12. Chapter Twelve

Microwaved popcorn and stupid movies. It was how we used to spend all our free time, especially during grad school when things just got ridiculously stressful. It was always the best way to unwind and just not have to think for a while.

And that's how it feels now, too.

We prop up all the pillows on the bed, and I sit with my back against the headboard. Brenna cuddles up next to me, her head resting on my shoulder. And we eat and laugh and flip back and forth from one movie to another, not even really caring what we're watching.

It seriously makes me love her all over again. I mean... like a best friend. Which makes everything even harder if I let myself think about it. So I try not to.

Some Hallmark rom-com is on now, and it's probably the third movie we've watched. I don't know when it got so late, but it's easily after eight, and we're on our second bag of popcorn. Brenna's also had two glasses of wine. Or maybe even three. I wasn't really keeping track, but the bottle's about half-empty now. And she's a little extra giggly, which is how she gets when she's tipsy.

She glances up at me, smiling, and her hand drifts a bit lower, down from my chest to my stomach. Then she stretches up and kisses my cheek before turning back to the movie.

She's beautiful. She is. Beautiful and amazing and one of the best people I know. One of the best friends I've ever had. And—god, what am I doing? My chest tightens, and I feel slightly nauseous.

How can I still lie to her? How am I still lying to her, still refusing to tell her the truth, still hiding myself from her?

I know the answer. It's because I'm a coward. Because it's a scary truth and I'm a coward. That's how.

But, god, it's not really just all about me, is it? I'm selfish, too. A selfish coward who doesn't deserve all that she's given me.

I close my eyes as a ramble of words begins to form in my head.

Hey, Bren, uh, so there's something I've been meaning to tell you. And I wanna start by saying I love you. Because I do. You're kind and beautiful and smart, and I love you so much. But, well, um, it's sort of a different kind of love. Like... you're my best friend. Like... I love you, but I'm not in love with you.

Then my thoughts quickly derail into curse words I rarely think and even more rarely use. And a wave of something—nausea maybe—hits me hard. It's going to hurt her so much. Dammit. I hate the thought of anything hurting her. And this is even worse because this one is all me. It's all my fault.

Yeah, I can blame it on my dad, sure. Because he's the reason everything ended up how it did. His anger and screaming and threats—all reasons I've shoved that part of myself deep down, promised myself I'd never, ever come out, told myself and Brenna and Coop all those lies. But in the end, it's been my decision to continue this way.

I mean, I've had years to make a change. Years to break free from all his shit.

And yet . . .

"Hey, are you okay?" Brenna's hand travels back up to my chest, and she presses into me gently as she shifts in my arms. "You just got like really tense."

Shit, I did. I immediately loosen my arm from around her shoulders and shake my head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just—"

"—somewhere else," she says. And it's not a question or an accusation or anything. Just a statement.

"Yeah, um, sorry," I apologize again, and I close my eyes and rest my head on top of hers. She's warm and comfortable, and she makes me feel safe.

And I'm not going to have this anymore when I tell her the truth. And dammit, that's just really, really scary.

"Josh?"

I feel her push away from me slightly, and I open my eyes to look at her again. There's something in her expression now that's almost a little fearful, and I just shake my head and reach up to cover her hand with mine on my chest. Which is when I realize I'm shaking. Like, a lot.

I'm shaking a lot.

And when I close my eyes, this time I see him—my dad. He's angry and cussing me out after he's come back in from chasing Coop out of the house. His face is red, and his eyes are wide. And he's still holding a baseball bat in his hand, waving it around.

He doesn't touch me. He doesn't lay a hand on me. But I'm terrified all the same. I cower back into the corner and lie to him. Deny who I am. Deny that I have feelings for my best friend. Deny that the kiss was my idea and that I liked it.

"Hey, Josh, sweetie, you're okay. What's—what's going on?"

It hurts. My heart hurts, and now my head hurts too. But she's still here—for now—and she's offering herself and a hug, and I just can't resist it. She straddles my thighs and leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer and lower my head to her shoulder.

"S-sorry, Bren. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I say. Over and over. I'm probably crying now too, but I'm not even sure, really.

She's too amazing. She just holds me, strokes my back and my hair, and kisses my forehead and cheeks. And she says quiet words that are comforting and at the same time make me feel even worse. Because every few sentences are punctuated with some form of "I love you."

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry. I'm..."

"Shh, it's okay," she murmurs again, and her arms tighten around me.

