M A D I E

September Twentieth

Three

Today I said what I needed to say.

And now I feel unburdened by words,

but yet...

I think I'm still burdened by the reaction to them.

—

I popped a fry into my mouth and said, "Quin, can we talk about what happened Thursday night?"

He responded with a deep sigh, a telltale sign that he'd been expecting this conversation.

Before I lost my nerve, I plowed forward. "I was honest with you about Nessa and Bren. You really don't have anything to worry about. Trust me."

He shook his head and took a bite of his cheeseburger. We'd traveled across the bay, and I shivered from the force of the wind coming off the open ocean. The patio at the Ray's Eatery was bright, and Quinton's eyes were masked by his trendy sunglasses, making it hard for me to tell what he was thinking.

"I do trust you, Madie," he finally replied, putting down his burger. "It's other guys that I don't trust, okay?"

"Bren isn't interested in me like that," I insisted, abandoning my food to cross my arms over my chest. But Quinton only snorted, so I raised a brow. "He was actually hooking up with Nessa when I went back to my room that night."

Quinton leaned forward. "Really?"

I nodded and then shrugged. "Yeah. He was probably only talking to me so he could get her attention."

Another bite of his burger and Quinton still didn't seem totally convinced. A neatly dressed waitress came by to refill our water glasses, and an awkward silence settled until she left again, weaving through the patio tables and potted plants that lined the concrete.

Quinton religiously took me out to lunch—a break in the day dedicated to just being together always seemed to make things easier. It was our thing, even in high school.

I hated ruining it with this conversation, but I knew we needed to talk.

"Look," I said. "Just please don't worry about it, okay? He's a nice guy, struggling with classes and stuff like me. Nothing more."

Quinton lifted his hands up, a defeated gesture. "Alright, Mads."

Taking a sip from my water, I peered at him over my glass. His hair rustled in the ocean breeze. "So you're not going to freak out if I say hi to him or something?" I asked.

"I don't freak out," he mumbled.

I couldn't see Quinton's eyes, but I knew they were rolling as far back as possible.

Shaking my head with a little laugh, I turned my attention back to my fries. But then Quinton reached out and captured my hand in his, which had me glancing back at him.

"I just love you, baby. I'm sorry I yelled before," he said, tenderness evident in his words. His thumb circled a little spot on the back of my hand. "I'll do better."

I smiled, feeling some weight lifted from my shoulders. "Love you too, Quin."

The rest of the lunch passed with ease. No fry was left untouched, and we zipped back to campus, the air warming as we left the sea behind. Back at the dorms, Quinton planted a quick kiss on my lips outside his door. "See you later?"

"See you later," I replied with a grin.

With one last wave, he disappeared into his room to get ready for his afternoon class. The door closed, and I turned to see a brown-haired boy walking down the hallway—the topic of our lunch conversation suddenly appearing.

Backpack slung over one shoulder and hands shoved deep in jean pockets, Bren stared at his feet as they moved. I don't think he noticed me, and I contemplated slipping away before he did.

We hadn't talked since the other night. Heat rose within me, my cheeks instantly becoming flushed as I stood, thinking about it.

Once again, my feet refused to move. This barren hallway seemed to haunt me like that, taking hold of my vulnerability and revealing it. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know why I was so indecisive when I stood here.

Bren was about five paces from me, and he ran a hand through his hair and looked up. His brown eyes widened, and another flush crept up my neck.

It wasn't just the memory of him and Nessa that was fresh in my mind. It was also the memory of those eyes right before I'd walked away from him, retreating into the safety of my dorm. The warmth and concern in them spooked me. There was a ghostly, fleeting feeling of pain when someone you just met wore the expression you'd always wanted to see on someone else.

"Hey," he said, one side of his mouth tilting up in a smile. He seemed as uncertain of me as I was of him.

"Hey, Bren," I said, suddenly conscious that we were right outside Quinton's door. The last thing I needed was for him to come back into the hallway before I had a chance to talk to Bren. So I blurted out the words I wanted to say before there could be any risk of interruption. "I'm sorry about the other night. I'm sorry for interrupting, and I'm sorry for what I said."

His brows drew together. He cleared his throat.

"Madie, you don't...you don't need to apologize." His voice was scratchy but deep. He glanced at the blank wall and then back at me. "But I've been thinking about you."

The burning continued in my cheeks. "You have?"

"Well, yeah." He shifted on his feet and then took a measured step toward me. When he spoke again, it was soft, a whisper of sorts. "Before you walked away from me—"

"I was just tired, Bren," I cut in quickly.

He didn't need to know anything else. He wouldn't understand anything else.

Bren nodded as his lips drew into a tight line, and it was clear he didn't think much of my apology. He was still annoyed.

And there was a part of me that was still confused. I'd been so confident before, but now Bren was only a few inches away, and the faint scent of his cologne reminded me of the traces of musky masculinity and pine that had been left on my sheets—from him and Nessa. Mostly him.

Completely him.

Switching tactics, I tried to bring us back to a more comfortable, familiar topic.

"How's statistics going?" I asked.

A dry laugh released from his lips. "That's funny. I was going to ask you how chemistry was going." Glancing down and then back up, a sheepish expression spread across his face. "I actually went to a tutoring session today."

"You did?" I asked, a genuine smile pulling on my lips. "How did it go?"

He shrugged. "It was alright. I don't know how much it will help, but my mom—my foster mom—really wanted me to go. And I've thought about what you said about going. They're helping me get like...organized and shit, too."

The mention of his foster mom distracted me. Bren told me that his mom had wanted him to talk to someone in disability services, but I hadn't remembered it being his foster mom. Curiosity lingered, nearly as much as embarrassment had minutes ago. What was Bren's story?

"Text me next time you're going," I said. "I need to get organized and shit, too." I grinned at him once more, feeling better now that we were back to safe topics. We could return to this simple, sheltered conversation, couldn't we? Things didn't need to be different or weird.

"Okay." He smiled back, giving me a nod.

"Okay," I said. Like an idiot, I stood there, staring at him for a moment. Hesitation plagued me once more until I jerked into action, my feet stepping backward—stepping straight into something hard.

My back hit the door to Quinton's room, thudding against it. With a little laugh, Bren leaned forward, putting a hand out to steady my clumsy self. In a way, it was fortunate. The door quickly gave way behind me, and I would have fallen if it wasn't for Bren's hand gripping my arm.

But in another way, it was unfortunate. Because Quinton's voice was undeniably tight as he took over, wrapping an arm around my waist as he emerged from within his room. "What's going on?"

I couldn't see his face, but I could imagine it.

Bren's hand was still on my arm, and a few heavy seconds passed before his grip slid away, almost reluctantly. He didn't look at Quinton, instead searching my eyes in a disconcerting stretch of time.

Quinton cleared his throat impatiently, and I realized I should say something.

"Nothing, Quin," I said with a laugh despite feeling hollow. "I'm just clumsy, like usual. We were talking about tutoring and stuff."

Bren flicked his eyes up to Quinton behind me. 

"Just saying hi, man." He smiled, forced. It was easy to see that he didn't like Quinton, and I couldn't blame him, not with the way Quin always reacted. "See you guys around," Bren added. And with a little nod of his head, he was gone, disappearing into his own dorm room, not five doors down.

Quinton sighed behind me before nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck.

He didn't say anything, silently telling me that he was trying. He was trying to let go just a little bit.

But his grip was still tight around my waist as he pecked my cheek.

—

September Twentieth

Three

Sometimes the things you say

end up revealing more about other people

than about yourself.

🖤
Thanks for reading Chapter Ten!
I appreciate your support!