Page 74 of Need You to Choose Me

Bentley is preoccupied drooling all over the corner of the frame of his parents that I’ll have to remember to clean before they get home, all while ESPN talks about the suspect who was caught and arrested after using Alex’s credit card at a convenience store for cigarettes and booze blocks away from where he assaulted him.

“This thing with you and O’Conner,” Bodhi begins. “Is it…serious?”

Wetting my lips, I stare down at the wiggly little boy sprawled on the couch cushions. “I don’t know, if I’m being honest. No? Maybe? There’s history there. You know what having history is like. It’s hard to forget that sometimes. You said you can relate because of Gemma’s mother.”

He clears his throat. “I did. Yeah.”

It doesn’t sound convincing to either of us. “So?”

Bodhi sighs. “I won’t say anything to your brother. But if this is going to be a thing, he’ll find out one way or another. And I have a feeling he won’t like that. I think it’d be better if you said something before it comes out another way.”

That’s logical, but I’m not sure I want to go there. Not yet. At least not until I figure out what there is to tell. Why bring something up to Sebastian if it’s in the past? If there’s nothing to talk about in the future? “Thank you, Bodhi. For helping with Bentley and…this.”

This. Whateverthisis.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, disconnecting before I can.

I frown at the phone and internally sigh. Why do I feel bad for being honest with him? It’s better than lying. But that guilt quickly gets buried by the reminder of Alex’s situation when a paparazzi shot taken from outside the hospital appears on screen. There’s a bloody rag pressed against the back of Alex’s head as he’s ushered inside by two people. I recognize one as the captain of his team; Jesse Clarkson. I don’t know who the girl is on the right. But whoever she is, she’s pretty. Like, really pretty.

Cement settles into my gut, right next to a familiar green monster that pokes at my heart with one of its invisible talons until it deflates.

Instead of calling Alex, I stare at that picture a little longer before pulling his name up and sending him a simple text.

Nonchalant.

And definitely not something my brother needs to know.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Alex

When I wasfourteen, I got hurt during a high school hockey game. I’d wound up in the hospital with a minor concussion that took me off the ice for two weeks. Mom had been so worried she nearly fought one of the paramedics when they tried stopping her from getting into the ambulance with me.

The few days after the incident, she’d doted on me more than she ever had before. I always woke up to my favorite meals on the table or my favorite snacks and drinks being delivered to me like I was on my death bed.

What I didn’t know was that she hadn’t slept in days during that period. She seemed fine, minus the bags under her eyes. She was happy; laughing, smiling, and cracking jokes. Until the day we got a grocery delivery she’d ordered online that contained three hundred dollars’ worth of my favorite fruit snacks, and two hundred dollars’ worth of my go-to soda.

“This can’t be for us, can it?” I ask, staring at the boxes stacked at our front door. “Maybe it was delivered to the wrong address.”

“You don’t like it? I got your favorite.”

I stare between my mother and the boxes. The one on top is opened so we could see it. It’s packed full of Welch’s fruit snacks. Not just the original variety packs, but the assorted strawberry ones too. “You got this for me?”

I count the boxes in disbelief.

She holds my cheek and smiles at me, but there’s a void in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s even here. “Of course.You’re hurt. I need to take care of you when you’re hurt. That’s what mothers do.”

“Mom…” I shake my head, turning toward the hundreds of fruit snacks here. “This is a lot of food. Maybe we should return some to get money back. I know the electric bill has gone up.”

Her hand drops to her side. “You’re not happy?”

I rub my sweaty palm against my jean clad thigh. “I am. These are my favorite, and I appreciate you thinking of me. But it’s too much. We don’t have the room.”

She blinks slowly three times. “You don’t love me.”

What? “Of course I—”

“Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Alexander. I did this for you, and you’re yelling at me!”

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