CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Brandon

THE ONLY REASON I DON’T drink from the bottle in front of me is because it’s so incredibly obvious.

It’s what a foolish idiot would do. It’s what someone who doesn’t think would do. It’s what a drunk would do. It’s what a kid would do, rather than a responsible man. It’s predictable, for me to drink. Then it’d be utterly predictable for me to go down to a bar — any bar, anywhere — and turn on the charm. I feel so ordinary, but I’ve never had much trouble getting company. So I’d take them home. And, even though it’s predictable as hell, I’d let booze and orgasms demolish my problems.

But I don’t drink. And I don’t consider going to the bars, even sober. Because doing so would be giving up. It would be admitting failure. Admitting defeat. No, even more: Doing so would be admitting wrongdoing. If I simply go away like Mason wants, I’ll be proving him right. I’ll be proving that I’m an untrustworthy, unreliable jerk. I’ll be proving that I must not care anything for his daughter because I care so little about anyone. I’ll be making him feel, even more, that we were simply unable to control ourselves — that it was just a big, drunken, ill-advised mistake.

And if I let him believe that, I’ll let him believe that I’d take it all back.

I don’t know Riley especially well. I admit it. But I know her well enough to know that something is different. Bridget is seldom wrong, and I hate that about her. She always tells the truth, and I hate that about her, too. Time and time again, Bridget has put her hands on my life’s steering wheel and taken it somewhere I don’t want to go because it’s somewhere she thinks I need to be.

I’ve only known Riley James for a few weeks, but I knew from that first morning, in the meadow, that she wasn’t like anyone else.

I kept thinking of her.

I kept dreaming about her.

When I saw her, I prickled. Not just in my pants. All over. When I made her smile, that made me feel good, and I wanted to do it more. Making her laugh was the jackpot. So I took her to the Overlook, hoping to see Gavin. Because I knew he might make her cry.

At some point recently, I stopped wanting the VP promotion for its own sake. This is something Bridget pointed out, too, and I thought it was ridiculous. Of course I wanted to be a VP! I wanted the money. I wanted the security. I wanted to be able to take care of my sister and have enough peace of mind in my own life to keep an eye on hers, so there will never be another Keith. I wanted to prove myself, to prove I could come up from nothing. I want a Cherry Hill home of my own, maybe near the creek.

Bridget said I was trying to impress someone. That’s why I wanted the job.

Now, I see that it’s true.

I wanted to impress Mason. And Riley.

I hate that it’s true. I hate that Bridget was right. For years and years and years, Bridget and I could only count on each other. We had good and bad foster parents, but to even the best of them we were merely tenants. Customers in a long line of customers. I had friends, and so did Bridget, but friends changed with new homes and schools. We started over again and again before our stint as siblings, and then over again a few more times after that family broke up and I went one way while Bridget went another. But we always stayed in touch. We wrote letters. We called when we could. Most times, our families were close enough that we could reach each other, that we could meet somewhere at the end of a bus ride or two.

I only had Bridget.

She only had me.

It was simple. I had only one person to please. One person to protect and care for. One person to love me and one person to love. Caring about people makes you vulnerable. Worse: caring about someone makes you responsible — something I was reminded of harshly thanks to Keith’s intervention.

I have enough responsibilities in my life. There’s me, and there’s Bridget. It’s cut and dried. I look out for myself. I take care of me. Bridget and I have each other’s backs, with no other leaks to look out for. No loose ends.

If I care about Riley, that’s bad news. It’s more responsibility. More burden. Someone else to watch out for and take care of. Someone else I’ll feel the need to please and make happy. Right now, I could care less who else is happy, and it makes things easy.

But I care if Riley is happy, and have from the start.

I stare at my phone. She hasn’t called, though I thought she might. But I haven’t called her either because my phone call made this erupt in the first place. The one time Bridget was wrong; who’d’ve thought. She told me to leave that message when Riley didn’t answer. “Put yourself out there, for once. The worse it feels, the better you’re doing.”

It had felt terrible. Like sticking my arm into a machine filled with gears and teeth. I’d felt so sure I’d be bitten, and of course I was.

I want to call Bridget, because that’s who I always call at times like this.

But I know what she’ll say, and it will make me want to throttle her.

The worse it feels, the better you’re doing. It.

As if this was all supposed to happen.

As if it’s okay that I’ve just lost the biggest chance I had. And maybe, just maybe, my job. As if it’s okay that I made Mason so angry. As if Bridget hadn’t intended me to make up with Riley and only Riley, then keep whatever was between us a secret forever.

It’s almost like Bridget thought we’d have to tell her father eventually.

It’s as if Bridget thinks this was something more than sex. And infatuation. And endless hours of thinking. And a feeling I’ve never had, for anyone, ever.

As if this pain is okay. As if it’s worth it.

I look at the phone. This time, I pick it up. I scroll to Riley’s entry in my contacts. She deleted me; I saw that when my name didn’t come up on her phone’s screen with the message. But I can’t bring myself to delete her, even though it’s over before it began.

And that’s fine. I’m me. Just me. Just me and Bridget. Life is simpler this way. I take care of my sister and earn enough to survive. Those are my only tasks. I do them well, and I’ll do them forever.

Riley’s icon on my phone — a photo of a happier girl, who doesn’t know today’s pain — smiles back at me. Makes me feel hollow inside. And I wish I could revoke the power I’ve given her. It’s not fair that she can make me feel this way.

I wonder what’s next. Am I fired? I have no way to know; I can only go to work on the Stonegate job tomorrow and see what happens. I definitely won’t call Mason. If I’m fired, let him or someone from his office call me.

I’m definitely not promoted.

I may be ruined. Destroyed. Dead. It may be over for me at this company, and I’ll have to scrap somewhere else.

But Riley. What of Riley?

I could call her. Regardless of what happens with Life of Riley, Riley the girl is something else entirely. If I’m foolish enough to believe I need her — if I’m foolish enough to want to pour salt into the wound she’s opened inside me — I could talk to her … just her. Not Mason. Not the office. Just the girl.

Maybe there’s something there. But the thought stops as soon as it starts, and I realize that I’m being naive. I have no one but Bridget, and Riley has nobody, really, other than her father. I can’t pull them apart. I can’t allow him to resent or pity her. To think less of her.

There’s nothing I can do.