“Then I’ll walk you back, but…um, we need to talk.”
Nick’s brows furrowed, but he nodded his head toward their route home.
Charlie took another deep breath, and when he tried todisentangle his hand from mine, I held on tight. “You’re perfect, Charlie,” I whispered, feeling him quake with nerves. “Absolutely perfect, and I love you. Always.”
CHAPTER 26
CHARLIE
It took a lot not to run back to Sage andask her to come with us. Nick and I were walking down Belmont Way, but I didn’t really know how to start—afraid that if I opened my mouth, my insides would find their way out. So it was my brother who spoke first. “You wanted to talk.”
I nodded.
“So talk.”
“Okay.” I glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. It was pretty cold out, so most people were probably indoors, but you never knew. I took a long breath. “Nick, there’s nothing going on between me and Sage.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “If only that were true.”
“And there never will be,” I added. “Trust me.”
Nick picked up his pace, speeding past the chapel. “Why the hell should I? She told me the same thing, but here you guys are, forfouryears now, making it clear to everyone that the only reason you were put on the earth is to be with each other.”
Shit, I thought. Suddenly I hated myself, realizing Nick believed what the rest of Bexley believed about me and Sage.I’d always thought he was immune. Why? Because he was my brother?
God, that made it worse.
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t love me that way.” I felt the back of my neck heat up, but I forced myself to say it: “And Ican’tlove her that way. It isimpossiblefor me to think of her like that.”
“Then you’re messed up, Charlie.” He gave me a look. His eyes were hard, not like Nick at all. “Because she’s the best girl there is.”
I stopped walking—heart clenching, and everything else going numb.Messed up, I heard again.You’re messed up, Charlie.
“Are you coming?” he called out, now a few yards ahead of me.
I didn’t move. “Do you remember our last soccer game?”
Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and backtracked. “What? Like in eighth grade?”
“Yes.”
“I guess.” He came to a stop next to me. “The one where you got your yellow card?”
“Yes.”
“It should’ve been a red one. You kicked that kid’s ass.”
“I know.”
“So what about it?”
My throat felt like it was about to close up. “Do you rememberwhyI shoved him?”
“Yeah, because he was saying something about you wanting to…” Nick trailed off, working the rest out in his head.
During that game, I’d been told to tail the other team’s best player, and unsurprisingly the kid wasn’t too thrilled about it.“Why’re you soobsessedwith me?” he asked all throughout the first half, and I ignored him. But things escalated in the second; he was frustrated because I kept intercepting the passes meant for him. Then I accidentally pushed him, and he grabbed my hand and yelled, “If you want to hold my hand, all you have to do is ask!”
And that’s when Ireallypushed him. I remembered Dad asking about it after the game, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. So it was Nick who answered, saying, “It was stupid, Dad. The kid was making it seem like Charlie wanted to hold hands with him, like Charlie’s gay or something.”
