Page 162 of June First

Lie to him?

Lie to the man who has only ever shown me truth?

True strength…true meaning…true love.

No.

I can’t. I won’t.

Biting my lip, I shake my head.

His grip on me slackens with a defeated exhale. Brant takes a sizable step back and dips his chin, looking like he’s lost a battle he already knew he couldn’t win. When our eyes meet on a somber beat, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me you were still a virgin?” The question sounds pained. It sounds as if my choice of chastity has physically wounded him.

My shoulders shrug with an air of flippancy, even though I feel anything but. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t know.”

“I heard you, June. I heard you tell your friends you were having sex three years ago.”

“I…” My mind reels back in time, trying to pinpoint his reference. A hazy memory of sitting in a three-way circle with Celeste and Gen on my bedroom floor on a summer afternoon comes into focus. I had lied, of course. All of my friends were having sex, so I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. I wanted to feel mature and important, just like them. “I made up a story to fit in. I didn’t know you heard me.”

He stares at me like that trivial moment has ruined his whole life.

“Brant…” I step forward, trying to close that gap between us again, but he backs away and my heart sinks. “It’s not important, okay? It’s not.”

“How can you say that?” He swallows, shaking his head. “Were you…actually saving it for me? Because a bombshell like that sounds a hell of a lot different today than it did last night in the heat of the moment.”

I curl my fingers into fists and drop my eyes to the floor. “I don’t know, Brant,” I murmur. “Maybe. But it wasn’t something I was ever consciously aware of. All I knew was that no man ever made me feel the way you have, so it never felt right. I wanted to wait for someone special.”

“But why would you give it up to me when you know we can never be together? That’s not special, June. That’s heartbreaking.”

Now I’m the wounded one. A breath catches, and I swallow it down. “I know it’s complicated, but—”

“Complicated?” Brant exhales a deep breath, linking his hands behind his head. He spins away from me, then pivots back. “This is more than complicated. This is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible when two people love each other.”

“You’re not supposed to love me like that,” he says, breathing hard, jaw clenching. “It’s different for me. I entered your life already knowing you weren’t my blood. I conditioned myself to believe you weren’t my sister for dark, painful reasons—for survival—but you…” Brant’s eyes glaze over with his own grief. “You were born believing I was your biological family. You had no reason to feel otherwise.”

“You don’t know how I’ve felt. You couldn’t possibly.”

“You’ve spent your entire goddamn life calling me your brother,” he argues, tone escalating.

“Because I had to.”

“No. Because it’s true.”

I shake my head. “Stop trying to pick apart my feelings like they’re yours to dissect,” I say through the lump in my throat.

“Stop trying to twist this into something acceptable when you know damn well that I’m your broth—”

“You’ve never felt like my brother!” I shout, temper flaring, cheeks burning hot. I stare at him with a heaving chest, balled fists, and swiftly falling tears. “Theo was my brother. You’ve only ever felt like…mine.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but only silence kisses the air.

It amplifies with each strangled breath we take, with every word still dangling carelessly around us.

The balcony door is cracked open, inviting in the songs of sparrows, the chatter of passersby down below, and the rumble of street traffic, but it’s all drowned out by the sound of my heart begging a boy to hear its truth.

Brant deflates before me, rubbing his hands up and down his face with a ragged sigh. He glances at the couch, then at the wall clock over my shoulder. Then back at me. “I have to leave for work,” he says simply. I’m not sure if he’s putting the conversation on hold or eclipsing it indefinitely.

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