Never Have I Ever: Wanted my Brother’s Rival
: Chapter 12

West looked stricken. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were wide and red-rimmed. He was clenching his hands on his knees, the knuckles white, and his shoulders were so tense his arms were shaking.

“That’s why I freaked out last night.” I dropped my eyes to the blanket. “I guess I’ve been stressed or whatever because the power failure and flood messed with me. I’m normally not such a flailing idiot, but I panicked. Then that guy grabbed me. They were laughing, and I could smell the alcohol on him, and it brought all that shit back from that night in the quad, and I… It was too much.”

“I’m so sorry, Eli. I’m so fucking sorry for all of it.”

“It’s not your fault.” I rolled my shoulders. My body finally relaxed, and the tension left me in a rush. “You made a mistake. But the ripple effect isn’t on you.”

“I’m still responsible for all of it. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gotten caught.”

“You were the trigger, but you’re not responsible for how other people acted. You were the only person at school who tried to help me other than my brother. And who’s to say something else wouldn’t have happened and he wouldn’t have gotten himself kicked off the team? I love Gray, and he’s my best friend, but he’s not an easy person to get along with. He’s gotten himself in a lot of trouble because of his attitude. I know why he’s the way he is, but other people don’t, and they write him off as being angry or confrontational or a jerk when he’s only trying to protect himself.”

“But I still would have been there to protect you.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “But it’s not like you wanted to leave. The school you got sent to sounds horrible. Abusive.”

He looked away.

“You didn’t walk away from this either. You were punished for years, and it sounds like you’re still punishing yourself. You were sixteen. You made a mistake. You don’t deserve to pay for that mistake for the rest of your life.”

“I’m still being punished.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.

“What do you mean?”

“My father never let that night go. He had to spend a lot of money to make that situation go away. I was caught with enough weed for a trafficking charge.”

I widened my eyes. I hadn’t realized it was that much.

“I made him lose face in the town, and his investors weren’t happy when it came out. He’s never forgiven me, and he’s controlled every aspect of my life since. First through the school. Then it was college. He paid for my degree and living expenses, but only if I was a good little automaton and fell in line. I studied what he wanted me to study, got the degree he wanted, and took the classes he chose. I lived in the apartment he owned, and I did four years of unpaid internships at his companies to make sure I didn’t have any free time to get into trouble.”

He tugged on his hair and let out a harsh laugh. “Even now. I work for him, and his company owns this house. He deducts the rent from my wages.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Do you at least get a better rate than we do?”

“Fuck no. I’m paying what he’d get if he rented it out at market value. It’s double-dipping. He’s paying off the mortgage and making a profit.”

“That sounds super unethical.”

“You don’t get as rich as my dad while being ethical.” He snort-laughed. “My great-grandfather was the first asshole, but it’s been generations of assholes since.”

I didn’t know why I was shocked to hear West say that. I knew his family had made their money in manufacturing and had moved into land acquisition when the factories had closed and production had moved overseas.

His family made a fortune renting land to the college, and they also owned most of the buildings downtown and a good chunk of student housing. They didn’t even live here anymore, but they still controlled the town through their investments.

“I told myself I deserved it. But it’s been six and a half years.”

“You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of it. That school, your dad being… how he is. None of it. I was so focused on what happened to Gray and me I didn’t think about how any of this affected you. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. Please. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I spent so many years hating you and thinking you didn’t give a shit about me. That Gray was right and you were only nice to me because I helped you get your grades up.”

“That never factored into things. I was friends with you because I liked you. You made me laugh and think about things. You were the one person I never had to pretend with. I didn’t have to be my father’s son around you. I could just be me.”

“I didn’t like you when you were being that other version of yourself. I saw it when you were with your friends—the walls and the attitude and the arrogance. But I also saw how you were pretending. For years I tried to convince myself I was wrong and that arrogant guy was the real you. That the guy who was nice to me and wanted to spend time with me was the act.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought about how disappearing would hurt you.”

