Page 47 of Body Check
Mickey’s face turns brick red and Blue glares at me. I don’t blame him. He’s had my back all night—longer than that, really—and my snarky comment isn’t helping the already tense situation.
“Bran? What are you doing up here?”
I turn when I hear Bridgette’s sleepy voice, and that’s a tactical mistake I can’t really afford since it allows the door to swing open, showcasing my beautiful girlfriend wearing nothing but a blanket.
Fuck.
Mickey is seething. He might even be hissing like his damn feral cat as he lunges for me. “Why the fuck is my sister naked in your bedroom?”
He practically spits the words out, and they’re probably rhetorical. I think we all know exactly why Bridgette is in my room wearing nothing but a fuzzy blanket that barely covers her beautiful body. Still, I have an answer to his question, so I clear my throat and look him square in the eye. “Because she’s my girlfriend.”
In retrospect, I really should have seen the punch coming.
19
Bridgette
Last night was a total disaster. A complete shitshow. A clusterfuck of epic proportions.
And it’s completely my fault. I’m not being dramatic when I say that. I’m taking ownership, and that’s something I should have done about two months ago when I found out that the man I was falling for was the one man on campus I really shouldn’t want.
I should have been honest with my brother, but I couldn’t be, because I knew he’d feel like I betrayed him. I knew he’d be hurt. I knew my actions had the power to change our relationship forever, and since Bran has always been the most important person in the world to me, that thought was terrifying.
My deepest fears are coming true, and they’re just as catastrophic as I imagined.
Most of last night is still a bit of a blur. I should never have snuck inside with Dutton, but I couldn’t resist a few stolen hours with him. We kissed and talked and made love, and I fell asleep wondering what I ever did to deserve someone like him.
I awoke to the sound of shouting, so I crawled out of Dutton’s bed to see what was going on. When I got to the door, I saw mybrother, and the next second, I saw his fist flying through the air and colliding with my boyfriend’s face.
What followed was an absolute mess. Between the shouting and the crowd that gathered, it’s safe to say that the whole team—maybe even the whole campus—knows that I’m dating Dutton Wagner.
While I wish things had gone differently, I’m grateful to Ollie for managing to calm my brother down and ice his hand. And I owe Blue free haircuts for a year for helping me take care of Dutton. His nose isn’t broken, but he’ll be sporting a black eye for the next few weeks.
Right now, I’m sitting in the main living room, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee and waiting for Bran to come downstairs. Dutton left to visit his parents. He offered to stay, but facing Bran and owning up to my mistakes is something I need to do by myself. It’s mid-morning, so the whole house should be waking up soon. Liza’s working some fancy brunch for a catering company, and Ollie and Fallon left their room long enough to make some breakfast and then they went back in. They offered to feed me, but my stomach is a bundle of nerves right now. I’ve barely touched my coffee, even though Ollie gave me the good creamer.
I’ve scrolled through my phone for so long that my battery is almost dead. I organized my weekly calendar and set up reminder texts for all of my appointments. I sent a text to my little brother wishing him good luck at his robotics competition today, and I confirmed my final fitting for the bridesmaid’s dress I’m wearing for my cousin’s wedding in a few weeks.
I’ve done literally everything I can possibly do except start folding laundry or mopping the floors.
Luckily, I’m saved from resorting to household chores when I see my brother walking into the room. I want to wrap him in a bear hug, but when I see the bruise marring the left side of hisface, I gasp audibly. “What the hell happened to your face?” I ask.
“Your boyfriend hit me,” he says, barely sparing me a glance as he crosses the room.
“No, you hit him,” I correct, cringing because I sound mad. I mean, I am mad, but more at myself than anyone else. Bran starts talking, so I turn my head to find him pouring coffee at the kitchen counter. He doesn’t ask me if I need a refill. Not that he should, but he always does. And that is definitely not a real problem right now, but it stings all the same. It’s a small but not insignificant reminder that things aren’t the same between us.
My brother sighs as he hovers in the archway that separates the kitchen and living room. “I hit him last night,” he says, “but he got me good this morning. Truth is, I probably deserved it.”
“You didn’t. I?—”
Brannon’s words roll right over mine. “I said something I shouldn’t have. I asked him if he was with you just to fuck with my head.”
I wince because those words cut me on so many levels.
“It was a shitty thing to say, and I’m sorry. It didn’t come out right and, well,” he says, laughing dryly as he points to his shiner, “your boyfriend set me straight.”
“Bran,” I say, my voice breaking as I set my cup down on the coffee table. I need to go to him, to apologize, to figure out how to fix this, but his next words have me sinking back down into the couch.
“I know, I just…can’t right now. I need some time, some space. I just—Dutton Fucking Wagner? Seriously? You couldn’t have picked anyone else? It just had to be the guy who’s been making my life hell for two years?” Bran asks, rubbing his temples.
