doomed to live a boring life in obscurity, as though the only possible way to be happy was to win a kayaking medal?
I was going to be sick. I’d walked away from Morgan—I’dsnappedat Morgan—because ofwhat Brad thought.
Because I’d let what he thought of me influence whatIthought of me.
Morgan never criticized. He loved my tattoo—which Brad hated—and he’d been delighted by my piercings, he liked that I was tiny, he called meperfect.
No one else had ever said I was perfect. And I knew I wasn’t—I’dprovedI wasn’t this morning—but Morgan already knew that, too. He’d seen me screw up. He’d seen me bruised and sore, he’d seen me with a cold wiping snot on my sleeve like a barbarian, he knew I fought with Aiden and Kieran sometimes, the stupid little fights brothers have, and he knew I’d been wrong sometimes, too.
But he’d still called me perfect.
And I could’ve kept him.
And I’d lost him over what someone who didn’t thinkanythingof me thought.
“He was never really my boyfriend,” I confessed as we pulled into the makeshift parking lot set aside for competitors.
“Knew it.” Brad grinned. “You may not have the greatest taste, but you’d never sink that low.”
“He was never really my boyfriend,” I repeated, louder this time. “But I wish he was, and I’ve wished he was since before you dumped me,” I finally admitted.
I would never,everhave cheated on Brad, but there were times when we were still dating when Iknew. I knew Morgan would be kinder to me, better to me.