I dropped my eyes to the blanket and fought back the lump in my throat. “For a normal person, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But I’m not normal. You were my only friend. The only person who wasn’t related to me or who I’d grown up with, who didn’t think I was a freak. I didn’t know how to handle it because I’d never had a friend to lose before.”

“You’re not a freak.”

“Yeah, I am.” He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand to cut him off. “I’m different. I don’t feel things the same way other people do. I don’t see the world the same way.”

“Different doesn’t mean freak.”

“In my case, it does. And I’m not discussing this anymore. I know what I am, and I’ve accepted it.”

“You said your brain won’t let you forget things. Do you have a photographic memory?”

“No. I had an eidetic memory as a child, but not anymore.”

“What’s the difference?”

“An eidetic memory is when you can recall an image with high precision for a brief period of time. It stays with you like an afterimage in your mind’s eye. A photographic memory is thought to be when you can recall an image with high precision long after the fact.”

“Thought to be?”

“There’s no proof photographic memories are real. There’s a condition called hyperthymesia, and it allows people to recall past events in detail, including the exact date it happened, but they still haven’t proven if true photographic memories exist.”

“Do you have that?”

“No. I don’t remember everything that’s ever happened to me. I can’t tell you where I was on a certain day at a specific time unless something significant happened then.

“I remember most of what I read, especially if I replace it interesting, but I don’t remember the text like a photograph. And any sort of situation that causes high emotions or is stressful or traumatic gets burned into my brain like a movie, and I relive it, all of it. The sounds, smells, sensations. The emotions, everything.”

“That’s what happened last night?”

I nodded. “It was like I was back in the quad and it was happening all over again. I kept trying to ignore it and focus on other things. But it only works for so long.”

A loud click echoed in the room as the hum of appliances coming back online filled the air and the lamp above me sparked to life.

“Finally!” West exclaimed and fell back against the couch in a heap. “Hello, power. I missed you.”

I chuckled at his antics. Thank god he’d lightened the mood.

I didn’t talk to people about stuff. Mostly because I didn’t have anyone to talk to, but also because I couldn’t. Articulating what I was thinking or feeling was hard for me, but for some reason, talking to West had always been easy.

Even back in high school. We hadn’t had any deep or meaningful conversations because of how young we’d been, but we’d spent hours chatting about whatever random topic happened to catch our fancy while I’d tutored him.

And that easy comeraderie hadn’t faded. If anything, it had gotten stronger. He made me feel safe. And that scared the ever-loving crap out of me.

He wasn’t the villain in this story. He was a kid who’d made a mistake and could never have predicted the ripple effect it would have. He hadn’t hurt me on purpose, and he’d lost as much as my brother had, only in a different way. Why would he have spared me a second thought while his life was falling apart? I was just a kid he’d befriended.

Gray would never forgive him, but I wasn’t my brother. West was the only person I’d ever felt any sort of real connection with. Was I really willing to give that up because of what had happened between him and Gray?

“I’m going to make some coffee in case we lose power again. Do you want anything? I have tea.” He stood and rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“I’m okay. I only like tea at night.”

“Me too.” He smiled. “This might be weird, but can I hug you? I really need a hug.”

Another of those little adrenaline bursts exploded in my chest, and my stomach flip-flopped.

“Yeah.” I scrambled out of the chair and ran into his arms, hitting him with enough force that he rocked on his heels. “I really need a hug too,” I whispered and pressed my face into his soft sweater.

He wrapped his big arms around me and held me tight. The scent of sunshine and peppermint and something spicy but still a little sweet enveloped me as his body heat seeped into my chilled skin. I hadn’t even realized I was cold.

Strong hands ran up and down my back in a soothing pattern as I held him as tight as I could. The adrenaline was back, and those strange flutters moved up my torso. They were… nice. Everything about the hug was nice, even though that felt like such an understatement.

“Mmmmm.” West’s chest rumbled against mine as he let out a soft sound. Not quite a moan, but not a sigh either.

My stomach swooped, and my dick twitched as blood rushed south.

What the hell? Was I getting hard?

West pressed his lips to my hair, then slowly let me go.

Had he felt my semi?

I stepped back and dropped my hands so they covered my crotch. My face flamed hot.

