Page 47 of Bruised

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He always used to cook for us.”

“Yeah, and?”

As always when the subject of our former stepdad comes up, Oliver gets that clipped sort of tone: a mix of anger and hurt he’s unable to hide.

“And didn’t he used to teach you?” I ask.

“I fail to see what your point is,” Oliver mutters.

I don’t know why I say it. I guess I just want to disarm my little brother. Besides that, I want him to understand.

“I miss him too, you know.”

Oliver stiffens. He quits breading the chicken and stares straight ahead. “It’s shit that happens when parents get divorced.”

“He didn’t have to move. He could’ve stayed in town. At the very least, he could’ve stayed in contact with us.”

Oliver glares at me over his shoulder again, but this time, his eyes are red-rimmed. “What do you care, anyway?”

I care more than you think. More than I let on. I could say it, but what good would it do? Logan is gone from our lives and has been for years.

When he broke up with our mom, he didn’t just disappear from our home; he disappeared from the city, the state. He even changed his number. He abandoned us. No matter the reason, he made my little brother cry himself to sleep for months, and I’ll never forgive him for that.

Oliver needs to learn to stop hoping. To stop idolizing him. I don’t know how to help him move on, though. I try by way of jokes, but they don’t really land, probably because of his dislike of me.

“Getting all ready for college?” I ask.

Oliver slides the breaded chicken into the oven, ignoring me.

“Engineering?” I continue. “Really?”

That gets his attention at least. “What’s wrong with engineering?”

I shrug and stretch the sore muscles of my chest. “Nothing. Just doesn’t strike me as something you’d be into.”

“Well, maybe I’ve changed.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re doing what he’d approve of.”

Oliver spins around. “Shut up! You don’t…” He clenches his fist, shaking. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”

I think I know him better than he knows himself, but before I have time to say it, the door to the bathroom opens, signaling Lane’s return.

Oliver and I both know better than to subject Lane to our arguments, so I make my way to the gym to work out my aggression, clearing my mind of Logan, Oliver, our mom, and all the buried bullshit in our shattered family.

18. WANTING SO MANY THINGS

I hate it when Oliver and Mason fight. I hate the way Mason provokes him, and I hate how pointless and unneeded I feel in the crossfire of their arguments.

When I get back to the kitchen, Mason is gone, but I keep thinking about the fight even as Oliver and I eat the chicken parmesan he made us for dinner. My thoughts swirl around and around until I can’t take it anymore.

“What’s wrong with him?” I blurt out.

Oliver raises a brow. “What’s wrong with him? He’s an asshole. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

Yeah, and I believed you, but that was before I started sleeping with him and saw how careful and attentive he can be. Almost sweet. Sweet in a filthy, inappropriate way, but still.