Chapter 13
Molly
Toby wraps me in a sideways embrace, his arm solid around my shoulders. His lips rest on my head.
"I hate that you can't remember our past," he murmurs. "And might never. I promise to fill your life with the best memories moving forward. I don't want the one big thing you remember about us to be that argument."
"A lot of memories are coming back. By the time I get through the box you brought, I bet I'll have even more good ones."
"Let's start by getting you out of this place." He lifts his head. "You deserve more."
I wiggle until they give me an ounce of space, and I follow his gaze.
The paint on the walls doesn't match, a few cabinets hang crooked, and the edge of the countertop is chipped.
The two-foot-tall Christmas tree with a handful of colorful ornaments my neighbor gifted me is the highlight of the living space. But it's home.
"Let us give you the life you deserve," Dylan says.
Conflicted feelings race through me. "Everybody deserves better than this. I wouldn't miss my time-sensitive showers, but I've met some of the nicest neighbors and friends here and in this town."
Toby's brow furrows. "You want to stay?"
"I don't know what I want yet."
"At least let us take you home for Christmas." Dylan squeezes my hand.
I exhale, the weight of their stares pressing in. "I want that too. It's just strange to have this life and another one."
Toby nods. "That's fair. You can live wherever you want, just give us a chance." He pauses and pulls out his phone. "But can you also give me your landlord's number?"
My eyes narrow. "What are you going to do? Get me kicked out?"
"No. I'm going to offer to foot the bill to remodel the whole complex. Our Christmas gift to your neighbors."
"Great idea. It's the least we can do," Dylan confirms.
I'm speechless, clearly not remembering how much money they have.
Toby says, "I could show you a study that shows that when people's surroundings are kept up, it positively impacts their well-being."
I interrupt. "You have that much money?"
Dylan grins, the first real spark in his eyes. "We have enough money to do just about anything."
I'm floored. But what really staggers me is how sincere they seem. Their grievous misstep with my diary is only a tiny piece of who they are. I know that, even if I can't remember how I know it. "All I have to do is give you a chance?"
"And go home with us for Christmas," Toby reminds me.
Laughter bubbles out of me, light and unexpected. "We have a deal." I grab my phone and forward the landlord's contact to Toby.
"We need to let Mom and Dad know you're safe," he adds.
My dad! The thought warms my heart. "I can’t wait to talk to him."
Dylan says, "Let's do a video call."
"Right now? It's the middle of the night."
"Time's irrelevant in a situation like this." Dylan opens his phone.
I put my hand over his screen. "Okay, but one more question."
"What is it?"
"Your mom?"
They both grimace.
"I guess that’s my answer. We didn’t get along, did we?"
Toby rubs his temple. "She was pretty good to us, but when she married your dad, she kind of became the fabled evil stepmother."
Dylan sighs. "We’ve taken care of that. One of the things we learned from your diary was how much her comments hurt you. We made her promise to respect you as you are or understand that she’s not welcome in our lives. We'll never leave you stranded again."
Calmness washes over me—except between my legs—different feelings happen there. "I might have the best stepbrothers ever."
"Except when we snoop through your shit." Dylan pokes fun at himself.
"At least you didn’t listen when I told you to stay out of my life."
Toby must be eager to call our parents too. His finger hovers over a contact labeled 'Dad'. It's a little thing, but I like that he used Dad, not Stepdad.
I'm excited and scared. It's like I'm at the starting line of a race I didn't know I was running. I need a minute. The first way to delay that comes to mind tumbles out of my mouth. "Hold on, let me brush my hair."
"Dad won't care."
Haunting memories of their mom criticizing every aspect of me, including my lack of hairstyle download into my brain. I force a smile and hop up.
In the bathroom, I face the mirror, running my fingers through my stick-straight hair. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, do I have the evilest stepmother of all?"
A smirk tugs my lips. Probably not the evilest, but that might change when she finds out I’m having sex with her sons.
I try again, this time without a question. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I have the best stepbrothers of all."
That just might be true.
With my hair smoothed into place, I return to the living room, and huddle on the couch with Toby and Dylan.
The call is emotional, even for my stepmom, and we keep it short, noting the hour. With my permission, my brothers promise to bring me home tomorrow. It's going to be hard getting used to people like my dad feeling so familiar, yet knowing such limited tidbits about our past.
