Page 86 of Bruised

He’s my best friend. He’s never failed me. And I betrayed him. I did what I swore I’d never do.

I should tell him. Now that it’s over between us, I need to tell him about Mason, but I don’t know how.

Mason and I snuck behind his back all summer, and now that it’s over, will Oliver forgive me? I don’t think so. But I can’t keep it a secret any longer. I just don’t want to lose him. Even though he’ll leave for college in less than two weeks, I still want to keep him in my life, even if I don’t deserve his friendship.

I wrap my arms around myself, watching him make the pancakes and plate them. He’s always been good at cooking, even if he hasn’t always embraced the skill, but these past few weeks, he’s gone above and beyond. He pours maple syrup on top of the carefully stacked pancakes, and the end result is social media-worthy.

I sit down at the kitchen table and take a bite, but everything tastes like cardboard. I chew mechanically, and Oliver has already eaten half the plate by the time I’ve barely finished a bite.

“Maybe we can go somewhere today,” I mumble, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

“Where?” Oliver asks.

“Like… into town or something.”

I keep glancing over my shoulder, paranoid that Mason will show up at any moment. What if he keeps teasing me, even now? What if he keeps calling me “puppy”? What if he mocks me for admitting my feelings for him? To be honest, I wouldn’t put it past him. I thought I knew him, or at least what made him tick, but the past few days have proved me wrong. So wrong. I never knew him, and he never knew me.

“Sure,” Oliver says, munching on the pancakes, “but it’ll have to wait. Mason’s got the car.”

I glance out the kitchen window, and yeah, the driveway’s empty. Where is he? I should be relieved he’s not here, but something feels wrong, too. Like something’s missing.

I curl in on myself, tugging at my choker. I don’t know why I put it on this morning. Force of habit, I guess.

“Is something wrong?” Oliver nods at my plate. “I thought you loved pancakes.”

“I do, I just… don’t feel so good.”

“Are you sick? Here.” Oliver reaches across the table and presses the back of his hand to my forehead, and that simple gesture, paired with the worried crease between his brows, breaks the dam of my tears.

“Hey,” Oliver says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” I take a deep, shuddering breath, tears dripping down my face. “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, the word drawn out into a question. “Go ahead.”

“Um, remember when…” I wipe my tears with my sleeve and try again. “Remember when you told me to stay away from Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I… didn’t.”

His reaction takes me aback. He doesn’t seem surprised; he doesn’t even seem angry. He just rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Took you long enough.”

My stomach drops. I don’t know what to say. It takes me several tries before I get something out.

“I… You… What?”

“Yep,” Oliver says, popping the ‘p.’ “I already know, knucklehead.” He rolls his eyes again and keeps eating his pancakes as if nothing even happened.

“You… know?” I squeak in horror.

“I know you’ve been sleeping with him, yeah.”

I don’t know whether I should be relieved or horrified. I settle for a mix of both. “But… how?”

“You weren’t exactly being subtle about it,” Oliver says with a wry smile. “To be honest, I think you’re selling me a little short. You really think I’m that oblivious?”

“But you were sleeping. When we…”