Page 108 of Home in Nevada

How am I supposed to end a partythisbig?

Lucy’s over on the grass, playing beer pong. Another group is throwing more ribs on the barbecue. A couple of people are grinding by the stereo, and a handful are still in the pool, drinks in hand.

Brandon is… missing.

Good. Maybe he finally left.

I spend the next hour doing the adult version ofget the hell out—saying goodbye, thanking people for coming, casually mentioning that the party’s over. Lucy and I pick up trash around the pool area, slowly but surely dispersing the crowd.

By the time we make it back upstairs, I’m beyond exhausted. I push open the door, ready to collapse—

And there’s Brandon, standing in my living room.

He and Jamie are by the couch, standing way too close. Jamie’s arms are crossed, Brandon’s shoved his hands into his pockets. The tension between them is thick, and the whole scene looks… awkward.

When the hell did Brandon sneak up here?

I thought the party was outside, not in our apartment. Had Jamie still been in bed when Brandon arrived? Jamie’s dressed now, but did I even lock the door on my way out?

Shit.

Why is this happening when I can barely keep my drunken mind straight?

“Brandon,” I say, voice cold, “what are you doing in here?”

He pulls his hands out of his pockets as I march over, accidentally kicking a few moving boxes out of my way. He lifts both palms in a defensive gesture.

“Dude,” Brandon blurts, “I just came up to say goodbye… that’s all.”

He shoots a quick glance at Jamie, who’s scowling, looking panicked.

He’s lying. I can see it in his eyes… and I can see it in Jamie’s.

The anger I tried to bury flares back up, hot and familiar. My fists clench at my sides, and I catch Brandon’s gaze flick to my hand as it starts to curl into a fist.

I draw in a shaky breath, forcing myself to stand down.

“Are you kidding, Jeff? Chill out…” Brandon mutters, lifting his hands defensively, still eyeing the fists at my side. Then he digs into his pocket, pulls out his car keys, and dangles them in front of me. “I’m leaving.”

My eyes land on the Range Rover fob, and for just a second, I see the old Brandon—the one who’d grin and take a swing at me for kicks during football practice, that cocky-ass smile plastered on his face.

But that was high school. Neither of us is the same person we were back then.

“Wait… who is this?” Lucy interrupts, weaving unsteadily as she reaches for a glass of water in the kitchen. She knocks over a barstool with a loud clatter.

Our apartment is a wreck.

“Nobody,” I say flatly. And with one last flat look—first at me, then at Jamie—he steps out of the apartment, letting the door click shut behind him.

“…He said he still had feelings for me,” Jamie whispers, his voice so quiet I almost miss it.

My heart still thunders in my chest, the tension from Brandon’s exit buzzing under my skin. For a moment, I just stand there, staring after him, unable to speak. Then leftover adrenaline surges, and the laugh that escapes me is a weird mix of relief and annoyance.

Jamie blinks, eyebrows climbing. “What...? Why are you laughing?!”

Off to the side, Lucy is totally checked out of the conversation, opening a bag of chips and absentmindedly stuffing her face. She’s focused on the headlights of Brandon’s car as it disappears from the parking lot below.”

I told you so,” I say, my laugh coming out louder than I intend as I pull Jamie into a tight hug. The grip might be a little too firm—clearly I’m still riding that leftover anger.

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