Page 100 of Branded
The nerves meant I wasn’t completely comfortable, not like I was with Smitty or my friends (yes, somehow I had friends), but it wasn’t like I was sitting on my stool, feeling like a writhing uncomfortable bundle of anxiety.
“This is delicious,” Celeste said, spooning up some soup.
“For such a dingy-looking place, the burger’s good,” Brandon said, and I froze, my wing poised in front of my lips, feeling almost defensive of CeCe’s.
Was it marble and glass and a Michelin-starred restaurant?
No.
But it was homey and warm, and they made good food, had a friendly staff, and…I could be myself here.
My eyes narrowed slightly, but I decided to ignore the comment, as I had with the weird vibe and the other couple of snarky replies Brandon had given that evening, following Celeste and Ryan’s lead and focusing on my wings and my beer. My eyes hit Smitty’s—who smiled tightly and took a bite of his burger—his knee brushing mine, silently telling me that it was okay. I nodded slightly. Then Ryan asked me about my job with the Breakers. Giving him my standard rundown of the program meant that I was distracted from the comment, and add in Celeste asking about my family, and the verbal tap-dance of that topic of conversation—“My dad works a lot, and we’re not close. My mom is really busy with her charities. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
Bare facts.
Enough that I hopefully wouldn’t have to get into it in further detail.
At least not today.
Luckily, it seemed to satisfy his parents because the conversation then turned back to the team (and I didn’t miss that Smitty was the one doing the slight redirecting, just another reason I loved the man).
They were talking about the season and the prospects for what might happen when the playoffs rolled around when Brandon struck again. “Yeah, it’s lucky that Conner managed to squeak into the NHL. He was so bad at school that he wouldn’t have had a backup plan.”
Celeste gasped.
Brandon smiled, and it was tinged with the jealously that coated his words, which was obvious to me now. “Probably be working at McDonald’s now if he hadn’t.”
“Brandon,” Ryan snapped.
Like working in the service industry was bad.
Like Smitty was bad and a disappointment and stupid.
Like his biggest worry he’d worked to bury deep.
And his brother was just poking it with a sharp stick.
Smitty winced, but his voice was calm. “Look, Brandon, man. Let’s not do this now. We’re having a nice dinner, and you don’t need to ruin it with old shit.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “You took my spot.”
Celeste and Ryan stilled.
Smitty sighed. “This was more than a decade ago, Brand, and you know I had no control over who got chosen?—”
“Chosen?” I asked.
“He took it,” Brandon snapped, his eyes flashing to mine. “He took my spot on the team, and if I’d had it, I would be here instead of where I’m at and?—”
“Brandon,” Ryan interjected. “You know?—”
“Oh, I know. I know how proud you are of him and how I’m just the normal one— You know he’s dyslexic, right?” he asked, still staring at me. “Was so fucking dumb in school that he barely passed. A disappointment to his teachers. Hell, Mom and Dad had to get him a ton of tutors and?—”
“Brandon,” Celeste snapped.
Was a thirty-year-old man seriously saying these things?
Rage built in my belly, flickered up and out through my limbs.
