Page 96 of Just My Type of wrong guy

I would laugh at any other time, but not now.

“Who did you call after your first show?” I ask nervously. A.J. only asks “What?” even more confused. “Who did you call, who did you talk to?”

“I was with the guys, Alex. There was no one I wanted to talk to besides them, and Dani, who was there too.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that your family doesn’t care?”

“Did something happen with your dad?” A.J. asks, leaning against the island, so I rest my body on the counter, facing him.

“Nothing. And that’s the problem. Doesn’t it sting that they don’t give a damn?” I ask, dazed, and it feels like I’m judging the poor guy, so I breathe deeply before continuing. “Your relationship with your parents was always this bad?”

“It’s a complicated, Alex.” He looks at the floor. “In Brazil, you live with your parents for as long as life decides, sometimes even until you get married. In Canada, not. There comes a time when you leave; for most people, that’s during college, it was the same with me, but I gave that up for music.” A.J. swallows and lets out a long sigh. “I love my parents. I miss them, really. But it’s not like I can go back, so…” He scratches his throat and coughs, and when he looks up, his eyes are flooded with pain.

“Why can’t you?”

All I wanted was to go after my mom. She’s not here, his parents are.

“This conversation isn’t about me, Alex,” A.J. ponders, his eyes on mine as he crosses his arms.

And he’s not wrong.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to live in a Cold War with my dad.” I confess, stroking the bridge of my nose to avoid the tears. “He’s all I have. I can count on Thalia and you guys, but family is different.” I say, being an idiot with the guy who just wants to help me. “It’s not more important or anything, just... Oh my God, he’s my dad, you know?” I spit the word out, hoping A.J. understands.

“I just got used to it... My family now is Vicious.”

“And it doesn’t hurt?”

A.J. studies me for a while. Then shifts his weight, and his eyes wander around the kitchen, looking for anything but my gaze. Finally, he scratches his neck and stares at me.

“As you said, you have Thalia, and now you have Vicious. “Even when you go back, I want you to know you still belong here,” He steps away from the island, holds my hand, and places it over his heart without answering my question. “We stumble our way through life, Alex. It’s a blessing to find someone who helps us stand.”

A.J. — my friend, my torment, my personal ghost. The charming, two-meter-tall guy who captured every piece of my heart with his laid-back, funny ways — swallows hard, taking a deep breath to hold back his tears. And I would do anything to keep him from feeling this way.

But there’s nothing I can do now.

So, I take my phone out of my pocket and place it on the kitchen table, just to let him know he’s not alone in abandonment.

I press play on the audio sent to my dad. It’s at 1.5x speed. A.J. narrows his eyes at me, clearly confused, as if to say.

“I barely understand the language, and you drop this on me?” Without saying anything, he goes back to the start and plays it at 1.0x speed. The voice message ends, and A.J. doesn’t need me to explain anything. The response is right there, in front of him. When his eyes meet mine again, we’re closer than ever. For five whole seconds, maybe more, he just holds my hand on the table, sharing the pain of the hole in my chest, probably very similar to his, bringing me comfort. Then, his thumb lazily drags over my hand, and the touch becomes electric.

Suddenly, it’s not A.J. of now who’s here, it’s the A.J. from Friday. The one who looked at me like I was the only thing in the world. And none of this makes sense. The tension between us should’ve dissipated, but the air is still heavy, the silence surrounds us like it wants to say something neither of us has the courage to say. And the absurd desire for a hug is bigger than both of us and refuses to disappear.

I swallow hard. He does too.

I step back and, gently, let go of his hand. The moment the contact breaks, we both exhale at the same time.

“You need to drink!” A.J. runs his hand through his hair to keep it busy. I just shake my head.

“What?”

“Cachaça, girl,” he explains in good Portuguese, making me laugh.

“I probably should, to see if I forget all this. But better not, I’m terrible with alcohol...”

“With me, you’re in good hands. You need to clear your head, leave all this behind.”

“And we’re going to do that by drinking?” I doubt it, letting a chuckle slip for the first time tonight.

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