“She cares about him, Kit. If I didn't need to be here tonight, I would have been there, too.”
Because Bowen ran, but he didn't abandon. He still let people love him. Still made friends. Still reached out for support. Except for me.
He didn't reach out.
Didn't call.
And still, he won't call. Won't text.
As quickly as it fled, the exhaustion breaks through the temporary dam to swamp me. I'm not sure I've ever been more tired in my life.
And angry.
He let me ask about Delaney. He let me think the worst.
He also looked at me confused every time I brought her up.
Because of course, I should know who my own brother is in love with. Who my brother has been dating for a whole year.
I barely taste my dinner. I nod when it's expected and force smiles for my parents. But I excuse myself as soon as I can with a hug and a happy birthday to my mom.
“Next year, I'm getting you double the gifts for being a terrible son this year. The last many years.”
She shakes her head, patting my cheek. “Nothing could beat you coming home. It's the best gift.”
I don't feel like a gift as I trudge up the stairs. I feel like a coward.
I isolated myself in a van for two years to gain some damn control over myself and my life. Yet I feel so out of control.
Out of touch.
And I'm pissed about it.
Part of me wants to fall into bed and let sleep take me for a while, just to get a break from my head.
The larger, louder part of my brain has me pacing my bedroom. Huffing like a mad cow, racking fingers through my hair and glaring at the photos of Bowen on my wall.
Why can’t he just tell me what he wants? Why can’t he reach out?
And why the fuck didn't I?
Tucker being with Delaney was the cherry on top of the emotional sundae life has been over the last two days. I'm about ready to screech “too many scoops!”
I don't know if it's annoyance with myself or Bowen that has me pulling my phone out of my pocket. Maybe it's the delirious exhaustion, but I swipe away from our empty text thread and hit call instead.
It rings three times before the line connects. Other than a sigh from the other end, it's quiet. There's something uniquely intimate about hearing him breathe in my ear over the phone. Which is bizarre, considering what we did yesterday. I'm fucking hopeless about him.
That pisses me off, too.
His silence is something I've been dealing with for years, and I can't take it right now.
“Say something,” I snap, pacing the same line back and forth.
“Tucker finally tell you?”
“Oh, you mean that he's been with Delaney for a year? Yeah, he did. I'm just wondering why the hell you didn't say something.” My voice turns to a hiss by the end. “You…you let me think…”
Bowen sighs again, and I can hear the soft rustle of fabric. I can't help but picture him in the sheets we shared last night.
