Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

Hurts? I can’t love you like he can, no matter how much I wish I could. And that kills me.”

Uh… whoa. Okay. Okay. What?

“I want to be the one you come to when you need help. I want to be the one who can make everything better for you when you don’t think it can get any better. I want to be the one who makes you happy, who you run to when you’re not. But I can never be that person to you, not anymore. I don’t know if I ever was. So, yes, laugh it up, make fun of stupid Creed. Yes, I’m jealous, you bastard. I’m jealous because my brother has something with you that I will never have. He gets you completely, and it’s not fair. Not after all that we’ve been through. I want it to be me.” He stops, breathing heavily.

Silence.

Immediately, of course, my brain runs through everything he just said, trying to pick out what the hell he was talking about, trying to decide on what was the most important, but of course, I could only focus on the thing that was the most inconsequential.

Would you expect anything else?

Did you hear that? That was me sighing.

“Dude, did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” I ask him, my voice relaying just how incredibly messed up and awesome I think that is.

Crap. Now everyone is staring at me again.

Damn you, mouth!

But it seems to be the right thing to say because I can see Creed deflate, a smile quirking at the sides of his mouth, like he knows he still wants to be pissed off but he can’t help it. He starts chuckling, and that gets me going, and pretty soon we’re bellowing with laughter while everyone else in the room is looking around, wondering when the crazy sauce got spilled and infected the room. I can’t explain to them (seeing as how my brain is slowly being deprived of oxygen) that that is something only Creed could say, that he wishes he could be gay (or you know, whatever it is I’m supposed to be—let’s call it conveniently Otter-sexual) so he could have me all to himself and not have to worry about sharing me with anyone else. It’s such a mind-blowing thing, such a random expulsion of words that of course I have to laugh, because if I didn’t, I’m sure I’d be weirdly turned on even though it would be way too incestuous to even remotely consider the fact that Creed wanted to bone me, even if he didn’t swing that way.

“You h-have a s-straight crush on me?” I gasp out, holding my sides.

“Oh my God, you wish you could d-d- do me? Holy fuck me sideways!”

“You stay away from him,” Otter warns him, and it only makes it worse because poor Otter is so serious about it, his anger so evident that he looks like he would tear Creed apart if he so much as looks at me funny.

“I s-s- so didn’t want to say that out loud!” Creed says, starting to hyperventilate. “That was so not the p-p- point!”

“Better be careful, Otter,” Mrs. Paquinn says with evil in her voice.

“I’ve read many stories about triangles between brothers. It never ends well for one of them. Well, except, you know, those kinds of stories where they… share. At the same time. I like those stories.”

That only makes it worse. Otter doesn’t think it’s very funny, Anna is staring at her… whatever (boyfriend?) like he just blew chunks all over her.

I don’t blame her, though. Apparently she doesn’t have the greatest track record when it comes to guys, what with one falling in love with a man, the other wishing he could. The parents in the room are all sitting with wide eyes, and it’s only then do I realize how much I’ve missed all of them, how things only feel really complete now that they are here. They might be less inclined to agree at the moment, but in the end, I don’t know if that matters.

Creed and I both get up at the same time, and I practically run to him, and he laughs as he catches me in those big arms of his (don’t give me that look). I wrap my legs around his waist, and we just fucking laugh and laugh and laugh. It’s not that funny, I know. It’s not meant to be. It’s just life.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him as we quiet down, and I step back onto my feet. “You fucking tell me shit from now on, you get me?”

“Goes both ways,” he says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “We’re stuck with each other.”

I grab him in another hug. “You don’t ever worry,” I whisper fiercely in his ear, undoubtedly aided by the wine that’s been given an extra boost by the blood rush. “You’ve got me, no matter what. I just don’t want to screw you.”

“Oh, please,” he whispers back. “We both know it’d be me doing the screwing. Otter’s made you into a big fat bottom.” He pauses

for a moment.

Then: “Anna totally thinks I want to have sex with you, doesn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah. You pretty much said you did.”

“Crap.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Get off me, then.”