All I can think is how it's not okay. This isn't okay. I'm not okay. But I let her continue to hold me and continue to comfort me until all those feelings and memories and all the fear are no longer suffocating me.

It's probably several minutes until I've stopped shaking. Yet she's still holding me and stroking my cheek, and when I open my eyes to look up at her, her expression is kind and concerned.

God, she should be mad. If she knew, she would be mad. It's not right.

"Bren," I say, my voice catching in my throat. "I'm sorry. I don't know what—what was..." Except I do know. So why am I still saying I don't?

"Shh, whatever that was, you're okay now." She kisses me lightly—just a brief brush of her lips against mine—and then she kisses my forehead and hugs me to her again.

"But—"

"You're okay. You're safe here, Josh."

Dammit. It's like . . . she knows or something.

"Bren, I..." God, I need to tell her. I have to say something.

And she must know, because she shakes her head like she doesn't want to hear it as much as I don't want to say it. Then she slips off my lap and settles back in her spot next to me with her hand on my chest, pressing into me just a little. It grounds me. It keeps me here this time—here with her.

I move my hand up over hers because that feels even better.

And we get back to watching the movie, although I'm not sure it feels quite as relaxing anymore.

***

The movie ends maybe about thirty minutes later, and rather than flipping through more channels to find something else, Brenna reaches over me to grab the remote and then switches the TV off.

I figure even though it's not terribly late, she's probably pretty tired. I did sort of put her through an emotional wringer today. And when she leans on me again, resting her head on my chest this time, all I can seem to do is hold her. I close my eyes and wrap her up in my arms, and she melts into me with a long sigh that does sound tired. Or maybe it's sad. Or resigned.

I kiss the top of her head, but as I do, there's this feeling—and it's kinda hard to describe, but it's sort of like there's something that's just changed between us. It's a feeling deep in my gut. And it's not pleasant.

God, I have to talk to her.

"Babe, I—" My cell phone rings, and I flinch at the sound, my arms tightening around her. "Ah, sorry, I-I'll just..."

I reach over to the nightstand where my phone sits, intending to silence it because I can't just keep letting this go. But when I see the number—a local one I don't recognize—there's an odd tingle inmy chest.

"Who is it?" Brenna asks quietly. She sits up and pushes away from me a bit as my arm drops from around her shoulders.

"Um, I'm not—I'm not sure."

And that's only partly true. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea of whom it might be. But I should let it go to voicemail. He can leave a message—if it's him, that is. It could be anyone, really. It could not be him. But it doesn't even matter. I should let it go to voicemail, and he can leave a message, and then I can call him back. Because there's something much more important that needs to happen right now.

I look up at Brenna as the ringtone continues, and she's staring at it too. I can't really read her expression—it's sort of blank-ish. Blank-ish with a hint of... disappointment.

"Aren't you gonna answer?" She bites her lip and then looks up at me, and I swear there's something in her eyes that's just so understanding and yet sad at the same time.

Dammit. I should ignore it. I should.

But apparently I'm terrible at doing the things I should, and I'm much too prone to making decisions I shouldn't. So I nod and then quickly scoot over away from her to the edge of the bed, swing my feet off to the floor, and stand as I swipe up to answer the call.

"Uh, hello?"

"Hey, Josh? Hey, it's me, Coop."

It is him. God. A rush of warmth courses through me, and I close my eyes at the sensation. "H-hey. Hey, Coop. Um..."

"Sorry, uh, is now a bad time? I can call back if—"

"No, no, it's good. It's fine. Um, Bren and I just finished watching a movie and..." I turn around again, and Brenna's sitting cross-legged on the bed now, watching me with that same expression—a sort of wistful, thoughtful understanding. She smiles, though, and it grounds me again. I somehow manage a weak smile in return.

"Ah, 'kay, uh, I won't keep you long," he says. "I just, um, wanted to ask if Thursday is still good for you? I mean, assuming I'm off work, of course."

There's this nervousness in his voice, and it's got something else to it too that's making my heart race. And god, I don't really know why or what to think, but suddenly, Thursday is sounding really, really amazing.

"Thursday's good, yeah. Uh, just let me know when and where, and I'll be there."

He lets out a sharp breath, and I can almost hear the relief in his voice as he says, "Great, good. Um, h-how about the bowling alley at eleven? It's just—just past the diner, off Second Street."

He's stammering a bit. Why is he stammering? And why is my heart hammering even harder in my chest?

I clear my throat. "Perfect. Yeah, that sounds good. Bowling alley at eleven. I'll see you there. And I'm, uh, I'm really glad you called, Coop."

