Faye
Anna
Beckett
Brooks
Beckett
Faye
Preston
Faye
Anna
Beckett
Cohen
I drop my phone and pull my head out from underneath the pillow. I groan as the daylight streaming through the windows assaults my eyes.
Mom must have opened my blinds. Why? Doesn’t she know I’m hiding from the world? Nursing a broken heart?
Right now, the only person who understands is Cohen because he keeps bringing me things I need.
Pies. Ice cream. Chocolate.
Not platitudes and half-sincere apologies.
The truth is, I know my brother and parents aren’t upset that Brooks and I broke up. Deep down, I don’t think they ever liked him. But for him to move on with Anna, my Anna, my family, is crushing.
How could she do this to me? Were they hooking up before Brooks broke it off? For how long? Did our friends—Faye, Beckett, and Preston—know? Did everyone plot behind my back?
And how could Anna announce it to the world — to me — through a social media post? Doesn’t she care about me, about our friendship, enough to have a conversation first?
These thoughts circle in my mind on a loop, keeping me up at night and making fresh waves of tears spill from my eyes.
Brooks and Anna are dating.
Messages pour in from friends and acquaintances from boarding school and college, pretending to worry about my well-being when they’re really thirsty for the tea. As my humiliation mounts, I know I need to shake off my hurt and focus on my training. On soccer.
But this time, I haven’t been able to rise to the challenge. Instead, I’ve spent the past two weeks hiding, and hating myself for it. While my friends continue to call and message, I remain in my dark bedroom with protective pillows and the steady delivery of sweet treats from Cohen.
“Oh good, you’re up!” Mom smiles.
I groan and flop back into my bed, pulling the pillow over my face.
“So fucking dramatic,” my brother mutters from the doorway.
“Be nice,” Mom admonishes. She pulls the pillow off my face. “But it is time to get up, Raia. We’ve let you wallow long enough.”
“What’s long enough?” I muse.
“It’s been weeks. You smell. And you’re fucking yourself over by not working out your shoulder and focusing on your career,” Avery spells it out.
I close my eyes. As much as I want to lash out at Avery, deep down, I know I need some of his tough love right now.
“Come on, I’ll run you through a workout,” Avery offers.
I lift my head. Exercise is my brother’s love language. If he’s offering to lift with me, it means he’s worried. For some reason, his concern makes me feel better. “Really?”
His expression softens. “Really.” He lends me a hand. “We’ll start with a run.”
I take it and allow him to pull me up into a seated position. “I think there’s a pie on—”
“I gave it to the neighbors,” Avery says.
“What?” I gasp, crestfallen.
“Oh, don’t listen to him.” Mom swats at Avery. “You can have a slice after supper.”
“You need to stop eating that shit,” Avery says. “I told Cohen to knock it off. You can have the coffee.” He passes me the latte. The label on the cup is the Coffee Grid and I smile. Cohen knows me so well. “Drink this. Then, we go for a run.”
“You’re a tyrant.” I take a sip of the latte and close my eyes in appreciation. Right now, I need the caffeine hit.
“You need more than a tyrant to get you back in soccer shape,” Avery claps back. “Let’s go.”
I wait for him and my mom to leave my room before dragging my body from bed. I change into a sports bra and leggings and ignore all the messages I received save for one.
Raia
I’m nearly out the door when my phone buzzes. Glancing at the screen, I smile.
Cohen
Each day over the following week is marginally better. I manage to pull myself from bed, run with my brother, get in a workout, and shower.
It’s hard to confide in any of my friends since they’re all tangled up in the group. Brooks, Beckett, and Preston roomed across the hall from Faye, Anna, and me during our first year at Althorp Prep. We forged an important bond from the start and have been each other’s confidants ever since.
When Brooks and I started dating, there was worry among the group that if we broke up, it would ruin our larger, collective friendships. Would we allow something like our relationship to break apart the group?
