That's when it vibrates.
Brett pauses mid-laugh. “Oooh,” he sing songs, snatching it from my grip before I can react. “Who is texting my future husband?”
“Brett…give thatback.”
He lights up when he sees the name. “Jude?” He screeches. “Jude Michaels?Kit! This isespionage!”
“You don’t even know what that means.” I lunge for the phone, but he rolls away, holding it above his head. “Give me my phone!”
“Does Jude want a piece of my hubby?” Brett gasps dramatically. “Wait. Is thisrevenge flirting? Because I’d allow it. But I demand a formal apology and a duel at dawn…”
“What are you even talking about?” I hiss, still scrambling over him. He’s snickering too hard to hold the phone properly.
“Jude. The guy who pushed me off the swing in second grade and broke my arm?” Bowen asks, sounding bored. He still doesn’t bother looking up from his phone except for maybe a glance. Long enough to show me how unimpressed he is with my guy choices. I want to flip him off.
“You should have held on tighter.”
“Oooo, victim blaming,” Brett mock whispers, looking between his brother and I with a fire burning in his eyes that I very muchdo notlike.
I roll my eyes and tuck my phone safely in my back pocket. “We were all impulsive kids. He didn’t mean for you to break your arm, Bowen.”
“Jude, the guy that got pissed when he didn’t make varsity football sophomore year like I did, so he tripped me on the bleachers,” he continues, ignoring me.
Oh.
I smile brightly. “You barely fell.”
Bowen looks at me for longer than he has in what feels like months. It only amounts to maybe twenty seconds. Twenty seconds I both love and hate, and it feels like a physical blow when he sniffs, looking away. “Let's go, Tucker.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
Tucker groans but follows. Brett throws me a look and mimes an exaggeratedyikesface before whispering, “Someone’s got his compression shorts in a twist.”
I don’t laugh.
Not this time.
Because something’s different. That wasn’t the Bowen I know. Not the one who used to shove me into the lake and laugh when I swore revenge. Not the one who’d pull me aside to ask if I was okay without actually saying the words.
This version of him, cool and unreadable, feels like a stranger.
And I don’t know if I should be relieved…or heartbroken.
I stare at my phone long after they’re gone, screen lit with Jude’s text.
Jude: wanna hang?
Jude: Just drive around or something. No pressure.
I should say no. I don’t evenlikehim like that.
But I need…something.
Something outside of Brett’s matchmaking and Bowen’s quiet, unreadable moods. I need to think. I need to breathe.
Me: sure. when?
Jude: Now?