The words are out of my mouth before I can really stop them. And it's not so much the words as the way I say them—my voice lower than normal and maybe... slightly breathy.

Dammit . . .

"Uh, yeah, man, I'm looking forward to it."

God, his voice is lower too. All deep and a little rough, and it's sexy as hell. I really, really need to hang up.

"I should go. See you Thursday."

"Yeah, yeah. Uh, good night then."

"Good night."

I glance over at Brenna as I hang up, and she's still sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, watching me. Her entire expression has softened, and her smile is so, so kind. Like she's telling me that it's okay.

Because it is okay, right? To want to see my old friend, I mean. God, it would be okay... if that's all it was. But I'm lying to even think that. I'm lying if I tell her that. Even just talking to him on the phone right now is making me feel all sorts of things I haven't felt in ten years. And she absolutely deserves to know.

She frowns at me, and I realize it's probably because I've suddenly gotten tense again. It's in my shoulders and jaw, and I'm not sure if I can get rid of it. I try for a small smile, however, and then set the phone back on the nightstand.

When I look at her again, she's reaching a hand out toward me, and her kind smile is back.

"I'm kinda tired. Um, can we just..." She pauses when I take her hand and sit on the bed with her again. Then she lifts her other hand and touches my cheek. Her touch is so gentle and so soft, like her smile.

I start to nod but stop when she presses her hand against my cheek again and blinks a few times, chasing away the tears at the edges of her eyes. Her cheeks flush ever so slightly, and then her smile tightens as she drops her gaze down to our joined hands, which now rest in her lap.

"It's... okay, Josh," she says, her voice so quiet I'm not entirely sure I heard her right. But she repeats herself just a little more clearly as she lifts her eyes to mine. "It's okay."

"Wh-what's . . . What do you mean?"

Her hand slides down to my neck, her fingers a whisper of a touch, before she pulls away and then crosses both arms over her chest.

She's not looking at me anymore, but she smiles again and then lets out a short, unsteady breath. "I've been pretending these last few months. Hoping, I guess."

"Hoping what, Bren? I-I'm not really following." I set a hand on her thigh, and she lets out a breathy laugh and then places one hand over mine and looks back up at me. There's hurt in her eyes now. And it's clear and unmistakable.

"Hoping I was wrong," she says, again with a small smile. A tear escapes and slides down her cheek, and she quickly pulls her hand away to wipe it off, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm still not—"

"It's okay," she repeats, firmly this time. Then both of her hands come up to cup my cheeks, her thumbs brushing gently along my skin. She nods slightly and smiles yet again as she says, "It's okay for you to love him, Josh."

My stomach clenches, and there's some painful ache in my chest. She... knows? She knows something, or... something. Everything around me thickens, becoming heavy and weighted, and I close my eyes and struggle to breathe. "I-I don't..."

"You love him," she whispers. And again, there's no question in her voice. It's a solid statement.

I don't know what to do or what to say, and her hands feel so warm and comforting on my cheeks. "I-I love you."

"I know you do. And I love you too. I'm in love with you," she says gently. Both of her hands slip down to my chest, and I open my eyes so I can see her again. There are more tears on her cheeks, but she's still smiling at me, despite the obvious pain in her expression. "But you're not in love with me. You're... you're in love with him. And"—she sniffles, and her voice catches in her throat—"and that's okay."

God. She knows. She knows.

"Brenna, I-I don't . . ."

She tugs me toward her, not for a kiss, but for a hug, and her arms wrap around me as I fall into her, my head coming to rest on her shoulder. "Please don't—please don't deny it, Josh. Please don't lie to me," she pleads. Then she kisses my temple and rubs my back gently, and my whole body seems to shudder with some huge release of—of I'm not even sure what.

I inhale deeply and try not to sob as she kisses me again. And god, I want to break down, to cry, to apologize. There's this overwhelming urge to fight the truth and push all my feelings away again, to deny, deny, deny. Just like... just like I always have. But I feel her shake her head.

"It's okay. You can tell me the truth." She pauses, holds me a little tighter, and then says, "You're safe here. I promise that. Always."

Suddenly, I'm shaking and crying, and I can't stop it anymore. I'm mumbling something over and over, and I think it's "I'm sorry," because, god, I am so sorry, and I'm so scared, and I don't know what to do. And my wonderful, kind, amazing Brenna, she just keeps holding me and keeps telling me it's okay. She kisses my hair and rubs my back. And she doesn't get mad or yell or leave or tell me to leave.