Hmm, what happens when another member of the group, the cousin and best friend for example, go behind the girl’s back and fuck her man?
I wonder what everyone thinks now.
Gah, I’m bitter. And sad. And angry as hell.
The problem is, I have nowhere to channel it. I’m ignoring my friends. I don’t know the full story and I’m not sure I want to know the details.
My usual outlet, soccer, is currently nonexistent.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door. Avery pops his head in my room. “You ready?”
I throw a pillow at his face.
He chuckles. “See you on the porch in five.”
Groaning, I drag myself from bed, and meet Avery. We start down the street at an easy jog.
“Use the anger to fuel you,” he comments after a stretch of silence.
I glance at him. “You reading my mind?”
“Nah, you look like you’re about to have smoke coming out your ears.”
“Fuck off,” I swear, picking up the pace.
Avery matches me easily. “You’re angry.”
“I’m furious,” I admit. “Anna…”
Avery gives me a quick look before turning back toward the street. We make a left and continue on the quieter road. “That was messed up. But you don’t know the full story.”
“I don’t want to know the full story.”
“Yet,” Avery supplies. “Because you’re angry.” With that, he takes off, kicking dust up in his wake.
“Fuck,” I swear again, pushing myself to catch him.
My heartbeat pounds in my temples, my feet slam against the pavement, and my arms swing.
Hurt and anger swirl in my veins, propelling me forward, making me run faster.
I catch Avery as we near a stop sign and he pauses.
I stop beside him, dropping my hands to my knees and dragging in a lungful of air.
“Caught you,” I mutter.
“Yep,” he agrees, a ribbon of pride in his tone. “Use the anger, Rai.” He turns to face me, his expression filled with a sympathetic understanding that makes me want to cry. “I know it’s shitty advice. It’s probably immature. But I blew shit up between me and Mila. And part of me did it on purpose. When she moved on with Hardt, fuck, I was angry as hell. Angry with myself mostly. But I used that shit to show up for my team, to perform on the field, to lead the Coyotes. And eventually, I stopped being so goddamn angry and I started making amends for the shit I stirred and the hurt I caused. Anger may be a shitty emotion but it’s motivating as hell. Use it.”
I stare at Avery, heaving as I try to regulate my breathing. My brother is rarely forthcoming with his feelings. I know he regrets hurting Mila. When she started dating Devon, I knew it served Avery right.
But to hear him speak about his disappointment in himself and how his anger fueled him to become a better teammate, a better guy, well… “That’s big of you to admit, Ave.”
Avery snorts. “Growing up is hard, Rai. But we gotta do it eventually. I know it feels like your world is ending. I know you feel betrayed, and you should. But you outgrew Brooks a minute ago. Don’t let his shit stunt you now.”
I frown, letting his words sink in. Before I can respond, my brother taps my back.
“Come on, I’ll race you to the Coffee Grid. Loser buys coffee.” He takes off at a clip and I scram to catch up.
Avery is done with the sentimental chatter. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting the snippet he provided.
Avery is maturing. And it’s time I do too. I need to handle this situation better. Be more honest. Especially with myself.
Thirty minutes later, after I purchase coffees, Avery and I walk back home. There’s an easy understanding between us that reminds me of our childhood. Years ago, before I felt like we were in competition with each other. Back when we were just a sister and brother goofing around.
My phone dings and I pull it out. A notification from my social media alerts me to a new photo Anna posted. It’s a picture of her and Brooks, with their arms around each other and their noses nearly touching.
My chest tightens, the back of my nose burns, and my knuckles turn white with how hard I’m gripping the phone.
Beside me, my brother lets out a low whistle.
“I’m not ready to be the bigger person,” I admit, not caring how childish I sound.
“You don’t have to be,” my brother agrees. “Did you hear me at all? Use the anger.”
At his words, the rage bubbling in my limbs expands, a red-hot flash followed by a cool, quiet, purple acceptance.
I didn’t ruin the group; they did.