“I don’t want to know his fucking name!” His face contorted in a way that brought back memories of Charlie’s death.
Agony.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
He threw his hands up, expelling a heavy breath in a whoosh. “Why isn’t your boyfriend here tonight?”
I went for dismissive, waving my hand. “He isn’t into art. He thinks my art classes are a waste of time, so I didn’t think he’d approve of the amount of time it took for me to prepare for this show.”
“Got it. You call me when your boyfriend is an uncultured, insensitive dickhead who doesn’t support you, and I come panting like your emotional support dog.”
“You’re my friend.” It sounded weak, even to me. The lie was evident in every syllable and vowel. Alex and I would never be friends.
He shook his head, sneering. “You’re the worst friend I ever had.”
Now that...that was the truth.
His hand went to the knob, and I knew I was about to lose him again. I felt like I did the day we met, when I had him to myself for those blissful few hours, knowing as soon as he met Mo, he’d choose my brother over me. When he walked out this door, we’d be done once more.
He opened the door, and the chill of the hallway swept over me immediately. He took a step, but looked back with fiery eyes.
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you,” he said.
I rubbed my arms, working to keep myself under control and my expression flat. “Thank you, Alex. It means so much to me that you were here for this. But please, can you not tell my brother?”
His eyes narrowed, and his hand on the knob went white with strain. “You got it. This never happened.”
Then Alex Murray walked away, leaving me cold and alone in the dark.
I would have gladly traded in my artistic success tonight if what he said could be true—if this really had never happened.
Good thing I was adept at pretending.