I feel my forehead wrinkle. He’s laughing and I’m more confused than ever. I focus on the thing bothering me the most. “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I just don’t understand why you lied.”
“The fact that you need a reason to stay here with me is why I didn’t tell you,” he shares. Quicker breaths begin to escape me. “I didn’t want you leaving, Riley, and I knew you would. Just now, I was hoping you’d shock the shit outta me and tell me you wouldn’t go if I was healed up, but you didn’t. `Cause you’re not there with me yet. And that sucks for me, babe, `cause I’m there. I’ve been there.”
I blink, feeling my nose tingle. CJ only pauses to let what he just said sink in, I think, not because he’s trying to find the words. I can tell—he already has them.
“I’m at the point where I want to live with you `cause I don’t see an end to this,” he continues, voice sure and even. “Not next week. Not next month. Fifty fucking years from now, it’s you, darlin’. In my bed. Walking around in that hoodie of mine you stole. Your clothes mixed up with mine. I want that and I know I’m never going to stop wanting that. You said this has always felt different, and you’re right, it has. `Cause we got it good, babe. The kinda good I know comes around once in a lifetime. The kinda good I’d suffer through months of ‘just friends’ bullshit for. I’ve watched my parents get it. Our friends. Your brother. They all got it. Not me. I’ve never had that until you, Riley. I want you here. But you’re still keeping this shit a secret and needing a reason to stay. And I don’t know what the fuck to say to that.”
My mouth is hanging open by the time CJ finishes speaking.
I’ve wanted to hear so many things from him, things every girl wants to hear from their guy, and he just said them. All of them.
So why do I feel like my heart is breaking?
“You,” I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, but it’s no use. I dig the heel of my hands into my stinging eyes. “I think I should go,” I whisper. I lower my hands to look at CJ. His brows are lifted. He heard me, but I repeat myself anyway, saying louder, “I should go,” before scurrying along the front of the couch.
“You should go,” he echoes in disbelief.
I don’t respond to him. I drag my duffle bag out from underneath the legs of the stool and set it on the round seat. The rest of my things are already in my car. This is all I have left to take out. I tug the zipper open.
“Are you kidding me? You packed?”
My head snaps up and turns. I glare at CJ. “You lied,” I hiss. I watch my accusation jar him. He blinks twice. “You’ve been lying to me. Do you have any idea how that feels? Richard lied. He kept stuff from me. Now you’re lying. You don’t tell me you’re better and I just keep doing everything for you. Laundry. Helping you in and out of the bath. How long were you going to keep this up? Until I get there with you? I’m there! God . . . why do you think I’ve been keeping this from my brother?”
“He would’ve gotten over it.” CJ’s voice is murderously low. He stands tall and pulls his arms across his chest. “Whatever problem he would’ve had with us being together, I would’ve made sure he got over it.”
Images of CJ pummeling Reed’s face to a pulp enter my mind. I blink heavily and shove them out.
“You don’t get it,” I tell him.
“I don’t get what?”
“You wouldn’t need to make sure Reed got over it. If he had a problem, I wouldn’t have a brother anymore. I’d choose you.”
CJ’s brows lift in surprise.
“I would,” I say, standing taller. “That’s how there I am with you.” I bite down on the tremble in my lip and turn away, walking over to the couch to grab my laptop. “I ignored Reed’s problems with Richard,” I continue. “I pretended they didn’t exist. It bothered me but not like this would bother me. I wouldn’t ignore it this time. I’d cut him out of my life. Out of our life.” I meet CJ’s eyes after I stuff my laptop inside my duffle. “It would make things awkward with Beth. She’s my best friend. And the baby. I’d want to see her. I’ve decided it’s a her.” I sniffle and shrug, letting my eyes fall. “I don’t know what I’d do about holidays. We always spend Christmases together with my parents. Thanksgivings. Easters. My mom likes massive get-togethers. All of the family in one place . . . she insists on it.” I lift my eyes and meet his again. “But I’d insist on everyone accepting you or I wouldn’t be a part of it. I love you. They need to love you too.”
CJ’s lips part. He looks ready to speak, and I’m almost too afraid to hear him say it.
It—I love you too, darlin’.
That would make leaving so much harder.
“I never lied to you, CJ. I always told you why I was keeping us a secret. I always talked to you, but you,” I zip up the duffle and slide the long strap up to my shoulder, “you didn’t talk to me. Even when I would ask you about your leg—you could’ve told me you were healed and you didn’t. You kept a secret between us. And we don’t keep secrets. We never have.”
Tell me a secret.
The words are all around us. I hear them and I know he does too. How many times have we said them over the past couple of months? I’ve lost count.