Echos POV
It didn't take long to get the car back up and running, given that Brandon's mom got up exceptionally early to fill his car with gas and brought it to us.
She stands with the hood open when we leave the house and walk towards the driveway, wearing a blouse and shorts so short it's practically a belt. I guess it is pretty hot, and she's been working on the car for who knows how long.
"Hey, kids!" She shouts at us as we approach her. "Brandon, I made sure you didn't have any water damage anywhere in this old girl." She looks at me and gives me a soft smile as an idea pops into her head. "How about you two stay for breakfast, Ben
"Thanks, Mom. It was nice seeing you, but I have to get Echo back to the city, though; she has to get to work, and so do I."
A sad expression falls over her, and she says, "Oh, alright. Well, I guess I should tell you my good news."
Just as she says that, a truck pulls into the driveway. We all stare at it, and I sit silently, not knowing who that could be. But Brandon seems to know.
He whispers. "What's dad doing here?"
His mom looks from the truck and then at Brandon with worry. "Brandon, honey, I have something to tell you."
"Well, what is it?" He snaps. "He doesn't have my sisters in his car, so what is he here for?"
I bite my lip as I step back. This seems a bit intrusive of me being here.
A tall man that looks awfully like Brandon starts to walk toward them, and he opens his mouth.
"Jillian, you didn't tell me you were telling Brandon about our engagement today. I would've snapped a pic of his reaction to the wedding pictures." My jaw drops. His deep chuckle sends a chill down my spine. It reminds me so much of how my dad used to laugh at times when he knew it would hurt me the most.
He stands beside his... fiancé and wraps her hand in his.
Wedding. Engagement. I thought they were divorced.
Brandon stands speechless. I've never seen his face express such intense anger before. I never even entertained the idea that he could get this angry. But what I can't figure out is what got him so upset.
"Mom, you're joking, right? You're kidding?"
She shakes her head. "I was going to tell you, I was. I needed the time and didn't know how to break it to you, especially when I knew you could act like this. You can't blame me!"
"Mom, he treated you like shit!" He shouts at her.
"Hey!" The man shouts. "Don't talk to your mother like that, and not that you need any details about our relationship, but I have changed, Brandon. People change."
Jillian nods. "He's right; he has. I promise you. This time will be different—"
"Just look at him, Mom," Brandon pleads, his voice begging her to see what he sees when he looks at his dad. A tank top with a stretch-out collar, a beard the length of half a foot, and boots that look like they've been through world wars. "Does he look like he's changed?" He steps towards his dad and grills him. "I bet he dropped the girls off at some shit summer school just to run off and get high off the back of his truck somewhere. Ain't that right, Ben?"
Ben shoves at Brandon's chest, snatching his collar up in his hands, and flings him only a step back. I know he meant for that to look fierce, but I only worry about what Brandon might do in return.
"Enough," Jillian hisses at her son, even though Ben initiated it. "Ben is clean!"
Brandon shakes his head, puffs out his breath, and points to his mom. "When his hands are back hitting on you, and you're crying for help, I won't be in the next room to stop him this time. You better hope I never hear a thing from the girls, or I'm going after you next." He threatens. "And I promise you, Julian, I'll make sure you never see them again if you put them in danger like you did me."
He walks towards me and takes my hand in his, intertwining his fingers with mine so tightly I thought they might pop off. I don't complain, though. "Let's go, Echo." He says softly so only I can hear.
Even after that heated conversation, his voice says calm with me.
"Brandon Ashton!" His mom calls after him, but nothing else is heard after he slams his car door and drives off.
I clip in my head belt. This day has turned a complete one-eighty. Waking up, I thought we would talk about what happened yesterday with the rule we set for each other. But I don't think that's anywhere near his mind after what happened.
"I'm sorry you had to be there for that. It's not something I would've wanted you to see." He says while keeping his eyes glued to the road.
I take the time to stare at his side profile. How can someone have no bad angles? "It's fine. I've... seen worse."
He shakes his head. "I'm not in your life to compete with what you have been through. I want to keep you far away from what you've experienced, not add to it."
I shake my head. I'd rather know who you are than know a filtered version of you."
He takes a split second to glance at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I play with the strings from the rip in my jeans. "I mean, I'd rather you show me your troubles and what's on your mind. No one's perfect, and before what just happened, you seemed unbelievably perfect to me." I look back at his profile and say, "If you want to keep being... whatever we are, you can't be so... perfect anymore. So, no more apologies for having an imperfect life."
His lips rise into a small smile, and he nods. "It's hard when most of my nights are filled with people with much more imperfect lives than mine. It almost makes me feel like mine isn't worth being upset over when there are people who have it much harder than I do."
