Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(87)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Mom, what the hell? You could have at least asked me.”

I stare at a pile of books in the corner and clench my jaw. I shouldn’t be hearing this.

“Yes, I like her, but … Jesus … it’s more complicated than that.”

It doesn’t have to be, but it is.

“No, she’s not my girlfriend. Having her there would be awkward as hell.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and shake my head. Would he honestly rather have me spend Thanksgiving alone?

I really have overestimated his feelings for me.

Holt talks with his mom for a few more minutes, but I can no longer make out what he’s saying.

Just as well.

When he comes back into the bedroom, he throws the phone onto the bed and stalks over to his dresser. After he grabs a T-shirt, he yanks it over his head and slams the drawer shut.

“You okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’re angry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Me coming to Thanksgiving would be awkward as hell, huh?”

He sighs. “Cassie—”

“Why would it be awkward?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You’ve seen how Dad and I together. There’s no way I’d subject you to that again.”

I take in a shaky breath. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

He takes one look at my face and sighs before sitting beside me. “Cassie, it’s not that I don’t want you there, but—”

Before he can say anything else, he’s struck by another coughing fit.

When it’s over, he flops back onto the bed, exhausted.

I guess we’re done talking about Thanksgiving.

I lean over and rub his back. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just tired. And my chest hurts.” His voice is a husky mess.

I go and grab him some pain-killers and cough medicine. After he takes both, he crawls under the covers.

I sit beside him and stroke his hair. “You know, my mother used to have this book. It was written by this self-proclaimed swami who believed that if we go against what our souls need, the disharmony in our bodies makes us sick. Like, if we don’t say what we’re feeling, we’ll get a sore throat, or if we do something we know is wrong, we’ll get a headache.”

His eyes are bleary as he looks up at me. “And if we have a sore throat, a headache, and a chest infection we’re … what? Emotionally dysfunctional? Heartsick?”

I shrug. “You tell me.”

He coughs. “Sounds pretty right. I think my mother invited you to Thanksgiving because she thinks you can fix me.”

I run my fingers across his forehead. “I didn’t realize you were broken.”

He gives me a short laugh. “Maybe not broken, but definitely defective.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“After how I’ve treated you, you should.” He sighs and turns away from me. “I don’t work right, Taylor. Don’t you know that by now?”

I stroke his back. “If I’d been betrayed by my girlfriend lover and my best friend, I wouldn’t work right, either.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, then he says, “As much as I’d like to blame all my issues on Vanessa and Matt, I was wrong way before then.”

“How long before?”

“Always.” He doesn’t look at me as he talks. Maybe it’s easier for him like this. “As a kid, it was hard for me to make friends. I had trouble showing affection. I always felt kind of … off.”

He’s silent for a long time. Just when I figure he’s asleep, he whispers, “One day, my parents sat me down and told me I’d spent the first couple of years of my life in foster care. I don’t remember it, but just hearing the words made me have a panic attack. I was nearly three by the time they adopted me.”

Three? Oh, God.

I used to think his insecurities were somehow augmented by his dramatic prowess, but it turns out he has real, justified abandonment issues.

I stroke his arm, trying to be supportive.

He takes a few shallow breaths. “I’ve never told anyone this before. But with you…” He turns onto his back and looks up at me with tired eyes. “I don’t know if my birth parents gave up on me because I was defective, or whether I became defective when they gave up on me, but the end result is the same. After I found out, every time Dad missed a track meet or canceled our weekend plans, I put it down to me not being his real son. That’s when we started fighting. I was just some loser’s castoff kid he and Mom took pity on.”

“Ethan, no…”

“Suddenly my wrongness made sense. Like I was an imposter in my own life. And that made me really fucking angry, because I figured, ‘Why bother,’ you know? Why keep pretending? I’m not a real son or a real brother. I’m no one’s real anything. Maybe that’s why I’m a good actor. Every character I play is more real than I am.”

I take my hand out of his hair and stroke his face. He closes his eyes, and the muscles in his jaw tense and release.

“Ethan, come on. I’ve seen enough of your family to know that you’re absolutely real to all of them. They adore you, even your dad. And as for me, I’ve never met anyone as real as you in my whole life. Every day you inspire me to stop being what others want and just be myself. So don’t you dare sit there and tell me you’re not real to anybody. You’re surrounded by people who love you, despite your determination to push them away. If that’s not real, I don’t know what is.”

I expect him to argue, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he searches my face, intense and frowning. “I’m surrounded by people who love me, huh?”

“Why does that surprise you?” I ask as I stroke his forehead. “You’re kind of amazing.”

His expression changes, and it looks like a smile is trying to escape from a maze of confusion. If it wasn’t so damn attractive, I’d find it funny.

“I just— I don’t…” He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls me over to him. I put my arms around him as he takes in a shaky breath.

We don’t say anything else, but it doesn’t feel as though we have to. He’s told me his darkest secret, and even though it explains so much about why he is like he is, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. If and when he finally gets up the courage to be with me, I’m all in.