Bound to Be His ( The Archer Family 2)

He was going to live with his head held high.

Even if every other part of his body felt like it was slowly withering away.

Chapter 12

Matt Archer woke to the feeling of something soft smothering him and rubbing the coarse hairs on his forehead into his skin.

"What—" he tried, but his words were muffled by the pillow, and one down feather fell into his mouth.

"Morning, sunshine." His brother's voice greeted him loud and clear from the other side of the pillow, and then the darkness was replaced with blinding light and a crisp, cool wash of air.

"What the hell was that for?" Matt asked, slowly getting his bearings. He was on Derrick's couch, had crashed there after finally leaving the beach somewhere in the region of two in the morning.

At that point, he hadn't known where to go. He couldn't go back to the villa, to face Shay. Couldn't face his sister—his poker face wouldn't hold up much longer. And he couldn't be near Logan. Couldn't see the pity and shame that always etched his friend's face when the injury came up.

Which left only one place to go.

So, he'd gathered up his things and made his way into the city, to the little place he'd only visited once before.

"Old time’s sake."

"Gee, thanks." Matt speared a hand through his hair and looked around.

Even in the two years since his last visit, though, nothing much had changed about Derrick's apartment aside from the food in the fridge—and some part of Matt wondered if that had even changed all that much, either. It was plain. The walls were still the standard cream they'd probably been when Derrick had first moved in, and the tile floors were the same shade of terracotta. Other than that, nearly everything in the room matched in shades of beige and khaki and taupe—all second-hand or remainders from their old family home.

Matt put his feet up on the coffee table, and it nearly buckled.

"You got coffee?" Matt asked.

"Making it, you lazy bum. You stay on a guy's couch and don't even bother to make him breakfast? What kind of cheap date do you think I am?"

"The generous kind."

"Didn't you have a date of your own?" Derrick raised his eyebrows. "Or are you going to tell me why you two spent the whole night avoiding each other like the plague."

"We didn't—"

"You did." Derrick nodded as the coffee began to percolate behind him.

Matt got up and made his way over to the fridge, and then pulled out a carton of eggs. "Want some scrambled?"

"Only if you're washing up after," Derrick said.

"Lazy," Matt said, but searched around for the skillet, anyway.

"Don't change the subject." Derrick plopped two pieces of toast into a toaster that looked like it had come straight out of 1960. Matt was shocked the thing didn't have a hand crank to operate it.

"I'm not changing the subject. You said I should make you breakfast. You're the one who—"

"Cut the shit." Derrick pulled two mugs from the cabinet above his sink, skirting silently past Matt.

"Look, it's nothing. Our little thing was just for while we were on the island. We leave tomorrow. It's over."

"No, it's not."

"I'm telling you, it's over."

&nb