Page 129 of A Little Complicated

I nod, hating the shameful tears in my eyes. He looks so hurt right now. So broken. And I’m the one who caused it. His pain. I ruined everything.

I’m so sorry.

I brush the moisture away with my fingers and nod again, forcing my feet to move. To give Archer the space he wants. The space he needs. In a rush, I leave his room and slide past a silent Maverick in the hallway. Or at least, I think it was Maverick. I didn’t exactly look him in the eye. I’m not sure I can. But I’d recognize those black biker boots anywhere. I don’t know how much he heard. And honestly, I don’t care. Not right now. Because this isn’t about him. This is about me and Archer and everything I ruined. Everything I gave up. Everything I lost. My legs feel weak as I walk back to my house. Then, I collapse on my bed and cry.

41

MAVERICK

Her cheeks are red and shiny. She tries to hide them beneath the bill of her hat, but they’re like a beacon, highlighting every mistake I’ve made in the past few months despite my best attempts to keep them at bay for both our sakes. Tiny trails of tears stain her perfect complexion as she slips past me in the hallway, leaving me alone without a backward glance.

Resting my back against the wall, I fold my arms and wait, unsure what to do or say. I fucked up. More times than I can count, but this takes the cake. This ruins my brother. This hurts Ophelia. This burns down the two most important relationships in my life, and there isn’t anything I can do about it but wait, hoping I can at least clean up the ashes.

Hope.

It’s a funny word.

Four letters.

Like a curse.

And I’ve been cursed for years.

Last night was reckless, but I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any moment I’ve been lucky enough to hold her. And after everything she said, I’ve decided to give in to the beast inside me. The one who loves Ophelia with every fucking fiber of his being. Giving in is calming almost. Soothing. Even now, with the aftermath ahead of me, ahead ofus, I can’t bring myself to regret a single moment I’ve shared with her.

I’ve been drowning for months. Floundering in a sea of chaos and depression. And the past few weeks felt like I was finally given a breath of fresh air. The idea of being pushed under again is more than I can stomach.

I just need to get through this.

Ophelia closed Archer’s door behind her when she left, but even now, I can hear my brother pacing in his room on the opposite side of the wood separating us. He’s the calm one. The collected one. The logical one. Ophelia poured gasoline all over his emotions. His future.Theirfuture. And now, he’s trying to figure out how to fix it. How to clean it up. How to mend it regardless of the dagger in his back. The one I helped place there.

I hate it.

Even now, after everything that’s happened, after knowing everything that’s going to happen, I don’t want him to fix it. His relationship with Ophelia. At least not the romantic side. I want it to stay burned. Torched. Ashen. I want every speck of their relationship to be obliterated so I can continue piecing her back together. So I can have another chance to claim all of her despite the reason why I broke things off in the first place. It’s glaring at me, reminding me how fruitless of an effort it would be. For us to work things out. How it would only wind up hurting her in the end, just like the first time. I never claimed to be the selfless brother, though. Not once. I tried it, and it clearly didn’t stick.

Still, this is low, even for me.

But she’s right. I either love her or I don’t. It’s that simple.

And fuck me, I love her with every fiber of my being. I know it’s selfish, and I shouldn’t because, in the end, it’ll destroy her.

But I tried. To step back. To let her go. Obviously, it didn’t work for either of us, and I can't bring myself to do it again.

With my head resting against the wall, I look at the ceiling. My own self-loathing reaches a feverish pitch when the hinges on Archer’s bedroom door squeak. He yanks it open but stops short as his gaze lands on me.

The air grows thick, nearly choking me as I stare back at him. Waiting. For him to yell at me. To throw a punch. To tell me I’m a waste of space. He isn’t wrong. And he wouldn’t be wrong if he beat the shit out of me. But only if he promised to stay away from her afterward.

“You gonna hit me?” I ask.

He scoffs and drops his chin to his chest as his hands clench at his sides, fisting and unfisting.

“You should,” I push. “I deserve it.”

“Yeah.” A dry laugh escapes him, but he doesn’t look at me. “You do.”

“Hit me.” I push myself away from the wall and stride closer to him. “Hit me, Arch.”

His eyes snap to mine, but I continue my pursuit, crowding his space until we’re chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose.

---