Page 83 of Bro Amazing

"Clarissa, honey!" my dad calls to get my attention at the train station.

"Thanks for picking me up," I mumble into his chest as he envelops me in a bear hug.

"Of course. It's not every day that our little girl comes home for a visit," he says, leading me to the truck. "We love having you around for as long as the big city can spare you."

I don't have the heart to tell my parents that I got kicked out of my house. Or that five of the most amazing men I've ever met broke up with me.

Hopefully I can milk this "visit" pretense long enough for some of my royalties to roll in from my new book, which is doing really well. Then I'll have a deposit for a new apartment so I can start over again. Maybe not in Chicago. I won't be able to look at the city the same way, and I'll always be afraid of running into my gamers somewhere. It'd be just my luck, even though they don't get out much.

First, though, I need time to lick my wounds and save some money.

"I love being around you too, Dad." I smile across the truck bench at him as we wind through familiar streets to the house Igrew up in. It doesn't look like anything has really changed here since I moved away.

"Your mom has a whole list of people who want to visit you while you're here. Everyone is so proud of you, moving off to the big city and pursuing your dream."

Great, way to make me feel even worse. Sure, my dreams are starting to come true career-wise, but life-wise, I'm falling apart. And now I'm going to have to pretend that everything is normal and nothing is wrong. Not only to my parents, but to the whole town.

"Can't wait." I try not to sound sarcastic, but fail. As Dad shifts into park, I add, "Sorry, I'm just tired from the train ride. I'm going to lie down for a bit."

"Of course, honey," says Dad, his easy smile returning. "We'll call you when dinner is ready. You've been working so hard on your last book, and now this one. I'm glad you came home for a little break and some rest."

I trudge down the hall to my childhood bedroom. My room is exactly the way I left it before moving to Chicago, and while I'm physically right back where I began years ago, mentally, I'm nowhere near here. This bed isn't nearly as comfortable as the one I left in Chicago. Which makes it doubly worse than the beds that my boyfriends—my ex-boyfriends—own. Maybe they'll ship me one of theirs on accident when they send all of my stuff. Since there was obviously no way I could move all my belongings on the train, I'd left the guys a note to send the boxes to me at my parents' address.

Pulling my laptop out of my bag, I set it up on the pillow next to me. The gamers' streaming page is already up. They're not live right now, but I can still see where it says they have a girlfriend. They posted it so recently, I'm not surprised they didn't immediately take it down. That would cause more dramain their fandom. It's only a matter of time though, and I feel the compulsion to continually check until it happens.

I don't have the heart or energy to pull up their chat though. Every inch of my body aches and all I can manage is to lay here and barely hold back tears.

"Welcome home, hun," says my mom, knocking on the door of my childhood bedroom as she walks inside without waiting for a response.

I slam my computer closed and roll to face her. There's no energy to get up or put on a happy face right now. My world has dropped out from under me, and I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't have the energy to make any big decisions right now.

"Oh no, hun, are you sick?" Mom sits on the edge of the bed and lays the back of her hand against my forehead. "You do feel a little warm."

Probably from the fact that I've been hiding under my blankets since I got home. But I'll go along with her and pretend to be sick if it gets me out of being dragged around to visit all of the neighbors and her friends. I can't smile as she lists all of the accomplishments of people I sort of know, or look people in the eye as she tells them I'm living my dream in the big city. It's all lies. Sure, my book is taking off, but I can't even be happy about that because it's just a reminder of how I messed things up with my boyfriends for my career.

Now all of my readers are falling for the fictional version of the guys and their bedroom moves the same way I did. But they can all just close the book and revel in the happily-ever-after.

There's no happily-ever-after for me.

"Probably from the travel," I mumble. Maybe she's right and I did catch something on the train. Real-sick or fake-sick, I just want to be left here in this less-comfortable and too-small bed and be miserable until I have absolutely no choice but to look for an apartment.

"I'll call Mrs. Nesbitt and tell her we can't make it tonight." Mom straightens my covers, tucking them up under my chin. "I'll heat you up some soup."

"Thanks," I say as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

I don't love lying to my parents, but it's not like I can tell them I was in a secret relationship with my five gamer roommates who they disapproved of, and we broke up and now I'm heartbroken. Which shouldn't even be true because the relationship was just supposed to be a business arrangement. They would cover my room and board so they could fuck me whenever and however they wanted, and I would use all of their sex moves in my new spicy romance novels. There were never supposed to be feelings involved, and they weren't ever supposed to know that I was using them as inspiration.

I've played sick for a full week without my parents getting suspicious. They're so distracted by my being home that they don't ask any other questions. Which is perfect, because now I can extend my visit without it being weird by saying that I didn't really get to spend time with them for the first bit.

Not that I'm excited about socializing with their friends. But I'll have to do something soon. Pretend to get my life backtogether. Fake it until I make it, and maybe someday it will be true. I can officially say that I have what I wanted: a successful author career. Readers have been devouring my newest book and are already asking for another. Which I sort of have, even though I haven't worked on it since I moved home. I have tons of ideas, and notes to work off of for inspiration, but then I'll have to put myself in the mind-space of being loved and cared for, when in reality I'm still in the wallowing stage of my breakup, moving about like a zombie while mentally burying myself deep beneath my childhood covers.

"I'm glad you're feeling better." Dad plants a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm off to work, but it's good to see you up and about."

"Thanks."It doesn't feel good. "See you tonight."

Left alone, I have the strongest urge to crawl back into bed, but I can't live under those blankets forever. At some point, my parents are going to start asking questions. Probably right as all of my belongings arrive from Chicago. I'd boxed everything up, but I'm still waiting for my exes to send it all to me. It's the least they can do after kicking me out of the house.

In an effort to resist the temptation to hibernate again, I set up my computer at the breakfast table. I stare at my manuscript icon, but can't bring myself to open it up. I can't make any of my characters happy when I'm so miserable.

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