Page 173 of Unspoken Rules

“Since before you left.”

“Since before—” I snap my mouth shut and start to pace. He remembered while I was still there? We spent time together, and he knew I’d fucked his dad? Or rather his dad fucked me? Or I guess he didn’t know either of those things because he had no idea who was fucking who, but that isn’t the point!

Chris looked me in the eye, didn’t freak out on me, and he knew. He remembered. And I had no idea.

“Relax,” he says firmly.

“I can’t,” I admit, turning on my heel and walking toward my kitchen. I pull open my cabinet and take out the bottle of whiskey. Glancing at Chris, I curse under my breath and shove it back. I go to the fridge and get a cold bottle of water and press it to my head for at least a minute before opening it and drinking it.

“I’m not mad,” Chris says. That’s really hard to believe. He isn’t mad? How can he not be mad?

I drink half the bottle, panting when I’m done. My chest is burning from the cold, and my teeth ache. I put the bottle down, press my palms to the counter, lean over and breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

This is my worst fear. I was so worried about him remembering, and… He did. He remembers it all.

Breathe, Bryson. Just breathe.

I don’t know why I’m panicking. Actually, I think I do.

I had my best friend back. Things with me and Chris were good. And now, what? He’s going to hate me again? Hate his dad again? Go back to drinking? Succeed in killing himself next time? I can’t handle this. Everything was going so well. Has been for months, but—

Fucking hell, he’s known since before I left!

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, whipping my head up and meeting his gaze. I walk over to him, stopping in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me you remembered when I was there?”

“I was confused,” he answers.

“About what?”

“Everything?” he says, throwing his arms up. “Angry. Hurt. But then guilty because I remember how I acted. Put that together with what you said to me in the hot tub about being sorry and not doing it again. You being so worried I would remember and be upset with you. My dad being all fucking mopey. The two of you being weird with each other. It was all just a lot, and I needed time to process. A lot of time. I didn’t know how to handle something like this, and it’s not like I had someone to talk to about it.” He sounds as stressed out as I feel.

“And you thought flying across the country to tell me face to face was the best way to tell me this?”

Chris gets up, puts his hands on my shoulders, and gives me a firm, “No.”

“No?”

What does he mean no? Why else would be here then?

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to come here and do this. Honestly, I wanted to send you a shitty text. But Mila talked me out of it.”

“Mila knows?”

He nods, dropping his hands. “I needed to talk to someone.”

“And…”

“And we had a very in depth and adult conversation about it. She let me vent to her. She listened to me. Everything I said, she understood. I felt validated and listened to. She listened to my anger, my confusion. She took all of it and didn’t judge me. And when I got all that out, we just… talked it out.”

That’s Mila. I love her so much for it.

“I went back and forth from wanting to kill both of you to wanting to drink an entire bottle of vodka.”

I wince. “You didn’t, right?”

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