Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(3)

So actually, I’m really goddamn confused by him right now.

Charlie messes his already messy golden-brown hair. “We should talk.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s talk.”

We leave the crowded yacht for a little bit of privacy. When we reach the second deck, we pass a packed hot tub where Jane chats loudly with her younger sister.

I share a quick glance with Janie. And I nod towards the next set of steps. She nods back like, we’ll see each other later.

Once Charlie and I are off the yacht, we stand on the wooden dock. The boat towers next to us, looming and constantly reminding me of our familial wealth.

I never forget what and where we come from.

Paparazzi are nowhere in sight, thanks to the private marina. I crack my knuckles. And I just watch Charlie stuff his fists in the pockets of his slacks, his sunglasses hooked on his shirt.

“You planning on rocketing to some planet?” I banter. “Want me to come along with?” I flash a dying smile, my lips down-turning fast off his stone-cold glare.

“Not everyone wants you next to them.”

Ouch.

My frown darkens. “I never said everyone. I just meant you.”

Charlie lets out a short, irritated laugh, his smile almost pained. “Stop assuming I want you by my side.”

Jesus…I shake my head over and over. I keep licking my lips like I’m on the verge of the right words. I’m not sure what the hell they are, but someone, give them to me. “What did I do? Is this about Ben—”

“You’re on your own.”

I feel whiplashed, not following. “What—”

“You’re on your own. At Harvard.”

“Wait—”

“There’s no waiting, no talking me out of this,” Charlie says so assuredly, so confidently. “I’m not going to Harvard. I’m not going to be your roommate. Find another one.”

I rest a hand on my head, muscles contracting. “College is in one week.”

“And the whole campus would just love to live with Maximoff Hale.”

What the fuck is his problem? “You were the one who wanted to go to Harvard.” My voice starts to rise, but I’m not yelling yet. “I would’ve been fine to attend somewhere closer to Philly, to be near our family, but you said, let’s go to Harvard together. Now you’re just bailing?”

“Yeah.” Charlie lets that word linger.

About five feet separate our bodies. But for the first time in four years, an ocean swells between us. Pushing him further and further away from me.

I take a step towards him. “Why?”

“If I tell you why, you’ll want to fix it like you always do, and did you ever contemplate, ever think, that not everything needs to be fixed?” His angered yellow-green eyes burn me. “Let alone by you.”

I open my mouth, but words stick to the back of my throat.

“Why are you so upset? You’re Maximoff Hale,” he practically spits out my name. “You can do anything by yourself and then some.”

I think about Jason again. I think about how I was holding onto Charlie at Harvard like a familiar lifeline. If he wants to bail on college…that’s fine. I can’t trap him, but I just don’t understand why he’s doing this all of a sudden.

And yeah, I want an answer.

Is that so fucking bad of me? “Just tell me why—”

He nears, bridging the distance, but not in a good way. “I can’t stand to look at you. To be around you, and I’d rather bathe in peroxide than suffer four years of college with you.” Charlie watches my face contort. “Can’t handle the fact that someone dislikes you?”

“Oooh,” an audience says, ogling us from the yacht. They push up against the railing and stare down at the wooden dock where I combat my cousin.

“Fuck you.” I glare. Charlie knows classmates have hated me. Just not family. I point at him. “You’re just an immature sixteen-year-old kid who likes pretending he’s an adult, but you’re one of the most irresponsible, self-involved—” I see his right hook, and I slip left, dodging the blow.

I’m on autopilot, a reflex, and I swing at him. My fist lands with a thump against his jaw.

Shit.

I raise my hand, not wanting to seriously injure him. I’m more muscular, stronger. Even if he’s an inch taller. “Charlie—”

His narrowed eyes drill into my skull. And he launches another punch. His knuckles smash into my cheekbone.

“Ohhhh!” the audience clamors.

I wince and shove him back hard. He tries to nail my ribs. I shove him again.

“Isn’t this what you’re good at?!” he yells. “Hit me!”

I’m wound up, about to snap, and when he comes at me for a third time, I seize his shoulder. I slam a fist into his abs, and he barrels his weight into me. Until we’re on the dock. Wrestling with one another. Spit flying, fists digging, and pulses pounding.

I bust skin on his cheek.

He pummels my already battered ribs. Some kind of hate brews like acid between us, and I can’t end it. I don’t know how.

I’m on my back. And right as I turn my head towards him, he launches an uppercut. His knuckles bash my chin and catch my nose—goddammit.

Blood just pours out of my nostrils. Charlie stands off me, and I sit up, cupping my hands to my face. Breathing heavily.