“Thanks.” He patted my arm, his voice soft and casual. “I really needed that.”

“Same,” I croaked.

If he’d noticed my weirdness, he didn’t say anything. He simply stepped around me and headed into the kitchen.

I looked down at my dick. It wasn’t tenting my sweats, but the bulge was obvious.

I didn’t get random erections. Not unless I was sleeping. I woke up with morning wood, and I’d had my share of wet dreams, but those were physiological responses. The body’s way of keeping the plumbing working, so to speak.

The only other times I’d gotten hard around another person was when I’d kissed someone, but even that had been different. With Taryn, it had been a gradual thing. Like the longer we’d kissed, the better it had felt and the more I had reacted. With Quinn, I’d gotten hard fast, but I’d chalked it up to anticipation and the fact that he was a really good kisser. I’d expected it to happen, so I hadn’t been shocked when it had.

But West had hugged me. A hug wasn’t sexual. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. But I had.

I thought about doing more. About feeling his big body against mine as he kissed me. I didn’t have the greatest imagination when it came to sexy times, and my lack of experience meant I didn’t have any real-world memories to rely on, so my fantasy was about as tame as it could get.

But my dick liked it, and I was rocking a full erection in only seconds.

What did any of this mean? When I’d realized I wasn’t like other people, I’d done a ton of research on sex and sexuality. But I’d never found a label that fit me. I found both women and men attractive, so I considered myself bi or maybe pan, but I didn’t feel actual attraction to many people.

One thing I hadn’t told West, and never would, was how I’d come up with the stupid auction as a way to have sex and control the situation. I was so awkward and weird that the chances of replaceing someone who not only sparked any sort of attraction in me but who’d also want to be with me were slim.

I could have gone on Grindr, but the situation would have been too volatile with too many variables. At least with the auction, I’d know their real identity, and they would have agreed to my terms.

I hadn’t expected to enjoy it. I’d just wanted to get it over with.

But West had been right. I couldn’t account for human emotions.

West’s big reveal about winning and the fight had triggered my stubborn side. In the moment, it had been too much, and I’d been dealing with all the emotions from the past on top of feeling like I’d been slapped with my stupidity. So I’d lashed out.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about sex or the auction since that night. He might have wanted me then, but I’d been goading him. I’d tried to seduce him, and I’d epically failed. He’d said he wanted to be friends, and his actions since had proven that was true.

Did he still want me? Or had that been because of the circumstances? We were friends again, so was that it?

Friends with benefits was a thing other people did. Did he want that? Did I?

I looked down at my still-hard dick and nearly laughed. Apparently, I did.

He’d said I should enjoy my first time and be with someone who’d treat me properly. Did he mean him? Or was that more of a global statement and he thought I should wait until I found someone else who’d treat me right?

A floorboard creaked behind me, and I jumped.

Nearly tripping over my feet, I raced back to the chair and dove onto it, almost rolling right off in my haste to look like I wasn’t having an existential crisis in the middle of his living room.

I grabbed the book I’d been reading and flipped it open to a random page.

“Books work better when you turn them the right side up.”

“Huh?” I blinked up at West, who stood in front of me with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

“You have the book upside down. Unless that’s a thing you do because it’s an extra challenge or something.” He smirked. “Although I’d say French poetry is enough of a challenge without having to read it upside down.”

“I was checking something,” I mumbled and flipped the book the right way.

“Water?”

“Thanks.” I took the glass.

“The hot water will be back in an hour or so if you want to take a shower.” He moved back to the couch and sat down.

“You don’t want to take one first?”

“Nah.” He sipped his coffee. “Sweet, sweet nectar. I missed you more than the power.”

I snickered despite the confusion still rolling around inside me. “You might need to talk to someone about your caffeine addiction.”

“Then they’ll try to take my coffee away. And I can’t live without my magic wake-up juice.”

I laughed, and more of the tension bled away. “Definitely not the kind of thing an addict would say.”

“Shhh, don’t listen to him,” West said to his coffee in a hushed voice. “He doesn’t understand our bond.”

Still laughing, I settled on the chair.

