Tyros’s car pulled up to the rest house, a familiar haven nestled within their shared land. Months had passed since his last visit, a gap he now sought to bridge. Exiting the vehicle, he hefted the grocery bags brimming with provisions for Brandon. He spotted Brandon returning from his jog, the rhythmic thud of his footsteps drawing nearer. The sight of his friend, however, caused a pang of concern.
Tyros noticed the faintest of scars tracing Brandon’s healed wounds, a silent testament to a recent ordeal.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Brandon said, a hint of playful accusation in his tone, as he approached the main door.
“Are you alright?” Tyros asked, his gaze lingering on the healed wounds, his voice laced with genuine care.
“Of course!” Brandon replied, a bright smile illuminating his face as he swung open the door, ushering Tyros inside.
The living room, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, welcomed them.
Tyros carefully placed the groceries on the floor, the rustling of bags breaking the comfortable silence.
Brandon’s eyes immediately fell upon the bounty, a silent acknowledgment of the thoughtful gesture. “You’re a truly thoughtful friend!” He exclaimed, reaching out to embrace Tyros in a gesture of gratitude.
But Tyros, his movements sharp and unexpected, sidestepped the embrace, creating an immediate distance between them. “You should start lunch now,” He instructed, his tone brisk, lacking the warmth of Brandon’s words. He led the way into the kitchen, Brandon trailing behind, a question hanging in the air.
“What should I cook?” Brandon asked, opening the refrigerator, its interior a jumble of familiar and unfamiliar ingredients.
“Whatever’s there,” Tyros replied, peering into the refrigerator himself, his gaze assessing the contents with a critical eye.
Brandon slammed the refrigerator door shut. “I don’t know how to cook!” he blurted, the words escaping in a rush of frustration.
“Come on, you’re just being lazy! I’m hungry,” Tyros retorted, reopening the refrigerator, his impatience evident.
“Call your girlfriend to cook,” Brandon snapped, retreating to the living room, his shoulders slumping with defeat.
“Or maybe I’ll call Stella,” Tyros offered, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Brandon froze mid-step, the casual mention of Stella striking a nerve. He turned his face a mask of apprehension. “Don’t you dare,” He warned, his voice low and strained, as he sank onto the couch.
“Why? What are you hiding from her?” Tyros pressed, settling onto the couch a considerable distance away, his curiosity piqued.
Brandon remained silent, shaking his head slowly, disbelief etched onto his features.
A sudden screech of tires outside shattered the tense silence. Both men froze, their bodies stiffening as the sound registered.
“You brought someone?” Brandon’s question was sharp, accusatory, his eyes darting towards the window.
“No, I came alone,” Tyros replied, rising from the couch, his own unease palpable.
Brandon followed suit, his movements mirroring Tyros’s tension. He cautiously opened the front door, revealing an unfamiliar vehicle parked before the rest house.
The car, sleek and unfamiliar, was a stark contrast to the rustic setting.
“Do you know that car?” Brandon asked, his voice barely a whisper, as he peered out into the twilight.
“No,” Tyros answered, standing just behind him, his gaze following Brandon’s.
Meanwhile, Stella and Flora were nearing the rest house, their conversation a cheerful counterpoint to the growing tension within. Their arrival, however, was about to be far from cheerful.
A gasp escaped Stella’s lips as she witnessed the scene unfolding before her Brandon engaged in conversation with a woman, the unfamiliar car a silent witness to the encounter.
“Looks like you’re too late,” Flora observed, shaking her head, a mixture of amusement and pity in her eyes.
“You’re right,” Stella murmured, her voice laced with defeat. With a sigh, she initiated a U-turn, the rest house and its unfolding drama receding in her rearview mirror.
Tyros materialized before them, his car cutting them off, blocking their path.
Stella’s foot slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision.
The near-miss sent a jolt of adrenaline through the car.
“Do you want to die?!” Flora’s shriek pierced the air, sharp and filled with fury, instantly drawing Brandon’s attention away from the woman.
“You can go now,” Brandon said to the woman, his voice firm but polite.
The woman, seemingly relieved, offered a curt nod of thanks before returning to her car.
“Get out of the way!” Stella demanded, her voice tight with frustration, but Tyros remained stubbornly planted, his car an immovable obstacle. She frantically scanned her surroundings for an alternate route, but time was running out.
