At least, not that I could remember.
My brother had moved out of the house by the time I was old enough to form memories, and now… he wasn’t exactly making me breakfast every morning at his place. I honestly couldn’t even figure out when he ate, though I knew he did. He had a fridge and stuff in the studio, a mini-kitchen. But I never saw him or heard him in the main kitchen.
And at my parents’ place… Dad was up and out the door, pretty much every morning of his life, before the crack of dawn, to hit the golf course or go for a run. And Mom was always brunching with her lady friends or hitting an early morning spin class. Neither of them ever had breakfast with me.
And that was when they were in town.
When I got up in the morning, at their house, the kitchen was cold, empty and dark. If I was lucky, there was cereal and milk to help myself to.
“These are amazing,” I told Mr. Delacroix as I dug into my pancakes, because I knew he’d made them. Chocolate chip pancakes were his specialty.
“Help yourself. There’s more on the warmer.”
“Dad, she doesn’t want to gain ten pounds over breakfast.” Angie handed me a bowl of sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon. I put some on my plate.
Mrs. Delacroix clucked. “It wouldn’t hurt. You girls don’t need to worry about weight. Worry about important things, like educating yourselves and enjoying being alive.” She set a tray of scrambled eggs in front of me with a smile and squeezed my shoulder.
And I could see the glimmer of concern in her eyes. TheWe’re-here-for-you-if-you-ever-need-uslook she’d given me several times since I’d checked into hotel Delacroix.
I didn’t know what Angie had told them, if anything. But I supposed they’d maybe heard me crying in Elle’s room at some point over the last three days.
Angie caught my eye and kinda rolled her eyes behind her mom’s back.
But she really didn’t know how lucky she was.
* * *
As soon as breakfast was done, I helped clean up, despite Mrs. Delacroix’s protests. Then I took off. I had to do it quick—before I chickened out, and instead begged Angie’s parents to adopt me.
Angie hugged me goodbye at the front door, and as I headed out to my car, it all really hit me. This crushing, heavy feeling of carrying way too much shit around, all alone. All the feelings I’d been secretly harboring for so long, for Xander.
I hadn’t even told my friends the half of it. Even Angie didn’t quite know the extent of the feels I had for that man.
I wanted to pretend I didn’t feel for him. I’d tried to pretend.
I’d tried to hate him.
I’d tried to stop wanting him, too.
None of it worked.
It never worked.
Yes, he was older than me. Maybe too old for me in some people’s eyes. Maybe in his eyes, too.
But that didn’t change how I felt about him.
How I’d felt about him for a long, long time.
And every time I saw him and was faced with the fact that I couldn’t have him, all over again… it just hurt more.
When I got into my car, I pulled out my phone. It hurt when my brother rejected me, too, but I wanted to see him. I needed him.
Didn’t that count for anything?
Why did our relationship always have to be on his terms?
I’d messaged him on Monday morning to let him know I was at Angie’s and might stay a few days. And to apologize for taking off on a work day.
