Page 19 of Don't Say You're Sorry

CHAPTER 7

ADAM

PRESENT

Greaseis showing at the drive-in tonight. Easton hates this movie. And yet, he still came. He’s still here. Waiting for me…?

Walking up to the passenger side of his blue Chevrolet Camaro, I pause. What if he’snotwaiting for me? What if he’s on a date? He’s alone in there, but maybe his date has gone to the bathroom or the concession stand.

He doesn’t give me any indication as to what I should do here. He’s just looking at me, a blank expression on his face as he sucks on a lollipop, his favorite sweet, aka his favorite way to drive me insane.

God fucking help me.

Finding my balls, I open the door and get in the car. He says nothing as he wraps his red-stained lips around the lollipop.

I’ve been looking for him all day. His car wasn’t at his house, and he wasn’t at our parents’ house, though my mum told me I’d just missed him. After I ate Sunday dinner with them, somehow managing to avoid any questions about Easton or Axel, I went upto my old room for the first time in years. I could smell him in there, on my sheets, and I knew. I knew he’d be here.

Last night, he implied he didn’t want to see me again, but I don’t think he really meant it. He’s protecting himself. I hurt him when I abandoned him, so he’s throwing up walls, steeling himself for me to leave him again. Like if he tells himself it’s inevitable, maybe it won’t hurt as much this time.

But I don’t want to hurt him anymore.Idon’t want to hurt anymore. I want?—

“I hate this movie,” Easton says, finally breaking the silence between us.

“I know.” Rolling my head on the seat toward him, I ask, “How did you know I’d look for you here?”

“I know everything there is to know about you, little brother.” He slides the lollipop over his tongue, and I lick my lips, my eyes dropping to his tempting mouth. He smiles to himself. “Though I thought you might be gone by now,” he adds.

“Did you?” I ask distractedly, my mouth watering.

“No. Maybe. When are you going back to London?”

“I don’t know if I want to go back. Axel puts on a brave face, but I know he’s not happy there. He likes it here. And so do I. Maybe?—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, E,” I say. “I want…I want to come home. I want to stay. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.” Eyes on him, I wait—waiting for him to tell me that I really am too late, that he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.

He doesn’t.

“You still draw,” he says instead, his eyes on the movie.

A startled breath leaves me. It’s not a question. He knows I do.

He got the drawings I sent him.

“What else have you been doing?” he asks.

Missing you.

“Not a lot,” I say.

He laughs, though it sounds bitter. “You can draw anywhere, you know. Why London?” He finally looks at me. “What, were you so desperate to get away from me that you needed to put the fucking Pacific Ocean between us?”

“I wasn’t desperate to get away from you. Iwantedto stay with you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

My eyes burn when I tell him, “I thought I was doing the right thing, E.”

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