He turns fully towards me, brows lifting. “Brody.”
I flop back against the headboard with a groan. “He hates me. Like, actually, really hates me. For no good reason other than I beat him once when we were in high school and maybe, possibly felt him get hard. I never told anyone. But he’s been such a dick to me and there’s all this bullshit with Pierce Jamison, and I just—snapped. I shoved him and he shoved me and then…” I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t even know. It escalated. I held him against a wall, and said some things. And then he… reacted. And I reacted to him reacting, and now my brain is a fucking pretzel.”
Davis stares. Then, unexpectedly, he huffs a laugh. A small, broken one, but real. “Jesus Christ. So, what exactly did you do to him? Because my brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders andI’m pretty sure this is the most I’ve tried to process since before rehab.”
I sigh. “I… sort of… um… Overpowered him and said some weird, humiliating type stuff about him being hard. And then I made him come. But in a mean way.”
There’s a long beat of silence where I stare at the ceiling and pretend I can rewind time and never open my mouth. Or maybe never do that to Beckett in the first place? But if I’m being honest with myself I didn’t hate it, but only because he seemed to like it.
He arches a brow. “You need a drink?”
“Not funny.”
“Too soon?”
“Fuck you, Davis.”
My brother chuckles, which, considering I haven’t heard him talk this much or laugh at all in a very long time, means that maybe there’s a silver lining to this awkwardness.
“So, he liked it?”
My face burns. “I… don’t know. Maybe. Yes? I mean, he came. But does that really mean anything? And he also might have been crying? I don’t know. No? Fuck, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
“Probably not,” he says, grimacing, “but here we are.” He nudges my shoulder with the controller. “Have you checked on the guy?”
“What?”
“You know, if you think he liked it but you’re feeling guilty, maybe you should call him or send him a text or something. Check in on him.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “What would I even say? ‘Hey man, sorry I humiliated you into coming all over yourself’?”
Davis snorts. “Why not?”
“Well for one, I don’t have his number,” I say. “And I don’t think he’d appreciate me asking anyone else for it. He’s the worst kind of closet case.”
He smirks faintly, the closest thing to his old self I’ve seen since he got out of the hospital. “Fine. But Brody? Guys like that don’t just… take it like that. I’m sure if he hated it, he would’ve swung. Hard.”
I huff out a heavy breath. “Maybe.”
The knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. Not even a little.
“Did I hear you mention Pierce Jamison?”
“Yeah. I think his older brother Levi was in your grade. Pierce is a year under me.”
Davis nods unhappily. “I hated that guy. He’s giving you shit?”
I sigh. “Just more of the same crap from grade school. Leaving empty cans around, calling me Miller Time, making stupid jokes. Annoying, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s bullshit,” he mutters, voice slurring around the edges with exhaustion. He goes quiet again. Too quiet. I wish I hadn’t said anything.
Davis struggled with the bullying a lot more than I did. Whereas I was able to find a way and laugh things off to redirect the attention, Davis sank into it. He was sensitive and would lash out. He’s always felt things so much bigger than I did.
His hands are shaking.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
He flinches like I slapped him. “I wish everybody would stop asking me that.” He sounds sharp, but the strength behind it is threadbare.
