Page 27 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Wait…” Oliver scrubs his eyes. “What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” My words muffle against the floor. Which is kind of apt, I suppose. This is how I felt after she left. It makes sense I’d repeat the fetal position thing now that she’s back. “We’re here to train, not to gossip.”

“When Bitsy talks about it, it’s gossip,” Eliza growls. “Whenwetalk about it, it’s a Code Four, life-or-death situation. I saw Crazy Stanley on the way here. You wanna know what I heard?”

“Not really.”Die, Tommy. Just hold your breath and let it happen.“His name is Crazy Stanley for a reason. I’d hardly consider his word reliable.”

“He said you were out at Bitsy’s this morning, having words with Alana while she was in the yard in her underwear.”

“Fuckin’ Bitsy,” Chris chuckles. “She wasn’t in her underwear. She was just… ya know. They were little jammies.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I close my eyes and groan.Am I dying yet? Feels like it. “Stop talking about her. I beg of you.”

“And the crème de la crème?” Eliza seethes, coming in for her final blow, much like she does in the cage. Taunting, teasing, weakening her opponent, then BAM! “She brought her kid to town. She has a kid! What?”

“Technically, we already knew that,” Chris inserts. “We just didn’t gossip about it.”

“She has a kid.” I close my eyes and imagine myself on a deserted island somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. No one else is there. No televisions. No fucking Wi-Fi. Just me and my alcohol, charging toward braindead and smiling the whole way. “He’s a cutie, too. Quiet, but decent.”

“He can’t walk more than six feet without falling over,” Chris laughs. “And he ain’t shy about telling me to shut up. He wanted to listen to what his mom and Tommy were bickering about, and he wasn’t having it when I tried to tell him the history of combustion engines.”

Dead. Dying. Nearly gone.But I turn my face and stare up at my brother. “He was listening?”

“He was ready to rip the ear right off the side of his face and toss it out of the truck. He wasn’t panicking or anything. He wasn’t scared for her. But he was curious.”

“Did I say anything I shouldn’t have?” I try to remember back, but fuck, I think I had a stroke at some point during that conversation. “I didn’t… did I?”

“Nah.” He wanders across the cage, peeling his grapplinggloves off and bending to scoop up a bottle of water. “You said some shit about how she left. But nothing inappropriate a kid probably shouldn’t hear.”

“Wait…” Frustrated, Oliver scratches the back of his neck. “Alana Page is back in town?”

“You’re really friggin’ slow.” Eliza comes around the cage and saunters through the door. “For a guy with as much college debt as you have and a job that literally saves or loses lives, your processing speed is a little pathetic.”

“Shut up.” He parries her jab, swinging her around and tossing her toward Chris. “Cut me some slack. The last time I saw her, I was?—”

“Arrested by your own father because you’d been streaking down Main Street?” Chris turns and releases Eliza, taking his mouth guard out and pinching the rubber between his fingers instead. “Had to call Tommy to pay bail. And bring you pants,” he laughs. “Because your wang was embarrassingly small, despite it being summer and sweltering hot.”

“Ew!” Eliza gags. “Can we not discuss my brother’s dick, please?”

“Not small,” Oliver grumbles. “And no, I saw her after that night. Graduation,” he decides. “That’s how long it’s been.”

“Gossip travels faster than light out here in Plainview.” Wandering closer and lowering into a crouch, Chris searches my eyes. “What are you gonna do? She’s here, and I doubt she’s leaving anytime soon. Not until Bitsy’s gone, I reckon.”

Swallowing, I push up to my elbows and desperately search for Oliver.

He throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m not discussing it.”

“Ollie—”

“Ican’tdiscuss it!” He charges through the cage door, stomping down the steps and onto the matted floor. “Absolutely not happening.”

“Give us a hint?” Chris bargains. “Cough if she has, like, three months or less. Scratch your ear if it’s three-to-six months. Do a cartwheel if it’s not terminal at all.”

“I’m going for a shower.” He snatches up a towel and storms toward the hall. “Leave me the hell alone.”

“Have a shower if it’s six to twelve months,” I call out. “Oliver?”

“You know he can’t say.” Eliza begins her warmup, lifting her legs intocheckposition, then lowering them and switching sides. “He could lose his license if he did.”

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