Page 155 of Holding On

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ethan

It's been a week since Becca broke up with me. I've spent most of that time either sleeping or on the couch playing video games. Those are the only activities that keep my mind off all the shit I don't want to think about. The accident. My leg. My football career. My dead friends. Losing Becca.

I've shut down. For good this time. I feel nothing. I won't let myself. As soon as I start to feel even the slightest hint of emotion, I grab my video controller and get lost in a game.

I haven't talked to Jackson for days, and I've ignored Coach, who keeps calling and stopping by. My dad keeps calling too, leaving messages threatening to come out here and drag my ass to practice. Let him try. I'm not going.

The doorbell rings. It's probably Coach. Or Jackson. Or one of my other teammates. They're all back in town now and they keep showing up at my door.

The bell rings again but I ignore it.

"Ethan." I hear a loud voice, followed by knocking. "Ethan, it's Mike. Becca's brother."

Becca's brother? What's he doing here? Curious as hell, I grab my crutches and go open the door.

"Hey," Mike says. "I need to talk to you."

He's wearing a t-shirt and shorts and I notice his prosthetic leg.

"You gonna stare at it all day or let me in?"

Startled, I glance up at him and step aside. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's fine. Everyone does." He walks over to the couch and sits down.

"Does it bother you?" I ask, sitting on the chair next to him. "When people stare?"

"Not really. It did at first but now I'm used to it." He shoves his keys in his pocket. "So how's it going?"

"Not great," I say, then wonder why I said it. When people ask me how I'm doing, I always just say 'good' no matter how I'm feeling.

"You miss Becca?" he asks.

"Of course I miss her. I love—" I clear my throat.

Shit. Why did I say that? To her brother of all people?

"She loves you too," he mutters.

"Wait—what?" I ask, moving to the edge of my chair. "She actually said that?"

"No, but as her brother I can tell."

"I think you're reading her wrong." I sit back. "She won't even answer my calls. She acts like she hates me."

"That's just Becca. She has a hard time expressing how she feels, especially when it comes to love. I blame our mom for that. When she left, Becca changed. She no longer trusted anyone, except Dad and me. But even with us, she held back. She didn't hug us as much. She had a hard time saying I love you. I think she thought Dad and I might leave her too. Anyway, my point is, she has a hard time giving her heart away, so if she gives it to you, you better protect it with your life."

From his tone and the look he's giving me, I know he's pissed at me for treating Becca the way I did. So why is he here? To yell at me? Tell me what an ass I am? I already know that. I don't need to be told.

"So, um..." I glance down. "Are you here to tell me I screwed up with Becca? If so, I already—"

"That's not why I'm here."

I look up at him. "Then why are you here?"

"To tell you something. About me. About my leg and the night it happened."

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