Page 48 of Forgive You

My head swivels his way with a death glare as I shove him deeper into the sand. “Don’t compare me to that psychopath.”

“Hey, back off.” He pushes back, matching my energy with adon’t-make-me-kick-your-drunk-assattitude.

“I hate him just as much as you do, but shutting her out like that? That’s exactly what he used to do.” He points his finger in my face. “Why the fuck would she tell you what’s going on when you’re showing her exactly why she can’t trust you?”

My palms rub over my cheeks before I fold them in front of my face, staring at the sun slowly disappearing into the ocean.

Never in a million years would I have thought thatIwould be the one Julie couldn’t trust, and though the feeling is mutual, it still feels like a knife has been jabbed into my chest.

“She hurt me,” I whisper.

Jordan tilts his head as he studies my face, probably looking for answers I’m not willing to give him. I’m not that drunk, but I’m drunk enough for my brother to see at least bits of the truth slipping through.

“Clearly.” He nods. “And by the look in her eyes whenever they land on you, you hurt her too.”

He pulls the bottle from my hand, then swishes it into the ocean with one easy throw. My mouth opens to complain, but he holds up his hand. “Stoppretending you're out for revenge. That’s not you. Just be her fucking friend. She needs one.”

Just be her fucking friend.

I want to be. If I can’t have her in any other way, I at least want her back as my friend because, fuck me, my life is not the same without her in it. But it’s not just that, I’m also just fucking tired of being mad at her.

Fuck, it’s exhausting.

So what do I do now?

Jordan gets off his ass, wiping his shorts clean of any sand, then points at something behind me. “You have ten minutes to get in my truck, or you’ll be walking home.”

“I drove here.”

My keys dangle between his fingers as he eyes the bottle floating back onto the sand. “That’s not gonna happen, is it?”

I blow out a deep breath before my towel is shoved into my face.

“Pick up that bottle, and then make sure you’re dry, because you’re walking the first mile if you drop your soaking wet ass on my seats.”

“So much love,” I murmur as I run the fabric through my wet hair.

“Tons. Now, stop being a little bitch and call her.”

I flip him off when he walks away, and he pulls a face just like he was younger.

Little shit.

You know the world is all shades of fucked up when your little brother starts making sense.

Should I call her? Would she even pick up? Who am I kidding? If she wasn’t willing to talk to me, she wouldn’t have given me the brief moments she has. I wouldn’t have gotten close in the bathroom. She wouldn’t have let me carry her away from her co-workers at the yacht party, and she wouldn’t have opened the door yesterday.

I amthe one who’s holding a grudge. Not her.

Fuck it.

Before I can tell myself ten excuses not to do it, I push a few buttons on my phone until my camera is on and the FaceTime ring echoes loudly around me.

For a couple of seconds, my heart stutters while my mind buzzes with alcohol, knowing I’ll be heartbroken if she ignores me, but then a wide smile forms in relief as her beautiful face fills my screen.

“You’re answering.”

She seems hesitant, her eyebrows briefly knitting together before a smile haunts her pink lips and all the tension in her face disappears. “You’re drunk.”

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