Sure, we were broken up, but a breakup hours before sleeping with Arrow feels more like a technicality than an out.
“Is it true?” Nic asks.
“What?”
Nic squeezes the steering wheel and sighs. “Were you with Woodison last night? Is that who was in your apartment this morning?”
“No one was in my apartment this morning.”
“Come on, Mee. I’m not an idiot. There were two sets of feet running around before you answered the door.” He studies me for a beat before shaking his head. “You know what we are to people like them, don’t you? Worker bees. Drones. Whether we’re fucking them or carving their swine. They’ll never see us as one of them.”
The words hurt in part because they come from my brother, who’s supposed to believe I can rise above, and in part because they tap into the fear I’ve carried ever since Arrow told me his last name. “Arrow’s not like that.”
“And do you believe that enough to convince Dad?”
I bite my lip hard and dig my nails into my palms. “Dad doesn’t need to know. I don’t have anything with Arrow. He’s a friend. Last night he was just . . .” Claiming my heart. Once and for all.
Nic snorts. “He was what? Comforting you? Isn’t Brogan his boy? Jesus. That’s a Woodison for you. Take whatever they want. Fuck everybody else.”
I’m too tired to have this conversation, too unsure to defend Arrow to my brother, so I open the door. “Thanks for coming for me this morning. Let me know when Dad wakes up later.”
“Will do.”
I step out of the car and am about to close the door when Nic calls, “Mia?” and I stop. “Don’t sell yourself short. All those things Mom taught us were worth believing in. Even if she wasn’t.”
Arrow
Brogan came by. My best friend came by his girl’s apartment to talk to her. Knocked on the door. Pleaded through it. Begged for her forgiveness when I was the only one here to listen.
I suck. Goddamn do I suck.
There’s a guy code, and then there’s just common fucking sense. I crossed lines last night, and maybe crossing those lines was inevitable, but it all happened too fast. Too soon. And now I have to find a way to explain it to Brogan that won’t make him hate my guts forever.
By the time Mia gets back to her apartment, I’ve mentally rehearsed ten different ways to tell Brogan what happened, showered, dressed, made a pot of coffee, and, after searching her cabinets for real food and coming up empty, eaten a Pop-Tart.
When she closes the apartment door behind her, she’s deflated. Every piece of this morning’s joy has fled, and the energy in the apartment shifts from nervous to ominous.
“Everything okay?” I ask. Stupid fucking question, considering what had her running out the door.
“Yeah.” She avoids my gaze and heads to the coffee pot. “Dad’s asleep now. He’ll be okay. Just a rough night.”
“Brogan came over. I didn’t answer the door, of course, but he was here. We need to talk about what we’re going to tell him.”
She dumps some of that powdered creamer junk into her coffee and stirs, staring at her spoon as if this takes careful focus. “Nothing. We’re not going to tell him anything.”
“Right. So you think we should wait a few weeks and keep this quiet for a while?” My stomach knots at the idea. I don’t keep secrets from Brogan. And yet I did. I’ve kept my feelings for Mia a secret for nearly a year. I nod. “You’re right. We’ll give it some time.”
She turns slowly, abandoning her coffee on the counter and folding her arms as she looks at me. Her face is blank, nothing like the woman in my arms this morning. “We aren’t going to tell him at all, Arrow. Not now and not in a few weeks. I saw him at my dad’s this morning, and he’s already a mess. There’s no reason to hurt him more.”
My breath leaves me. “You’re going back to him. I thought . . .” I look away. God, this hurts like hell, and I deserve it. I slept with her the night they broke up. I knew better and I did it anyway. And now I’m nothing but a mistake to her. A dirty secret.
“I’m not going back to him.” My relief is short-lived. Her words are cold, her face stony. All the passion and emotion from last night has