Page 80 of Off Limits

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he says, the normal bossiness that I’m used to back in his voice. “See you in thirty.”

And before I can answer, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone for a second, at a loss for words.

“What’d he want?” Autumn prompts. “I couldn’t hear anything.”

I look at her, my brows still knitted together. “He wants to apologize for being a giant asshole—his words, not mine—by having me over for dinner.”

Autumn frowns at me over the rim of her mug. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I know, right?”

“Did he hit his head today in the game? I know quarterbacks are more likely to get concussions since everyone’s always trying to tackle them. Did he get a concussion?”

Now I’m frowning as I think back over the football game. “I don’t think so,” I say slowly. “I mean, they took the other quarterback out for that reason, but I didn’t see Cal get hit that hard.”

“Are you going to go over there?”

I shrug and look at the blank screen of my phone one more time, as though it will hold some kind of answer for me. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t. “I guess? I mean … it would be kind of a jerk move not to if he’s reaching out like this. Plus, he didn’t so much invite me as tell me to come.”

Autumn’s face clears. “Ahhh, there it is. Yeah, that sounds like your brother.”

“Do you think I should go?”

With a shrug, she settles into her corner of the couch, pulling the blanket higher up her torso. “I think you should do whatever you want to do. If you’d like to hear out your brother’s apology, you should. But if you’d rather just ignore him and stay here with me, that’s a perfectly valid option too. You’re not required to forgive him just because he’s your brother or just because he’s realized he’s treated you poorly.”

I frown down at my phone again, considering Autumn’s words. I’m not sure I’ve ever been told that I don’t have to forgive someone before. When we were kids and got into disagreements or fights and one of our parents broke it up, we exchanged perfunctory apologies and were expected to get along with each other.

But I don’t live in the same house as him anymore. He’ll be graduating and moving on with his life. In a few short years, I’ll be doing the same. It really is my choice what kind of relationship I want to have with my brother.

According to Autumn, I’m perfectly within my rights to decide he’s been too big of a douchebag and I don’t really want to have anything to do with him anymore.

But he is my brother …

And deep down, I believe he cares about me, even if he has the worst way of showing it.

“If I go,” I say slowly, “and hear out his apology, I’m still under no obligation to accept it.”

“That’s true, too,” Autumn says placidly. “You’re the decision maker. Do what feels best to you.”

I suck in a deep breath through my nose, then nod decisively. “I’ll go. Eat his food. Hear what he has to say. And then I can decide what to do.”

“Sounds like a great plan.” Autumn reaches over and clinks her mug against mine. “To claiming your power.”

Laughing, I lift my mug toward her. “To claiming my power.” I take one last sip and pass the rest to Autumn. “Feel free to finish mine. I’ll let you know how things go.”

“Do you want to borrow my car?”

I pause on my way to my room to change into outside clothes and consider her offer. “Nah,” I decide at last. “I think I’ll just walk. It’ll give me time to think and figure out what I’m hoping for and what I really want out of my relationship with Cal based on what he’s capable of doing.”

Autumn gives me a big smile. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Hopefully the fifteen minute walk will be enough time for me to figure that out. And also enough time for Simon to clear out, because I’m assuming that he’s not invited given Cal’s reaction at the stadium after the game. This seems more likely to be a siblings-only dinner.

Which is fine. Great, even. Because Simon obviously wants nothing more to do with me. And if I see him, it’ll make it difficult to listen to Cal, so yeah. Simon going somewhere—anywhere—else is perfect. I don’t want to see him at all.

At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.

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