Beautiful Graves(95)

“You’re saying he knew who I was when we met and decided to pursue me anyway? To spite you?” Suspicion drips from my voice. Dom wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t purposefully malicious either.

Joe shakes his head. “No. Not to spite me. I think he realized after the fact that you are Everlynne. My Everlynne. He put two and two together shortly after we met Christmas Eve.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Small things that happened after Christmas. When I said I should have brunch with you and get to know you, he told me he’d tag along so you wouldn’t feel ambushed. He hardly ever spoke about you around me, when before he would go on and on about you. I think the engagement was a way to make it a done deal. Dom usually wasn’t one to rush into things.”

I process everything that he is saying. Now that I think about it, Joe is right. Dom did seem a little off about things after we got back from his parents’ after Christmas. And the proposal did come as a surprise.

Oh my God. Did Dom find out?

“But . . . why?” I whisper, feeling deflated and beaten. This makes no sense. None at all. “Why would he do this to us?”

“Because his fear of losing out was greater than his need to do the right thing—same reason why he dated both you and Sarah.” He stands up and walks over to the window. “And because I think he tried to tell himself he was doing us both a favor. He’d seen how consumed I was by you for years. He’d always said I was crazy for not trying to move on. Every girlfriend, every date, I compared to you. And they all fell short. He wanted me to have a fresh start. I know this much. And Dom always thought he knew better than everyone else.”

Joe works his jaw back and forth, staring onto the street pensively.

“For Chrissake, Dom!” Joe picks up the switchboard phone on the nightstand beside him, unplugs it, and hurls it across the room. It explodes into three pieces on the wall, landing on the floor. I start crying. I’ve never been so hurt by someone, and I can’t even face Dom. I can’t tell him he is a dirtbag and an asshole and a cheat. He would be the worst thing that happened to me if he hadn’t brought Joe back into my life.

I’m lying in the bed, burying my face in my arms, weeping now. Joe’s raspy voice floats somewhere above my head.

“I thought you two were close. That you got along.” My voice is muffled as my lips move over the hard industrial linen of the hotel bed.

“We were all of those things. But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Even though Dom was the golden child—the overachiever, the prom king—I had something he never had. I was the healthy one. I was the one my parents didn’t have to worry about. I took my health for granted. I smoked in front of him. I drank excessively. We loved each other to death. We had the kind of closeness that only happens when you know you can lose someone. We went camping together and went to games together and became neighbors and hung out at least a few times a week. But ultimately, he still thought he deserved you more than I did. In his eyes, he’d paid his dues. He walked around with an inner clock that was always ticking, reminding him his time on this earth was limited.”

The bed dips, and I know Joe is next to me. It doesn’t feel as immoral as it would have a second ago. Screw Dom. Screw him all to hell. All this time I felt guilty about him, when I should’ve felt glee at kissing his brother on the day he proposed.

“You’re too good a guy,” I sigh, rubbing at my face.

“Why do you say that?” he asks gently.

“Because you stepped aside. Reluctantly, but you did.”

“Turns out good guys do finish last.” Joe tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, shaking his head. He looks wrecked. I hate what this is doing to him. “I should’ve just done it.”

“Should’ve done what?” I put my hand over his so he can’t pull it away from my cheek.

“Should’ve just walked to you and kissed the shit out of you the day before Christmas. It was my knee-jerk reaction when I saw your face again. I chose to act civilized. In retrospect—fuck civilization.”

A chuckle escapes me. I press my forehead against his and close my eyes. Our fingers lace together. He ignores the big diamond on my engagement finger. For the first time in months I do too.

“Come with me to Boston,” he croaks.

Something warm swooshes in my stomach. I want to. I really do. But that’s what scares me. Joe is right. I am terrified of loving him. He means so much to me; the idea of trying and failing with him is . . . paralyzing to me.

“It’s not a good idea,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life. My family expects some firm resolutions from me. They want to know what I’m going to do. I can’t just up and leave again.”

Dad is going to kill me if I pull another Ever circa 2015. Where I just left for Boston and never looked back.

“Just for a few days.” He brackets my face, kissing my lips softly. Sweetly. A faint brush of a touch. My whole body breaks in shivers. It remembers. It remembers Spain, and it remembers Joe’s hallway. There’s a memory album of all the times we touched tucked deep inside me.

I pull away from him. “We can’t have sex.”

“It’s not sex.” He kisses my nose. “It’s not even in the same neighborhood as sex.” His lips brush my collarbone. “Sex has nothing to do with it. Just come with me for a few days. Please.”