“At least tell me when you get home,” Wes says.
I ignore him again because if I speak, I’ll start to cry.
The unread message on my phone should make me happy. Seeing Roman’s name pop up has become my favourite part of every day, yet right now, it makes my heart turn to cement in my chest. Wes’ words blare through my mind on repeat.
I have been desperate for love. Is that why I’m with Roman when I know our relationship can lead to problems for not only us, but those we care about?
Not wanting Wes to hear my call, I start down the sidewalk while pulling Aubrey’s contact up. She answers on the third ring.
“What’s up? Tell me the party wasn’t as big of a fail as I’ve been imagining. The only thing that kept me alive while listening to Beck explain the different types of espresso was the hope that at least one of us was having a good time. I still don’t know how you put up with this guy. Is it really just because he’s pretty?”
My lip quivers at the sound of her voice, the joke speeding right over my head. “Can you come get me?”
“What did he do?” she asks, all the teasing sucked out of her voice, leaving it frigid.
“Quickly, if you can.”
A pause. “Did you mean to call me?”
“Who else would I have called?” I whisper, closing my eyes tightly.
“I’m going to kick your brother’s ass, Elle. You donotcry over a man. Do you understand me?”
There’s muffled cursing before I hear a familiar, deep voice somewhere near Aubrey. There aren’t words spoken that I canhear. It’s like she’s wrapped her hand around her phone to keep me from listening, which means I’m most likely right about who I heard.
Roman is at Kellan’s house right now. For some reason, he’s there while I’m here, wishing that we were both somewhere else entirely.
The sickly sweet scent of icing clings to the inside of my nose as I sniffle and stare out at the long, curved driveway. I didn’t grow up here, but rather in a house that didn’t have a driveway or a garage. It was a two-bedroom split-level bungalow with a yellow-tiled kitchen and a matching tub in the bathroom we all shared.
Wes gave this place to our parents, and this is how they repaid him.
I almost laugh.
“Be there soon,” Aubrey says before the line goes dead.
I squeeze the phone, imagining crushing it in my grip before I lower it. My brother’s watching me. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he isn’t going to let me stand out here alone when the alternative is heading back inside with our parents. Leaving before I do isn’t an option, either, considering how he was raised. He might not like our father or have even an ounce of respect for him, but he still raised him to look out for women, regardless of the situation.
Thinking about that now has the laugh I squashed a moment ago roaring up my throat. What a fucking hypocrite.
Respecting women . . . that’s rich.
The following ten minutes go by in a suffocating silence. I check Aubrey’s shared location another five times before giving up and walking down the driveway. She hasn’t moved from Kellan’s house, but there’s no way she isn’t already on her way, if not a few minutes away by now.
Wes makes no move to approach me from wherever it is he’s hiding out. The gate at the bottom is already open when I slip through and throw my middle finger up at the security camera peering down at me. Nobody ever watches that footage, but fuck does it feel good anyway.
After a second longer, I lower my hand and spin toward the road.
My feet cross awkwardly at the ankle when I notice the car parked down the street. The headlights are bright even in the evening light as they gleam into my eyes. I blink and glance to the left at the same time the driver’s door opens.
“My brother—” I start before Roman’s taking quick, uncontrolled steps in my direction.
“I knew the risk when I came.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. Looking behind me again, I’m fully prepared to see Wes running like a madman toward us. When I don’t see him, I whip my head back around and try to piece together why Roman’s staring at me like he’s afraid I’m going to pop like a bubble in a harsh wind.
The track jacket he has zipped up to his pecs rustles when he reaches out with a tattooed hand and fists the hair at my nape. His body meets mine before he’s tipping my head back and kissing me so hard my eyes refuse to close. His are drooping, but not completely closed, like maybe he doesn’t want to look away yet.
I fist his jacket and tug him closer, already aware that’s not possible. Still, he lets me yank him around as our lips part and slowly separate. His free hand travels all over my body, from my neck to each arm and down my front. It’s not sexual, but more clinical. When he stills, he clamps his teeth together and delves his fingers deeper into my hair despite their tight hold, anchoring himself to me.