“Can you read French?” he asked.

I wiggled the book at him.

“I mean, I know you’re reading French. But can you speak it and stuff?”

“No. I learned to read it by accident, same with Latin, but I can’t speak either of them because I never learned how to.”

“Wait. How do you learn to read a language by accident? Especially Latin?”

“The public library has a small section of French books. I’d already read everything else that interested me, so I checked out some French ones and figured it out as I went.”

“You figured it out as you went? You don’t think that’s impressive?”

“I started with kid’s books, so not really.”

“They have a lot of kid’s books in Latin?”

“No. But it’s not hard to figure out when you already know several romance languages. I can read French and Spanish and figured out basic Italian. Learning Latin was easy.”

He gaped at me.

“What?”

“You’re self-taught multilingual, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s not. And I can’t speak any of them except Spanish. So I’m not really multilingual. More like bilingual with the ability to read a few others.”

“You downplay yourself a lot. I noticed that in school.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You always have a reason why something isn’t impressive.”

“I guess because I don’t think it is.”

“You wouldn’t be impressed if I told you I’d learned to read Latin for funsies?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So why isn’t it impressive that you did it?”

“Because it was easy for me.”

“So because you’re good at something, it’s not an accomplishment?”

“Not for me.”

He hummed and sipped his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“I was wondering how many people took the time to tell you how amazing you are instead of pushing you to do more.”

My mouth went dry. “I’m not amazing. I’m just… different.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not amazing.”

I shrugged, not liking the way my stomach was flip-flopping or how my cheeks warmed.

“You don’t think being a prodigy is amazing?”

“I’m not a prodigy.”

“You’re not?”

“Not even close. I’m gifted, but a prodigy is exceptional. I was fifteen when I graduated, and I’m twenty and still don’t have my undergrad. A prodigy would be on their second PhD at my age.”

“You don’t have to be the best to be special. There’s always going to be someone smarter or more accomplished than you, but that doesn’t take away from what you’ve done or what you can do. You’re special, Eli. I know you think it makes you a freak or weird, but it doesn’t. You’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be.”

“I don’t feel special or like I’m the way I should be.” My eyes burned as I blinked back tears.

“You are. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

I shrugged. He was wrong, but I didn’t want to argue with him. It felt good to hear him say so, even if it wasn’t true.

“Do you read French?” I needed to change the subject.

“No.”

“But this is your book. I found it on the bookshelf in your room.”

“It was a gift. An ex-girlfriend gave it to me. Look in the front cover.”

I flipped the book open and read the flowing script.

West, for the lonely nights and lazy days. Love you forever, Lisa

My throat tightened and my stomach went sour. Was I jealous?

“Were you together a long time?” I asked, pushing past whatever the fuck that was.

“About six months.”

“You must have really loved her if you kept this.”

He chuckled. “Check the back cover.”

I did, my eyes burning for a whole different reason. A sheet of pink stationery was tucked between the cover and the back page.

“Read it.”

I flipped the paper open.

I’m sorry

“She gave me that note when she told me she’d been messing around with her ex-boyfriend for the entirety of our relationship and was going back to him. Just handed it to me and told me point blank that he was her true love and she hoped I found what she had one day.”

“That’s… wow.”

“I kept the book because it’s a first edition. I never loved her, and she definitely didn’t love me.”

“Then why were you with her for six months?”

“Because I liked her. I thought I could love her, but I was her backup plan in case things with her ex fizzled for good.”

“If it makes you feel any better, her taste in poetry sucks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. There are so many incredible French poets out there, and she gave you the equivalent of a compilation of Dr. Seuss wannabes. It’s like reading one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, but in French.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and the flutters came back along with more of those adrenaline bursts.

Friends. Just friends.

“I feel wildly better about that entire situation now.” He tipped the rest of the coffee into his mouth and swallowed.

I watched his throat work again, and my dick pulsed and throbbed.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” I snapped the book closed. “I should put my insulin in the fridge.”

He watched, an unreadable expression on his face as I jumped up off the chair and hurried out of the room.

What the fuck was going on with my dick suddenly waking up?