Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Still, it felt like it had come out of nowhere. He had to have been dating her for a while if he was bringing her to meet Dad and Helena.
“Helena’s ecstatic, as I’m sure you can assume. He didn’t say it’s someone he’s dating, but it must be. Who else would he bring with him?”
“Yeah, I, um…I don’t know. Might not be, though. Maybe she shouldn’t get her hopes up.” The words were sticky in my mouth, like they’d wanted to stay there, like if I hadn’t set them free, they wouldn’t be real. Maybe this whole conversation wasn’t, and it was some kind of fucked-up dream…which was ridiculous…as was I. He was my brother, my fucking brother. I needed to get over this shit.
“You know Helena. That ship has sailed. She’s waiting for both her boys to bring a significant other home. She wants to plan weddings and have grandbabies.” Dad laughed, but I didn’t, couldn’t. “If Lane brings a woman home, all the attention will soon be on you to find a nice man to bring into the family.”
Yeah, somehow I didn’t think that was going to happen.
“Anyway, Helena wanted to see if you’d come up on Friday and spend the weekend with us. She misses having y’all at home.”
I…didn’t know if I could do that, but the truth was, I needed to. There was no way I could avoid it. Lane was serious about someone, and that would never, ever, be me. It was time I got over it. Time I evicted this fucked-up feeling out of me for good.
The only thing I’d ever wanted was him, and he was the one thing I would never have.
CHAPTER THREE
Lane
I’d decided I wanted to drive home. I missed it. I’d always loved being behind the wheel, but in the city, I rarely ever was. I took the subway or a car service everywhere.
It was around a thirteen-hour drive, which Jayden wasn’t happy about. He was a city boy through and through. He’d been raised in Brooklyn. His whole life was New York. Getting places the fastest way possible was always his goal, so he’d wanted to fly. Still, he didn’t argue, I figured because he was so surprised we were currently on our way to spend who the fuck knew how long with my family.
It had been clear for a long time that Jayden wanted more from me. He’d been easing me in that direction, and who could blame him? Who could blame any of the people I’d been with? At some point, they had to get tired of dating someone who wanted commitment and long-term but without I love yous and family meetings and all the other stuff I didn’t understand about myself and relationships. Again, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to fall in love. I did. I just hadn’t, and no matter how much I’d liked someone, I knew that none of the people I’d dated had been someone I could fall in love with.
Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe I needed to just do it: pick someone and make it stick.
Jayden worked while I did most of the driving. He had his laptop out, calling artists and buyers and whoever else, demanding what he wanted. He was good at getting shit done, and I’d always respected him for it, but the downside was he didn’t handle it well when he didn’t get his way.
The closer we got to home, the more nervous I became. I probably should have told them Jayden was a man, but then, I’d just said I was bringing a friend.
It was about six when we pulled down the street I’d called home since I was fourteen. Nerves kicked up another notch, a twisting feeling spinning around in my gut.
“Are you nervous?” Jayden asked, and I knew he meant about coming out to them.
“No.” I wasn’t, not about coming out to Mom and Dad; but to Isaac, yes. I was angry with myself, at my betrayal of not telling him. Why hadn’t I told him?
“It’ll be okay.” Jayden reached over and squeezed my thigh. “Oh my God. Are we here? I can’t believe we’re here. This is so cute. Lane Ryan’s childhood home. You should take photos of the studio you told me about. You can spin it online somehow. People love the shit out of stuff like that, ya know? Getting an inside look into their favorite artists that way.”
“Yeah, but you know that’s not my thing. My home…this studio, specifically, is mine. Especially the stuff from my childhood.”
“You’re so sweet. You’re honestly like that cliché of the tender artist who wears his heart on his sleeve, while at the same time never really lets anyone in. I get that your work is a part of who you are, but you’ve got to learn the business side of it better. It won’t somehow taint that space you love so much to let others into it.”