Age 16
The basketball bounces off the rim, bounces hard on the concrete drive, and rolls towards the edge of the yard. I don’t chase it.
Tucker’s saying something, laughing under his breath about Kit and Jude, but it’s background noise. I don’t hear much over the low growl of the approaching engine. A beat-up sedan slows at the end of the driveway, then pulls in. Jude fucking Michaels leans across the passenger seat, pushing the door open. Kit steps off the porch, Brett trailing a few steps behind him, both of them cast in a soft gold light from the porch lamp and the setting sun. Kit hesitates, hand wrapped around one of the posts on the handrail. His eyes flick toward me, just for a second.
I don’t move.
Brett says something I can’t hear and claps a hand on Kit’s shoulder, smiling too wide. He does the ‘I’m watching you’ finger to eye movementat Jude, pointing to him where he sits like a smug bastard behind the wheel. Kit gives a nod that seems to be more for himself than anyone and slips into the passenger seat.
The car reverses out of the drive.
I track it with my eyes.
It's not until the car is long out of sight that I feel Brett’s presence beside me. He doesn’t say anything. Just raises his hand andsmacksme lightly on the back of the head.
“What the hell?” I flinch and glare at him.
“Idiot,” he mutters, not looking at me.
Then he walks off, cutting across the grass towards the house. Tucker is aiming up a shot and yells about sucking today when it misses.
I just stand there.
It’s not jealousy. It's not. I don’t even know what it is. But my chest is tight, and I’m not ready to go back to the game.
Not yet.
Brett doesn’t flinch when the door bangs shut; he’s too busy pacing the living room. One hand tugging through his hair, the other holding his phone like he might hurl it through a window.
Or at my face.
I grab a sport drink from the fridge and try to ignore the way Brett is huffing like he just finished a run.
“He text you?” he finally asks, voice too casual to be real with his current state.
“No. Why would he? He’s on adate.” I sit at the kitchen island, twist the cap off, and pretend like the sound of the plastic in my grip fills the silence.
Brett scoffs. “Right. Because obviously we’re notbothdying to know how his little date with Jude motherfucking Michaels is going.”
I look up after a second. “What’s your problem, dude?”
He stops pacing, spinning to glare at me. “My problem? My problem is that you stood there and pretended like it didn’t gut you to see him get in that car. Myproblemis that Kit looked like someone carved his insides out with a goddamn spoon. That’s my problem.”
I bristle, looking down at the bottle in my hands. “He can date whoever he wants.”
Brett laughs, cold. Totally unfamiliar sound coming from him. “Hecan, sure. Doesn’t mean hewantsto. Look at me right now and tell me you don’t care.”
I look toward the door but drag my eyes to him. I open my mouth, but…
“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with mock disbelief. “You’re going to pretend you don’t see it.”
“Seewhat?” I snap.
“That you’re dense,” he fires back. “That you’re so emotionally constipated, you’ve convinced yourself you’re doing him a favor or some shit by being distant and neutral and fucking weird. When really? You’re just being a coward.”
“Back off, Brett.”
“No,” he says. “Because I’m not letting you play dumb anymore. And also?Also?Fuck you for bringing Delaney over here again. When are you going to stop using her as a shield, huh? But even her sitting there wasn’t stopping the way the wind was knocked out of you when he left.”