Brandon rapped sharply on Stella’s window, his gesture a silent plea for her to address the situation.
Flora leaned over, her eyes wide with urgency. “You need to talk to him,” she urged, gesturing towards Brandon.
Taking a deep breath, Stella rolled her eyes at Flora’s blunt advice, a mixture of exasperation and resignation in her expression. She lowered the window, meeting Brandon’s gaze directly.
“I’ll just park,” she said, her voice calm despite the turmoil within.
Brandon nodded, silently granting her permission to use his garage.
Pulling into the garage, Stella parked beside Brandon’s car, the familiar space offering a brief respite from the drama unfolding outside. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the quiet click a small victory in the face of a larger conflict.
“You got this!” Flora’s words, though simple, were a lifeline, breaking through the tension.
A laugh escaped Stella’s lips, a sound of nervous energy released. “Of course, I do,” she replied, her confidence returning as she and Flora stepped out of the car, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
Tyros enveloped Flora in a hug, his embrace warm and genuine, while Stella stood stiffly, her gaze fixed on Brandon, a silent observer to the unfolding scene.
“Come in,” Brandon invited, his voice a low murmur that held a hint of something unsaid.
They entered the house, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort in the charged atmosphere.
“How did you find the address?” Brandon’s question was directed at Stella, his eyes lingering on her face, searching for an answer.
“I asked your father,” Stella replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Brandon’s lips twitched, a near-smile held back, his interest piqued.
Tyros, sensing the shift in the dynamic, intervened. “We’ll give you some privacy,” he announced, winking conspiratorially at Flora.
“See you later,” Flora whispered to Stella, a silent farewell before she and Tyros exited the living room, leaving Stella and Brandon alone.
“You came looking for me?” Brandon began, his voice soft, breaking the silence.
“Yes, Bryce wanted to see you,” Stella answered, her gaze darting away, avoiding his direct stare.
“Really? Where is he?” Brandon pressed, his curiosity piqued.
Stella was caught off guard, her carefully constructed facade faltering. “I left him with my father,” she stammered, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Are you sure it was Bryce who wanted to see me?” Brandon’s skepticism was evident, his tone questioning.
Stella brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture. “Okay, I’ll be honest,” she confessed, finally meeting his gaze, her eyes revealing the truth. “It was me.”
A smile played on Brandon’s lips, a smile Stella couldn’t help but notice. He nodded, his eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored the smile. “Do you miss me?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.
Stella remained silent, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Don’t ask that kind of question,” she finally said, her voice a touch sharper than intended.
Brandon, understanding her discomfort, simply nodded again. “Why? Are you shy?” he teased, his tone light and playful.
Stella’s reaction was immediate; she snatched a nearby pillow and hurled it at him, a playful yet defensive gesture. “Stop it!” she warned, her voice laced with both amusement and irritation.
Brandon erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. “Chill,” he said, clearing his throat to compose himself. “Do you want me to go back there?” he asked, his voice softening, his gaze searching hers.
Stella hesitated, her mind racing, weighing her options. “No! I wouldn’t force you-” she began, but her words were cut short.
“Wherever you want to live, I’ll be with you,” Brandon declared, his voice firm, his words carrying a weight of conviction that stole her breath.
Stella froze, stunned by the unexpected declaration. “But you don’t have your own house,” she pointed out, a practical concern overriding her surprise.
Brandon gestured towards the rest house, a subtle shift in his demeanor. “This is mine now,” he announced, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Really?” Stella asked, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Brandon nodded, his smile now a confident affirmation. “Do you want to live here with me and Bryce?” He asked, his voice serious, his eyes searching hers.
A heavy silence descended, the unspoken question hanging between them, thick with anticipation.
After a moment of thoughtful consideration, Stella nodded, her agreement a quiet affirmation.
Brandon, however, was taken aback. “Wait, are you sure?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
“Oh! I guess you don’t want it now,” Stella said, a hint of hurt coloring her tone as she rose from the couch, her movements suggesting a retreat.
Brandon’s reaction was swift and decisive. He reached out, his fingers closing around her hand, preventing her departure. “Who told you I don’t want to live with you? I want you, Stella!” he declared, his voice firm, his words carrying the weight of his feelings.
A smile bloomed on Stella’s face, a smile that mirrored the joy in his eyes.