I look out the window at the water as we pass over the George Washington Bridge. My mind goes to Hailey and how Brandon didn't hesitate to listen with his undivided attention. The fresh air swirls between my curls, and I squint. "Everyone deserves to have someone that will listen because everyone has something to tell." I look back at him as he blinks more than usual. I can't tell if it's because of the wind or because he's on the verge of tears. Either way, I spot his hand lying on the center console and casually place mine over it. "Everyone needs a Brandon. Even you." I smile to cheer him up the best I can manage.
His arm tenses, and he shakes his head, flipping his hand to hold it flush with his. "I only need my Echo."
***
My Echo.
Those two simple words swarmed my head like bees on a sunflower for hours since I returned to the apartment yesterday. When did I become his? Do I want to be his Echo?
I only a couple of weeks ago would've said hell fucking no. I now am saying... It doesn't feel wrong to feel wanted.
I walk into work, the smell of alcohol and food mixing in the most unpleasant way. I'm unsure how anyone likes spending their time or money here. It's nearly happy hour, meaning the bar is packed, and the drunks are in full today.
"Johnson! Where've you been?" Greg asks me as I rush behind the bar counter and throw on my apron.
"It's a long story, Greg." I pull my curls into a low bun and pull out a few curly strands so that I can feel hidden behind my hair, even if it's only a thin piece.
"It's a good thing I have the time. How about you tell me why you stood me up to work your shifts when you know I'm low on employees right now."
I groan, crossing my arms.
"You were with that boy, hm?" He guesses.
I glare at him.
"What's he now? Your boyfriend? Been seeing him around for a few weeks now since you started workin' here."
I want to pull each graying strand of hair from his beard. "No, he's just a guy, and yes, I was with him—but not because I decided to ditch work. We got stranded on the road in the middle of a storm, and I had to miss work yesterday."
He grunts as if he has no choice but to believe me. "Come with me; I want to introduce you to someone you should've met yesterday."
I tilt my head. "Who?"
He doesn't answer, walking past me and into the back room. I follow him. The music from the front muffles as the door closes behind me, and as we enter Greg's office in the back, my eyes lock on the new face standing at his desk.
It's a girl. Around my age, it seems happy looking. Too happy, if you ask me. It's a minimum-wage job, and she's cheesing like she just got the career of her lifetime. Her hair is the color of the sun, pulled into a high ponytail.
Greg steps between us. "Echo Johnson," He points to smiley, "Sara Lowes. Sara, Echo."
Sara steps up to me and holds her hand out. "Hi, nice to meet you." I stare at it, unsure what to do. I haven't had a social life that consisted of another girl since Hailey.
I shake her hand slowly. "Hey."
"Okay, girls, now get to work! It's fuckin' happy hour, and I have to bus some tables. Echo. Sara. Bar. Go."
At that, we both got out of the back and got behind the bar, where we were met with impatient drunks waiting for their drinks to be made. Sara takes the left side of the bar, and I take the right. The entire time I try not to wonder why she chose to work here. All she is to me is someone I have to share tips with.
When the orders die down, and there's not much chaos, I'm left sighing and wiping down the bar with Sara.
"So," She starts off with a smile and a tone so casual as if we've been friends for years. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
She stops wiping to look at me. "Wow."
I crunch one side of my face. "What?"
She shrugs. "Just thought you'd be older. You seem older."
I press my lips together. "Thanks..." I say blandly.
Her brows jump. "Oh! I didn't mean it like that. I just meant—you know, you look more... mature."
I nod, turning away and towards the sink, where I flip on the water and start to wash the shot glasses.
"What do you do for fun around here?"
I don't look at her as I respond. "You new to New York or something?"
"Mhm. Well, sort of. I just moved here a few days ago from Upstate New York. You from the city?"
I sigh. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Why is that so unfortunate? I feel like everyone in the world wants to live in this city," She laughs.
"That's the problem. Too many people. Not enough space. And everyone here is a nut case."
"How long you've been here?"
Since I killed my mother and entered the world. "Since I was born."
"Does your family live here too? How many friends do you have? I bet there's a bunch- OH! Are there parties?"
I snap my head up as I snatch a washcloth to dry my hands. Why is she so goddamn nosy? "What's with you?"
She frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Your questions. Why are you asking so many questions?"
She shrugs. "I like making friends."
I step towards her. "I don't. I'm no friend, alright?"
Her eyes dart around my face, the shine in her dimming as she steps one foot back and nods. "Sorry," Is all she says before turning around and taking an order from a man who just sat down.
She didn't say anything for the rest of the shift or ask me another question. Her head was low, and her smile had faded.
For the entire shift, I felt like a cold-blooded bitch.