Just the Beginning [Complete ✓]

Chapter 22

"Do you want a t-shirt or something?" I ask from the doorway of my room.

When we pulled up into the driveway, I invited him inside. There was a bit of protest until I pointed out that, at the very least, he could come inside and dry himself off, reminding him in the process that, as he stated so politely, we didn't want to be getting sick.

He's already removed his shirt and hung it over my chair; underneath he wore a black t-shirt which he was currently patting down. "Just a top, please," he murmurs. "My sweater is dry."

Without moving, I gesture to one of the cupboards, ensuring it's okay before he opens it and pulls out one of the hoodies. Without a second thought or a glance back, he tugs it on and turns around. My breath catches in my throat (and honestly, how freaking lame is it that it always seems to be him that causes that to happen?) Out of all the possibilities, he ended up putting on the thrasher hoodie. Earlier I said he didn't remind me of anyone; he was just his own person. So it would only seem right to say that this moment was the complete opposite. Right now, in that hoodie (Cooper's hoodie), he looked like the spitting image of his brother. A brother he hasn't even met.

"Is this okay?" he asks when he looks at me. I think it's my face giving away the possibility that it's not and damn the betrayal. I force a small smile.

"It looks great."

"You look like I just killed your puppy," he deadpans. "What is it?"

I sigh. Stepping past him, I kneel down and pull the box out from under my bed. All the while I can feel his gaze plastered to me, unwavering as he waits patiently. I don't look at him as I hand over the picture and I'm certain I'm not mistaking the sudden sound as his abrupt intake of breath.

"So, this is Cooper," he says. He doesn't seem to know what else to say because the next words are the sort to make a person facepalm. "He looks like me."

"Duh."

"I mean, almost." He pauses, taking a seat beside me on the floor. When I lift my head, I catch the way he's looking at the picture. He's looking at it so intently that I swear the picture could light a flame any second. "He looks younger than me."

"Well," I say. It's all I say and he gives me a look but his gaze shifts away just as quickly. When the recognition lights up in his eyes, I know he's seen the entire picture.

"Should I change?" he asks, looking up. His hand stretches out as he passes the picture back to me. I take one final glance at it before tucking it into the box and sliding it back under my bed. I contemplate his question, though it doesn't take me that long to respond. Definitely not as long as I would have expected from myself.

"No," I say, cursing myself when it doesn't come out loud enough. I clear my throat. "No. It's perfectly fine."

"You sure?" he responds, brow quirking and head tilting slightly. He's got this uncertain look on his face; in his eyes and I can't help but wonder why he's the one so uncertain instead of me.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I pull myself up to a stand and spare him a quick glance as I walk over to the cupboard. "I need to change."

"Feel free to—"

I cut him off before he can finish. "Don't even try your luck," I say with a deadpan expression. "You can wait for me downstairs."

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, he gets up. "Whatever you say." Before stepping out, he looks back and flashes a grin. The door shuts behind him and only when I'm sure he's far gotten to the stairs do I undress. I'm halfway done when I stop midway of pulling the jersey over my head. I absentmindedly step over to the mirror, looking at myself. I can almost see him here beside me. That goofy little grin and bright eyes forming a smile of their own. The ghost of his touch as he helped me into the jersey. Of him walking in right then and insisting he help even though I wasn't struggling. Tears pool in my eyes.

"You're as beautiful as ever, you know that Cal?"

"I miss you," I whisper. And I do. I miss the way my name rolled off his tongue or how he said it every chance he got, just because he wanted to. How he'd tell me a joke, but he'd be too busy laughing at it to finish it off and how he'd always, always wait before kissing me; five seconds for me to say no, before he did, because he thought he always needed permission. And how sometimes, he'd go against that because five seconds were too long and he missed me.

How he missed me when it was only six hours since we last saw each other. He missed me in such short spans of time, and now I missed him and that wasn't just going to go away.

With a rough shake of my head, I swipe my arm across my face, wiping at the tears as I pull on the jersey and make my way out of the room. I can't stand there and think about it because the longer I think about it, the more that feeling settles in; missing him and the fact that I'll never get to see him again. Not like that. I couldn't deal with those feelings right now when there was someone downstairs.

"What took you so long?" Sawyer muses as soon as I step into the living room. He's seated on the couch, remote in hand. Just from the way he's seated, I can tell he's spent more time here than I've lived here. He's so comfortable, leaning back into the couch with his shoulders relaxed and a soft expression on his face, like he's at ease. While that's nice and all, I can't help the curiosity that sparks in me.

"Sorry," I murmur as I join him. He's got on Grease. "Good movie," I comment, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye to see his reaction.

"I guess," he says after a moment of hesitation. His cheeks are flushed.

"You watch it a lot?"

Sawyer freezes when he realizes I'm looking at him, his eyes constantly flickering from the television to me until eventually, he groans. Tilting his head back and eyes closed, he nods.

"It's my go-to movie."

"Comfort movie," I say and he nods. Without thinking, I look to the screen, smiling slightly. "It was his too."

I don't miss the little scoff that escapes him. "I guess we had more in common than just looking alike."

"You're twins. Of course you have more in common than just looking alike."

We watch until it nears the end of the movie; Sandy and Danny are going around singing their song, the latter following after her.

"Can I ask you something?" I try when the particular scene ends. My eyes shift over in time to see him turning his head to acknowledge me. He nods once which is enough permission for me. "Why don't you like your mom?" I can't help the question; I know his mom and for the life of me, I can't understand why he doesn't like her. When Adrian first pointed it out, I thought it was only natural (considering everyone had their stories, I just figured there was something between his mom and him). Of course that was until I realized who his mom was.

"I've changed my mind."

"What?" I sit up. "What do you mean?"

"I do mind you asking me something." He looks at me. "Can I ask you something?"

To say that doesn't catch me off guard would be a lie. Nevertheless, I nod, waiting for him to go ahead and ask the question. Of course, I expected so much more than what he actually asks.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you really want to know?" I shoot back instinctively. If I start off being honest, I don't quite know how it will go. Except that, I guess I don't have to worry about that. Before he can so much as get a response out, there's a distinctive sound behind us, causing us to turn around where, right there in the very flesh, is my dad.

"I'm home," he says for lack of anything better to say. His expression is pure surprise, but with the way his eyes keep shifting between us, I have this gut feeling that it's about to change so rather than acknowledging him with a greeting, I turn to Sawyer.

"You should probably leave."

He certainly doesn't need to be told twice as he's up in seconds and slipping past my father who still hasn't so much as looked away from me. He no longer looks surprised, just furious.

That irritates me just a bit.