You’ve spent your whole life loving Conrad Fisher.

Your father and his father Adam were college buddies, always playing golf together on Sunday mornings. You still remember the first time your father dragged you along; you spent the whole morning whining and crying, begging him to let you bring your Bratz dolls with you. Your attitude changed when you got to the green and met Conrad for the first time. Ever since that moment, you’ve been in love.

You’ve also spent your whole life watching Conrad Fisher love Belly Conklin.

You were there when they got together. You were there when they broke up. You were there when Belly started dating his brother Jeremiah. You were always at Conrad’s side, or in his arms, holding him close, watching him crumble because of her.

It’s not that you didn’t like Belly, you did. She was sweet, and all, sometimes, but you were protective of Conrad. It hurt to see them together but it hurt even more to hold him as he cried over her after she started dating Jeremiah.

You were sitting next to Conrad, hand already shoved in the popcorn bowl when Belly suddenly burst through the door of the Fisher house. She was supposed to be with Jeremiah at some frat party, and both you and Conrad were equally confused when she stumbled across the room, sobbing and sniffling as she tumbled into Conrad’s arms.

Their conversation is hushed, quiet outside the porch door, but you still hear it all. Her break with Jeremiah. Lacie. The kiss.

Smart, sexy Lacie! Belly sobs over and over into Conrad’s chest, sputtering over her words as they try to keep their voices down. You watch through the door as he consoles her, cooing affectionate words and - fuck, looking at her in a way that you wished he would look at you in.

Lacie, Lacie, Lacie. Maybe in some ways, Belly was your Lacie. She had the one thing that you want, and he’s still wrapped around her manicured finger.

They talk for way too long before she finally leaves. As distraught as she is, you know that she’ll never leave Jeremiah. You know better than to believe that.

He shuts the front door behind her, running a hand over his face. He looks so beautiful in the lowlights, and as your eyes trace over him you have a hard time not staring directly at his biceps. Now isn’t the time for that, you think.

“FUCK!” You jump when he suddenly screams, watching as he swipes his arm across the table by the front door, knocking over a bunch of mail and some family photos. “FUCK!” You watch as Conrad continues to tear apart the living room, knocking over whatever he can get his hands on. “Fuck, he’s such a fucking piece of shit!”