M A D I E

November Sixteenth

Four

What is freedom, really?

Is it in what you do?

Or is it in how you feel?

—

I tried not to stare at Bren on our way to dinner, but I couldn't get over his little v-neck sweater and fitted black pants. Who was this boy, and what had he done with Bren Hadaway, perpetual hoodie and ripped jeans-wearer, emo-boy extraordinaire. Where was the boy who I thought made thirst trap TikToks—and then asked him about it the second time we ever spoke?

The minute I spouted that I should have known I was hopelessly attracted to him. There was certainly no denying now that I wanted Bren in a way I'd never experienced before, and it was making me rethink everything.

Bren was the sweetness I never knew existed in a man. He was the humbleness that I honestly didn't think anyone possessed. He was the quiet strength that I needed. And goddamnit, he was hot.

Even though he was driving me a bit crazy today, trying to dictate whether or not I could handle shopping or dinner—whether or not I could handle us.

I could handle it.

He was too good. He'd always been too good, caring and worrying too much about everything. It was the only reason I couldn't actually be upset about his stubbornness. But Bren also thought I wasn't ready to move on from what had happened with Quinton. And about that, he was wrong.

Today was all about proving it. I wanted to show him I wasn't as broken and weak as he apparently thought. I could go shopping on my own. I could go out to dinner and laugh, smile, and dance like all the other glassy, bright girls of California.

Maybe if he saw that, if he saw me as normal, we could skip everything else. We could skip the conversation that Bren kept trying to have about what had happened in Quinton's dorm room, what had happened for months leading up to it, and what had happened in the dead of night, in the hospital when my heart truly broke for the first time. When I'd said goodbye.

Bren didn't need to know that. He just needed to know that I was ready for him. Maybe it seemed crazy. Maybe it seemed rushed. But to me, it seemed like we'd been dancing around this for far too long, and now I just wanted to dance in it.

"You sure you're good?" he asked after parking outside the white, stucco building, which sat atop the sea cliff.

"It's almost been a month, Bren. I'm okay." I tried to give him a reassuring smile. He returned it, except his look included a slow perusal of my dress, reminding me of how he'd looked at me last night—last night when his fingers stroked me. When he touched me everywhere, just like I'd asked him to.

And as hot as all those memories were, I wanted to see how Bren looked at me when he wasn't holding back. He was always holding back.

Bren led me into a chic dining room, which oozed moody, modern vibes. It was quaint, like all the best restaurants were, likely not seating more than thirty people at a time within its square walls.

We settled into a dim corner. A tea light sat in the middle of the round table, illuminating Bren with the softest glow. There was a window next to him, too, meaning that dusk and candlelight mixed on his face. He folded up his sleeves before resting an elbow on the windowsill, leaning a bit.

"Hungry?" he asked.

I opened the menu and tried not to react to the blocky print, detailing the prices next to each dish.

But Bren could still tell. He chuckled. "I know, but don't worry about it. I didn't want to travel halfway across the city. And this place has a DJ in their downstairs bar on the weekends."

"Will they let us in?"

Bren nodded. "It's eighteen plus. There's a small cover charge, but it isn't bad." He shrugged. "Seemed like what you were looking for."

"I mean..." My eyes trailed over the posh restaurant. "It's more than what I was looking for." I smiled at him. "Thanks for finding it and for bringing me."

He rested his head on the hand propped in the windowsill. "I know I was reluctant about the idea, but it's nice. It's nice seeing you across the table like this."

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, but my stomach fluttered all the same. Going out to eat had always been mine and Quinton's thing. But I realized now why I liked it so much—it was the only time I had his undivided attention. It was like Quinton thought if he just took me out, he made up for being a shitty boyfriend the rest of the day.

But the saddest part about it? It had worked on me for years.

Bren just sat there, his eyes flicking over me. He gave so much of his undivided attention every day. It didn't matter where we were.

It took forever to pick an entree, but I decided just in time for the waiter to swing by, getting our order. After handing the menu over to the server, I turned my attention back to Bren. He bit his lip, and I wondered what comment or question he was holding back.

"Just say it," I finally urged.

He gave his head a little shake and looked out the window. "It's...I don't know."

"Bren." I reached across the table, grabbing his hand. He glanced down at my fingers over his before slipping his thumb on top, rubbing it across my skin.

"It's just I've never taken a girl out to dinner before," he mumbled, not looking at me. When he did peek upward, he lifted one brow, like a tiny shrug on his facial expression. "Not like this."

I couldn't help but giggle a bit at his whole sheepish look, at how he was trying to casually admit it. But then he pulled his hand out of my grasp. "Oh, shut up," he grunted, but he couldn't keep a smile from slipping onto his face.

I smiled too, relaxing into the chair behind me. "Tell me about the other girls, Bren."

"I just told you—"

"You said you've never taken a girl out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. That doesn't mean there weren't girls."

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his water. "I didn't date in high school."

I simply arched my brow and waited. There was no way that Bren had zero experience with girls. In fact, I squirmed, thinking about what I knew he could do with his experience.

"Fine," he relented, tugging on the neck of his sweater as if it were tight or something. It wasn't. "There were other girls. They were..." His expression turned pleading. "It sounds bad, Madie."

"I won't judge," I said, as soft as I could. How could I ever judge?

He exhaled deeply. "When you're sixteen and in the foster system, some of the only people that really get you are the ones in the same spot. We'd have these...I don't know, grief meetings. Caroline would make me go. But I'd just hook up with girls in the basement of the church they were held in." He grimaced, looking up at me. "Sometimes I'd buy them a burger afterward. Sometimes I'd sneak them back into Caroline's house for the rest of the night. But that's about as far as that would ever go."

I tilted my head to the side, telling him silently that I was still listening. Bren seemed to understand, but he didn't look at me as he said the next part.

"Sex was...consistent, reliable. These girls I'd meet, they weren't looking for a boyfriend, another person that would let them down. They were looking for that momentary escape. And I guess I was the same. We were just using each other."

There was a slight pause as I took in what he was saying. Then I shrugged. "It doesn't sound that bad, Bren. How long did Caroline make you go to those meetings?"

"Two years. Until I turned eighteen and aged out. Until I started thinking less about my past and more about my future."

I considered him, trying not to think just how many meetings and girls that included. He was staring off at something behind me, a glazed look in his eyes. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "Hell, a lot changes in a year."

I sobered. "I suppose this isn't what you had planned for your future. You're missing out on the whole college freshman experience by being here with me, Bren."

He snorted, beginning to laugh. But when I didn't reciprocate the humor, his face tightened, and he reached across the table to grab my hand again.

"I thought you knew me better than that, Madie. I don't care about that shit. Besides, my favorite part of my whole college freshman experience is sitting right here with me."

I ducked my head, not wanting him to see how badly I was blushing. Luckily, the waiter picked that moment to set my penne and his filet mignon on our table, giving us a distraction. But I knew I shouldn't hide. Bren maybe didn't realize how much it meant to me to hear what he'd just said. He maybe didn't realize just how much he meant to me at all.

Bren always said the right words; he always knew how to reassure me. I didn't quite know how to say what I wanted to tell him. But I figured I could show him.

Tonight, I would show him.

—

November Sixteenth

Four

I think I'm just going to

act like I'm free.

🖤

Poor Bren is trying so hard, and he doesn't even know what's coming his way.

Next chappie up tomorrow probably!
xoxo amelie