Page 25 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

We didn’t talk about it much, but Jace knew how broken I was. He knew the basics of me because he pulled it out of me, night after night, week after week, year after year. Maybe it was only a word here or there, a memory shared over cards, or something whispered when we were crouched down in the dark, thinking we might not get out of the shit we were in alive. We shared the good and the bad, and in the end, he knew enough about me to have a timeline and the facts of my life pretty straight in his head. I knew about his life too. That’s how he’d get me. By being more open than a body ever possibly could or should be. He wasn’t like anyone else, and maybe that’s why I felt safe enough to let him coax and extract information from me. He was always gentle. He would have never used it to hurt me.

And now?

He tried to give me the one thing I never had.

Someone.

Someone who cares.

Aspen is trying so hard. She’s trying because Jace asked her to. I know even after she leaves, that won’t be the end of it. She’llkeep trying and trying, and fuck, she shouldn’t have to. This isn’t fair to her. It’s not fair that someone like me got dumped on someone like her. When she saved me, hauling me over the railing with every ounce of brute strength in her body, and in the park, when she refused to let me be, trying to save me all over again, she proved she’s more than just pretty and sweet, innocent and young. There’s something under all of it that I didn’t see at first. She’s strong like Jace was strong, even if they were born more than a decade apart and took totally different paths in life.

I’ve been all over the place all night, my brain rapid fire firing off endless shit in every which way. It’s not cool. It’s not fun. If I could shut it down, I would.

Sleep. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

I’m still sitting here as the sky slowly lightened. And then past that. I’m still sitting here when I hear Aspen get up, hear the shower crank on, and hear her soft footsteps going downstairs. I’m still sitting here, listening as she hums downstairs in the kitchen. She’s making breakfast, and she’s going to try and feed me.

Shower.

I need a shower and a fresh set of clothes. I need to convince her that I’m fine, even if I only look like it, and the rest of me is my usual grumpy grunts.

I do both, and by the time I’m done, I almost look human. I spin around in the mirror and check for bruising on my ass. There aren’t any marks. No fingerprints on my butt cheeks and nothing across my stomach, where I slammed against the railing.

I tug my jeans on and pull my shirt down.

On the stairs, I nearly run straight into Aspen. She smiles up at me like she’s just swallowed the sun, and it’s emitting straight out of her body. I’ve never seen anyone look that good at anytime of day. Her eyes are so soft and blue. And the rest of her is equally soft. Golden. Shiny.Beautiful. She smells like honey and fried bananas.

“Oh! I was just coming to get you. Breakfast is ready.”

In the kitchen, I find that I’m hungry, which is a surprise and a mystery every time it happens. The past years of my life didn’t include regular meals, and they were always very industrial. No, that’s not right. We didn’t eat nuts and bolts. They were just meant to fill a void and give enough nutrition. Sometimes, they were good, but they never smelled like this.

“I made crepes.” There’s that glowing sunshine smile again.

She passes me a plate with at least eight rolled-up crepes topped with real whipped cream that she made fresh, fried bananas, a drizzle of melted chocolate sauce, and ribbons of maple syrup. My stomach growls, the acids tingling long after the noise it makes.

We sit down at the table that I can’t wait to get rid of. It’s modern and angular, and the chairs are made of chrome. They’reindustrial. I’d rather eat off the floor.

I wolf two crepes down, which I basically inhale without being able to stop myself because they’re undeniably a mouth orgasm if I’ve ever had a mouth orgasm before. And I haven’t, at least not until I met Aspen, which sounds straight-up wrong, so I need to think of another word. The word delicious does her food no justice.

“I want you to tell me about Jace,” she suddenly says.

I swallow half of the third crepe completely wrong but get it down without choking or coughing. I didn’t make coffee, so now I don’t have a drink. I force myself to breathe shallowly, sucking in air so I can keep my regular neutral expression in place.

“You know about your brother,” I reply.

“I know you can’t tell me much, but…” She shifts, crossing her legs.

Today, she has on black leggings and a T-shirt that looks vintage with an old rat rod car on the front made crinkly by age and washing. I don’t notice anything about her clothes, the way they fit, or how she somehow makes wearing a T-shirt look like an art form. I don’t notice her curves or anything else. I don’t because I force myself not to. It clearly doesn’t even register in my brain. Yeah.Clearly.

“Can you tell me the things youareallowed to talk about?” she adds.

Nope. I’m not going to fall into the trap of those blue eyes getting all liquid and huge and imploring me. I’m not going to get sucked in. I’m not.

“Like what?”

Fuck.

“Like what you guys did in your downtime. You had to have fun sometimes when you weren’t always working. Or was life just constantly shitty and dangerous? Did you ever go to a place you liked? A country? Did you laugh together?” She smears a chunk of banana in chocolate and puts it in her mouth. Slowly.

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