"I don't deserve you," I rasp after a few more minutes, when I can finally breathe again. "I don't deserve you."

"Shh, no, it's not..." She trails off and lets out a sharp breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet, and her words are tentative. "I just need to know. Um, what—what happened ten years ago?"

Her words have an instantaneous effect, bringing a rush of memories, and along with it come ripples of pain and fear as I hear my dad's angry voice.

"Dammit. What the fuck, Josh!"

And then the reminder, the threat.

"That's fuckin' right. Or I'd have to beat that shit right outta you."

God, it's terrifying all over again. And I'm shaking. I'm terrified and shaking, and I feel cold and small in some weird way, like I want to just disappear to somewhere.

But Brenna—wonderful, amazing Brenna—she whispers gentle words again, another "Shh, it's okay," and her kindness manages to drown out all of the fear from those memories I really don't want to relive.

Somehow, we end up lying together on the bed, facing each other. She's got one hand on my cheek, the other on my chest, and she presses a soft kiss to my forehead. And somehow, I finally find the courage to start talking. I start at the beginning, tell her everything. I tell her all the words I've never, ever said out loud—words I never thought I'd be able to say out loud.

She's predictably wonderful. I don't think she's ever been anything other than absolutely, perfectly wonderful. And when I get to the part about my dad catching me and Coop kissing, she scoots a little closer so she can wrap one arm around my back. She's so comforting and so supportive that I just sort of let my tears fall again.

I manage to finish, somehow finding the words to tell her what I felt when I saw Coop again after all this time. And I want to say more still because I have this almost desperate need to make sure she knows exactly how much she means to me and that I didn't ever mean to hurt her. But I can't seem to say anything else.

And really, I'm thinking she probably already knows anyway. Somehow.

There's a silence for a few moments before she shifts ever so slightly and then lets out a long, shuddering breath. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut tighter. And I say the same words I've said so, so often today.

"I'm so sorry, babe."

This time, she doesn't answer, and when I open my eyes again, she's got her eyes closed, and there's a tear slipping quietly down her cheek. I reach up and brush it away with the pad of my thumb, and when my hand cups her cheek, a soft sob escapes her.

The sound breaks my heart. It's painful and raw, and I'm not quite sure what I should do now. So I just lean in to rest my forehead against hers. And I apologize. Again.

"God, Bren, I'm so sorry. I never meant—"

But she cuts me off with a quick shake of her head. "I know. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. But it still...it still hurts. A lot." She's trembling now, and her hands both press into my chest, almost as though she wants to push me away, but not.

"I understand if you're mad. You have every right to be. I lied to you and—"

She shakes her head again. "I'm not mad. I'm . . . sad and hurt and . . ."

There's something of a light laugh, and I open my eyes again to look at her. She's watching me, her beautiful brown eyes so kind. Still. Even after all of this.

She takes a deep breath in and then lets it out slowly. "I'm sad, because you're my best friend and it hurts that you lied. But I'm also so relieved and so happy that you were able to tell me and that you trusted me with something that's obviously so deeply painful and difficult for you. And I-I need you to know that I still love you, and that I'm here for you and I support you, and that I... understand..."

She doesn't finish her sentence, and I can tell there's more she wants to say. But she seems overcome with emotion, and she blinks back more tears and just buries her head against my chest again.

I don't really know why she's not pushing me away or yelling at me, why she doesn't hate me, why she hasn't thrown me out. Probably because she's just too nice for all that. But I deserve it. I deserve that and more, not everything she's given me—not all this kindness.

God, I hate myself right now.

I close my eyes and continue holding her, and then I hesitate for just a second before kissing the top of her head again. After all, do I really have the right to touch her like that anymore? But she doesn't resist or pull away.

And I decide I'll have to say it, because she really is too nice to. "I'll, um, just... I should probably go. I mean, I'll give you whatever space you need, and..."

This time it's me who can't finish. But her hand reaches up to settle on my cheek, and when our eyes meet, I see a plea. I see love and a gentle plea.

"Please don't go. I-I'm not ready for..." Her voice is trembling, and she shakes her head lightly. Then she closes her eyes and smiles softly through her tears. "Please stay and just... hold me? Just for tonight. And we can figure out what to do about everything else in the morning."

I nod as I cover her hand with mine, and then I turn my head just enough to press a kiss to her palm. "Yeah, yeah. Of course," I say quietly. "Whatever you want."