Page 87 of Bruised

“When you were fucking? Yeah, but even I can figure out when something’s up. The way you acted around each other. The hickeys. Come on, I’m not that clueless.”

“But does that mean you’re… fine with it?”

“Fine with it?” Oliver says with a shrug. “Not really. But it’s not like I was going to kick you out or anything. You’re still my friend, even if you’re sleeping with my asshole of a brother.”

“But… I broke my promise. And I went behind your back.”

He shrugs again. “Yeah, but it’s not like I could stop you. The one I’m really mad at is Mason.”

“Why?”

Oliver raises a brow. “Come on. He’s the one who started it. He should know better; he’s older, and he’s not… like you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not a liar and a manipulator like he is.”

“How do you know?” I ask bitterly. “I lied to you. Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but it’s different.”

“Different, how?”

Oliver sighs. “Just trust me, Lane. You’re not like him.”

I’m not sure I understand what he means, but it doesn’t really matter. I said what I had to say, and Oliver reacted oppositely to what I feared. I was ready for him to end our friendship, or at least kick me out, though what would I have expected of my best friend? He’s fair. He’s kind. I wronged him, yet he forgives me just like that.

“Anyway,” I sigh. “It’s over.”

Oliver nods and eats the last of his pancakes. “Is that why you cried last night?”

I wince. “You heard me?”

“I hear more than you know.”

My face heats up. “You mean… you heard us? At night?”

He waves a hand. “No, thank God. I think I slept through it, but I started wondering why you kept leaving my room at night. I woke up sometimes to you being gone, and, uh… it was pretty easy to figure out.”

I look down at my lap, chewing on my lower lip. My pancakes are getting cold. I hate to waste them, but the thought of eating makes me want to throw up.

I’m lost in thought for a while, running a finger along my choker while Oliver puts his plate in the dishwasher.

“Did he give you those?” He nods at my neck.

I realize I’m sliding my finger over one of the hickeys, pressing down on it, feeling it throb with pain.

“Yeah.” I tug at my choker. “This too.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “I figured.”

Suddenly I feel stupid. My choker wasn’t some declaration of love, like part of me had started to hope. He was just trying to mark his ownership of me. Make me submit in ways I never even realized. I feel blindsided, like I’ve missed something crucial—a joke that everyone else was in on—and now I have to pay the price for my foolishness. I tug at the heart-shaped pendant, wanting to rip it to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I should go home.”

Oliver blinks. “What? Hell no. Don’t be silly. The summer isn’t over yet.”

“So you’re not mad at me?” I need to hear him say it outright—otherwise, I’m not sure I believe it.