Page 42 of Without You

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “It’s always the heavy stuff with you isn’t it?”

“Me,” he responds pointedly. “Or us?”

I drag my hand down my face. “A bit of both,” I tell him. “And the guy you thought I am, is me. It’s the only side I really have on offer.”

“Somehow, I find that a little hard to believe.”

The sarcasm is on the tip of my tongue. The challenge. The impulse to argue and bite back. I shift my gaze to his, and he’s expecting it, waiting for it.

Purposefully, I do the opposite, immaturely showing him he doesn’t know me. Not one single version of me. No matter what he thinks.

“I want to get drunk,” I announce. “Do you want to get drunk?”

“Sorry, what?” he asks confused. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I’m sick of all the heavy. Aren’t you?” I ask rhetorically. “I could do with getting rid of it for one night. I can’t even tell you the last time I got messy drunk.”

He twists his body, so all of him is now facing the windshield. “I’m embarrassed to say I remember my last time.”

“Yeah. When?”

“When Rhett moved into my place. Our place?” He shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Really? That long ago?”

“He was in remission, your mom finally agreed to let him move in. We finally decided to take our relationship to the next level.”

My body stiffens, and an odd sting settles in my chest. I don’t want to be thinking about them having sex. “Yeah, I think I get the picture. I don’t need to hear about you and my brother fucking.”

“What?” he shouts, before covering his mouth in horror. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what next level means,” I state.

“No.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean we had sex, but that’s the night we decided to make it official.”

“What do you mean, official? Haven’t you always been together?”

“He really didn’t tell you about us.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I can’t work out if he’s mad or shocked by the revelation.

“I didn’t ask,” I say, trying to relieve whatever hurt or confusion he seems to be feeling right now. “Anything I didn’t know, is all on me.”

“You still want to get drunk?” he asks, making it clear we’re dropping that topic for now.

“Fuck yeah,” I breathe out. “Honestly, if you’re not up for it, I completely understand.”

He raises his hand, cutting me off. “Why don’t you drop me off at home and go spend time with your family? Or you could mope around and be broody—whatever it is you do on your own,” he says flippantly. “And we’ll meet at The Crooked Stool at eight?”

“Broody?”

“Don’t make me explain it,” he huffs. “We both know broody is exactly what you are.”

“Is broody a compliment?” I query.

The drive comes to an end as I pull up in his driveway. I let the truck run, keeping the heat on for both of us since Julian is in no rush to get out.

“Are you asking for one?” There’s a slight lift to his mouth, and I find myself staring at his lips. They’re so expressive. At any given time, they’re the perfect mood indicator.

Is he flirting with me?

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