She blinks at me. “I’m going to need more information. And possibly wine.” She stands up and heads to the kitchen, deciding, “A lot of wine.”
So, I tell her. I dump it all on the table. The last month—hell, the last year. I tell her about the party and Skylar. I tell her about canceling Gwendolyn. I even tell her about the sex—how at first it was rough and maybe questionably consensual. How she got under my skin, and how I think I got under hers. How slowly, we became more than enemies, more than competitors. How we became partners, and then possibly even friends. At some point, lovers. And then, with my head in my hands, I tell her how it all imploded.
It feels like something gnarled and parasitic is being pulled out of me with every breath I take to get the words out. I wonder if maybe this isn’t the best thing I can do; just exorcise it from myself, lay it bare, let someone else do the judging for once.
When I finish, Hollis has a sad, pitying gleam in her eyes.
“So, I should apologize, right? But where do I even start? Do I apologize for a month ago? Six months? Five years? Do I take the blame for what Heston and the guys did at school? For the fact she thinks I used her?”
Hollis has waited patiently for me to stop. Her wine glass is empty. “If I’m reading this right—which... god knows, I may not be—I think that it’s less about apologizing and more about proving to her that you really do care for her. That you see her. And that you’re not ashamed to be with her.”
“I’m not,” I insist, feeling the first spark of defiance in a long time. “I only wanted to protect her.”
“You can’t protect someone by keeping them a secret. Own your feelings, Hamilton. Actions speak louder than words, you know this.”
I think miserably back to Buster’s words that night. ‘What you’ve done is all that matters.’
My phone buzzes and Xavier’s name flashes on the screen. Hollis retrieves it from the table and purposefully hands it to me. “Talk to your friend, Hamilton. This wallowing thing you’re doing? I get it. But the sooner it ends, the better you’ll feel. Clean up and get some fresh air.”
I frown at the phone. “And then what?”
“If you want her, figure out how to get her, bro.” She gives my shoulder one last pat. “It’s the only way.”
So, going to Gwendolyn’s house was a mistake.
This is made clear to me when her brother, Brayden, intercepts me before I can even step a foot off the driveway.
“Nope,” he says, thrusting a finger at my car. “You’re going to want to get back in there and drive away.” When I just stand there, staring blankly at him, he adds, “Or you can stay here and get your ass kicked. Up to you.”
I could take Brayden.
Like.
Possibly.
“I’m here for Gwen,” I explain, squinting against the late evening sun. “I just wanted to talk to her, try to clear up some—”
Brayden looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Are you deaf?”
I sigh, face falling. “Come on, man. I’m not here to start anything, I’m just—”
“Wasting your time.” Brayden steps closer. His hand slams into my shoulder, making me stagger back two steps. I can’t help the yelp I make, nor the way my hand comes up to protectively cradle it. The pain is sharp enough that my eyes prickle, teeth clenched against the stabbing tide of it. He scoffs. “Seriously? This is the great Hamilton Bates? Can’t even handle a push to the shoulder? Pathetic.”
I gnash my teeth as I straighten, swallowing against the nausea building in my gut. “Brayden, just—”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you. None of us want to talk to you.” He looks me up and down, mouth curled in disgust. “You know what the messed-up thing is? I’m not even sure what to beat your ass for. For Skylar, for Micha, for Gwen? Maybe just for having the nerve to show up here.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“I don’t care.”
“Would you shut up!” I explode, heedless of the surge of red rage on his face. “Jesus Christ, none of you will let me finish a fucking sentence.”
“Because we don’t want to hear—”
Now, I get to interrupt. “I didn’t do it!” I pitch forward, feeling another one of those little surges of defiance. I clutch it like a lifeline. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Micha! Trust me, I was just as pissed as you were when I found out. Would you just—” I press my fingers to my temples, battling the impulse to tear out my own hair. “Just please, listen to me?”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Bates.” Brayden crosses his arms, a challenging look in his eyes. He shrugs aggressively. “I don’t care. You’re a shit person with shit friends and a shit personality. That’s all I need to know.”