Page 3 of Crash & Burn

Wait, attractive? No. They’re just features.

I walk towards my brother and Eddie, wishing I was coming home to my couchalone, but my brother, and Eddie, apparently, aren’t going to let that happen.

As I get closer, my eyes dart between the two of them, noticing how unimpressed they both look to be here. I’m only a few steps away from my door when I notice a pair of drumsticks in Eddie’s back pocket.

They must have been at a band practice, and since the two of them are also roommates, I assume Mateo had to bring him.

Great.

With important shows coming up, I am not at all surprised that my perfectionist of a brother has the band practicing at every waking moment to prepare.

But now, not only do I have to hear my brother’s lecture about what I did at the bar, I will also have to hear him lecture me about how I interrupted a band practice this close to the Midwest shows starting.

I stop in front of my brother who has yet to say a word.

“You didn’t have to come,” is all I say to him before turning to face Eddie whose eyes find mine immediately.

I’m ready to tell him to move out of the way, so I can get into my apartment, but the words are caught in my throat. I’m too distracted by the green of Eddie’s eyes—so light and striking against his tan skin. I try to tear my eyes away from his when I notice a scar across his left eyebrow down to the center of his cheek. I’ve never noticed it in the dozens of times I have met him or gone to one of Cross My Heart’s shows, not that I’ve been to one in a while.

I’ve also never been this close to him before.

Mateo’s hand on my shoulderstartles meslightlyandsnaps me back to reality, and Eddie’s face disappears fromview as my brother turns me around to face him. I’m not short, standing at about five-nine with my three-inch wedges, but my brother still towers a good five inches over me. I shrink back into myself, remembering how it feels to have my brother disappointed in me.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barks, not caring that it’s now after one in the morning, and we are in the middle of my building’s hallway.

“What’s the big deal?” I whisper-yell as I try to shrug off his hand, that is still on my shoulders, not wanting my neighbors to witness the embarrassment of my brother yelling at me like a kid who got caught breaking curfew. His grip doesn’t let up, so I reach up to remove his hold on my shoulder but wince when pain shoots up my right hand.

Mateo grabs my wrist and sees the few cuts on my knuckles as well as some swelling on my pinky.

“I’m fine,” I hiss, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re not fine, Camila. You’re an adult. You can’t go around punching guys in the face for looking at you the wrong way!”

I rip my arm away from him, not letting my face show another quick rush of pain in my hand. “I told you not to call me that.” I close my eyes and huff out some air. My brother is the only one who ever uses my full name, and he only does it when he’s mad. “He didn’t just look at me, Mateo. And, I know how to punch.”

Mateo lets out a humorless laugh before wiping his hand down his face. “I know you know how to punch, Mia. Because I taught you.” He steps around me towards my door, and I spin around to be reminded that Eddie is still here, watching this all go down.

I avert my gaze to my hands and slowly find my door fob on my keychain, being careful not to irritate my hand that will most likely be bruised tomorrow.

“Now, get inside.” Mateo’s voice is sharp, disapproving, and exactly what I would expect from my overprotective, older brother. “You are going to tell me exactly what happened this time.”

I roll my eyes as I unlock the door.

Of course, he had to add “this time” because he justhadto clarify that this isn’t the first time I have, in his opinion, overreacted in a situation where my anxiety skyrockets, and my brain tricks me into thinking something is very wrong.

Mateo follows me inside, and Eddie is directly behind him. I hear the door close behind Eddie as I walk into my living room. My apartment is small, just big enough for me, so it feels crowded with my brother, who looks like he just walked into a dollhouse, and his equally-large friend.

I kick off my shoes and sit down on my couch while Mateo grabs a bag of frozen fruit from my freezer, and Eddie stands at my kitchen island. I can feel Mateo trying to get a hold of his frustration as he wraps the frozen bag in a paper towel, but Eddie just looks like he’s ready to hear the story as he leans on the island, looking between Mateo and me.

He doesn’t look uncomfortable or out of place.

He looks . . .interested.

I shake the thought away as I grab the blanket I keep folded on the couch and wrap it around me.

“I’m not going to tell you if you just keep yelling at me.”

“Okay,” Mateo responds as he walks towards me. “I won’t, but I’m worried about you. Ever since Ni—”

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