Page 62 of When We Meet Again

I fumble with the first-aid kit I keep in the bathroom, trying to open it before I grab the whole fucking thing and run back to my girl.

I take a deep breath before I kneel in front of her. This isn’t exactly how I saw myself getting down on one knee. But regardless of the circumstances, I can’t help but feel ecstatic that she’s here.

I’m fixated on her wound but can feel the burn from her eyes in the back of my downturned head, and I can’t resist glancing up into those gorgeous eyes I know and love. Bloodshot from the tears, her irises are greener than I’ve ever seen them, and I’m slowly becoming unhinged.

She stares at me, probably judging my equally as puffy eyes and red nose. After Patrick appeared, I lost it in the car on the way home. I had to pull over because I couldn’t see. A fewminutes later the tears turned to full-on rage. I pounded the steering wheel…a lot…and now my damn air bag light is on.

Her wince brings me out of my thoughts as she takes the towel off of her finger, and there lies a sliced flap of skin hanging off.

“You got yourself pretty good here, didn’t you? I’m starting to think you’re deliberately cutting yourself so I have to take care of you.” I try to add humor to the situation before another sob escapes her. Poor joke.Noted.

“That was a pretty bad joke. I’m sorry,” I chuckle as I feel myself blush.

I spray hydrogen peroxide over the wound to clean it and dab it dry, ignoring the low hiss she emits at my touch.

Dabs of topical antibiotics cover the gash before I apply the Band-Aid, making a big show of ensuring it’s well stuck so that I can feel her touch a moment longer. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask, refusing to let go of her hand.

“It’s like he’s changed, but at the same time he’s the same person. Does that make sense?”

I nod, and she gives me a very fake smile. I watch as she scratches the skin around her thumb nail. Anxiety rears its ugly head in many different ways, so I place my hand over hers, encouraging her to stop. “I offered to take him to the diner so we could eat while we talk, and he insisted on wanting me to cook the chicken and potatoes he loved.” I try to contain my feelings, but him showing up and falling into his old habits, demanding that she cook a meal and clean up after him is far-fetched of him to assume she’d bend over backward for him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this to you of all people.”

“No. Don’t do that.” Her brows pinch at my words. “We’re friends before anything, Kensi. You can tell me anything.” I run my hands through my hair. How the hell do we navigate this shit show?

“I thought he would at least help prep, but instead he sat in front of the TV, and I wasn’t paying attention, and instead of peeling the potato, I peeled my finger.” Tears stream from her eyes and I bring her freshly bandaged finger to my lips, locking my eyes with hers. I told her there was no reason for her to have to take care of herself as long as I’m around. But it looks as though my brother doesn’t have the same sentiment.

“I’m sorry, Waverly. How can I help?” Her head falls to my shoulder, and she slumps off the couch in front of me so we’re both kneeling on the carpet, retracting her hand from mine, but slipping it around my back. My skin tingles from the touch of her hands, despite the fabric of my shirt dividing us.

“Don’t leave me. I don’t know what this is, Rome…but… I can’t go back to how I felt before,” her grip tightens on me, as if her touch can keep me from going anywhere, even though we both know I’m going nowhere, “It was like… He was sitting in the kitchen, and I just—I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I was trapped in my own house. And I was drowning. Me…drowning…oh, the irony. And he—he didn’t…” She pulls her head away from my chest to look back into my eyes as she continues, “All he wanted me to do was to make him dinner. And the guilt he made me feel for not going along with his want? It’s consuming, and not in a good way.” Consuming. The word of the century. I’d let this woman consume every fiber of my being if she’d allow me.

“It’s been hell for me, too, Kens.” I pull away and tug at the roots of my hair. This old habit is making a comeback…and it’s because of her. She drives me insane! “You don’t think I’ve been tossing and turning every night wondering ifthatis the night you’ll let him have you?” My voice raises at the end, and I take a deep breath, calming myself.

“Have me?” she repeats as if she doesn’t get it.

“Yes, have you.Fuckyou.” I close the space between us and lean down, resting my lips on her ear. “Make love to you like I’vebeen wanting to do forsolong.” Goosebumps erupt under my touch, and I smirk. She wants it just as bad as I do. I know how to read women and their body language. Their reaction.

“Then…do—” she starts, but my cell rings, and I don’t need to look at it to know who it is, but as much as I want to ignore it, I have to answer it.

Waverly leans back, her eyes silently pleading for me to let it ring.

“It needs to happen, Kensi. It’s my brother. But I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

I stand to give her space from the dreaded phone call.I shouldn’t be trying—or wanting—to avoid my brother who’s back from the dead.This is all so fucked up.

I hold the phone up to my ear while simultaneously grabbing Waverly some warm, dry clothes. “Patrick. It’s strange to see your name appear on my screen after all this time.” My parents decided to keep his phone number. Mostly so they could call and hear his voice on his voicemail. Not sure how he got a phone and set it up so fast, but maybe Mom and Dad helped with that.

“Is she there?” His voice sounds strained.

“She is.” I hold up a black shirt that I bought at The Weeknd concert before he became so famous. Waverly bought the exact same one. A couple years back, the three of us saw him at a small venue outside of L.A. Patrick hated every minute of it, but me and Waverly? We were high on music that night…and probably a little contact high on weed, too. It was the night before I spilled my guts to her at the county fair while we watched the sunset.Thatwas the day Patrick decided tofinallyintroduce her to our parents.It only took him three years.

“Would you mind if I came to see her? She cut herself, threw the peeler at me, and took off running out of the house. By the time I got up to go after her, she was already in her car.”

“What happened, man? When she got here she was a mess.” I know what happened, but hopefully if he tells me himself, he’ll recognize old patterns and apologize.

“Nothin’! I asked her to make me my favorite meal. It’s been forever. And you know I haven’t seen a baseball game or a hockey game in forever, I thought I’d take a load off.” He exhales into the phone. “I was giving her space.”

Therein lies the problem. He doesn’t see anything wrong with his actions. For fuck’s sake.

This puts me in a tough spot. With whom does my loyalty lie?

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