Page 65 of The Beginning and End of Everything
The tension presses in on me from all sides, and whatever is going on between us is toxic. "Brandon, I’m just imposing. And after this morning—”
"No, possum." He takes a deep breath, unfolds his arms, and then slowly closes the space between us. Towering over me, he grips my chin and lifts my face until my eyes meet his, then his gaze falls to my lips. "No," he says quietly, sternly.
My staying with him shouldn't be a question. Hope is right; we're both too much of a mess. But, like always, I can’t help myself when it comes to Brandon. He’s the imploded remains of a destroyed planet, and I’m his lone moon, bound by a simple gravitational pull I can’t seem to escape.
“I can't stay with you because…” I chew at my lip, finding it too hard to hold his gaze. I look down, and he ducks, forcing me to look at him again.
“It won’t happen again,” he says.
A mixture of relief and disappointment bleed through me. I hated that unsettled feeling that I was left with, wanting him when I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t…
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper, knowing that statement holds so many meanings.
"I literally disappeared, and you still found me. Youcan'tlose me." There's just a hint of desperation in his voice, his eyes pleading with me. “Stay.”
I place my palm against his chest, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. We're both so vulnerable. "I…"
My gaze quickly lifts to the perfect dip in the middle of his lip. With Brandon, there should be no “us.” We’re two people whose lives are infinitely intertwined but were never meant to touch. I want him to need me just as much as I need him. I loved Connor more than anything in this world, but he's gone, and I don't think I can survive any of this fallout without Brandon.
"No matterwhathappens.” He places his hand over mine and squeezes. “You'll always be my best friend. Always." Then he leans in, kissing my forehead, and I wrap my arms around his broad waist, inhaling the scent of his whiskey tainted cologne.
We're both lost in the middle of a tumultuous storm, and the only way out is together.
38
Brandon
April 2015
It’s been a week since I kissed Poppy, and we’re both trying to pretend this is normal, but the guilt is still very real. So real, I find myself walking into the gym just to rid myself of it.
Finn stands in the corner, his vest soaked with sweat while he pummels away at the speed bag. I’m spared a brief glance before he goes back to his workout.
With little thought, I tape my hands and then make my way to a corner to hammer my fists against one of the bags over and over. The violence consumes me, and I allow my mind to slip until it's blinking through the images that plague me. The rhythmic sound of my fists hitting the bag morphs into the steadypop, pop, popof gunfire. My legs become unsteady at the memory of explosions vibrating the ground beneath my feet, and Connor’s haunting death stare provides the grand finale. It’s an image that has been branded into my mind in vivid detail, and it’s there, waiting for me every time I close my eyes. I focus on it, allowing the pain to engulf me because I deserve it. I’ve wronged him.
Poppy is not just some chick. Hell, she isn't even one of those girls that you think could be a keeper. She's Poppy Blaine. She's family.
"Brandon?"
I lash out when someone touches my shoulder, then I slam my hand around Finn's throat. He easily twists out of my hold, and his brows pinch together in a deep frown. He should know better. I’m here for a reason. This bag takes punches so people don’t have to. But it takes me a second to regain my bearings as my pulse thrums in my ears, blocking out the noise around me.
I stumble back, breaking away from the memories and focusing on what’s in front of me. "Sorry," I mumble.
He folds his arms over his chest, watching me like a hawk. "You slept with her, didn't you?"
"What? No!"
"Only the guilty torture themselves."
Pacing, I drag a hand through my hair. "I kissed her. I didn't mean to."
"And now you feel bad?"
My heavy hands fell to my sides as my shoulders slumped. What was left of my heart was as downtrodden as my thoughts. "I can't even explain to you how Connor was with her." I shake my head but not with much thought. "She was everything to him, and I betrayed that." Twice now.
"Brandon." There’s something sad in his gaze when I meet his eyes. "He's dead." He says it as though it's justification, and Connor’s death eliminates my loyalty to him.
I don't want justification or to be relieved of guilt. “He was my brother. Death doesn't change that."