The call ends and I pick up my diary and open to the first page. NIKKI is written in bold letters with the year and several doodles. "It’s so odd to know that I have a different name, and kind of wild that in a way, Molly is so close to Nikki. Guess I better start learning about this Nikki chick."
Toby slides closer, his thigh pressing against mine. "Or we could show you."
Dylan drapes an arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing my shoulder. "Feel like snuggling up on the couch and reading a book?"
He and Toby share a knowing look.
"You mean my diary?"
"Unless you have other smut lying around."
"My diary's not—well, maybe it is."
Dylan takes it from me and flips to a specific page. "Get comfortable."
Heat flares in my belly. What are they planning?
Toby runs to my bedroom and returns with a pillow and blanket. He props the pillow at one end of the couch and waits for me to recline on it before covering me with the blanket.
Dylan points to the page in my diary. "Start from the top. Tell us if we get it wrong."
Then they leave my apartment. What the heck? I stare at the closed door.
"Tell us when you start reading?" Toby calls through the door.
I guess what they're doing will make sense if I dive in. I start reading:
I'm exhausted after a hitting leg day at the gym. Climbing the stairs to my bedroom isn't going to happen. I detour to the couch instead, curling up with my latest smutty novella and weighted blanket.
I laugh. My diary and threadbare thrift store blanket will have to suffice.
My roommates will be back any minute, but I don't have the energy to finish the dishes I promised to take care of.
I like where this is headed.
A chapter later, the hum of the garage door opener gives me one last chance to dash to the kitchen, but… fuck it. I just got to the spicy scene.
The door from the garage opens, two sets of footsteps enter, and the door closes. They make their way through the kitchen and stop at the doorway to the living room. The weight of their disapproving gazes weighs on me, but I keep reading.
"You didn't do the fucking dishes… again," Toby's voice booms from the kitchen.
"I'm busy." Why do I love tormenting them so much?
Dylan strides across the room, stopping near my feet. "We're letting you crash here rent-free in exchange for taking care of a few chores."
"Yep," I say without looking up.
"Are you reading yet?" Toby asks from my porch.
Oops. I scan the page quickly. My sex tingles. My panties are drenched. And I definitely want them to play this fantasy out. How did I come up with this stuff?
"Yes." My answer comes out too breathy for them to hear, even with my thin walls. I take a breath and go for a little improv. "I sure hope my roommates don't get back before I do my chores."
The door opens. They head to the kitchen then Toby grumbles. "You didn't do the fucking dishes… again."
Here we go. "I'm busy."
Dylan enters, stopping near my feet. "We're letting you crash here rent-free in exchange for taking care of a few chores."
"Yep." I'm practically vibrating with anticipation, but stay in character.
"You sassy little slut. We warned you." Applause to Dylan for having his lines memorized, and for his impeccably threatening tone.
If I didn't know better, I'd be worried.
"Ooh. I'm scared." I'm proud of myself for keeping the vibe.
"Fine. I'm taking payment right now."
"I really want to finish this chapter," I whine and follow along in the text to make sure I get it right.
He rubs a hand over his five-o'clock shadow, drops to his knees, and ducks under the blanket. His hands trail up my shins, gripping my knees to pull them apart.
I resist and curl onto my side, my butt facing outward as I suggested. "After this chapter."
"You're a naughty little slut. You don't get to call the shots."
Ironically, they're doing exactly what I wanted.
Toby shuffles dishes in the kitchen. I happen to know there aren't any dirty ones so he's just making noise. "Get your ass in here or else."
"She'll be there in a minute." Dylan's voice is slightly muffled through the blanket as he removes my pajama pants, aka workout shorts.
He bites my ass. I squeal and squirm even though I knew it was coming. Taking advantage of my squirm, he holds my top leg up while nuzzling his face into my pussy.
Yay me for writing this because holy shit, it feels good. I do my best to read ahead. Thankfully, it's coming pretty naturally, and I don't have much for speaking lines. Apparently in my fantasy, I managed to keep reading.
He's nuzzling my clit, sending sparks of fire through me while dragging his tongue through my slit.
My cries escalate. An orgasm builds. I definitely have the best stepbrothers in the world. Rocking back and forth on his face, I'm barreling toward climax. My diary falls on my face. I'm one lick away from—
Cold air rushes onto my sex. Dylan's sitting on his heels and tosses the blanket aside.
"That's not—"