19. Etta
19
ETTA
C um tastes gross, but watching Oz watch me while I swallow a mouthful of his jizz is one of the most powerful experiences of my life. His eyes widen, and he holds his breath, staring down at me like I’m an ethereal being, not just me.
“ Good fucking girl ,” he rasps, his voice a gravelly drawl that vibrates through my pulsing core.
I don’t know if it’s the praise or the way he’s looking at me when he says it, but I feel like I could come without him laying a finger on me.
Bending down, he pulls me to my feet, collars my throat with his huge palm, then kisses me like he didn’t blow his load all over my tongue twenty seconds ago.
“You’re such a good fucking girl, Etta. That was fucking perfect,” he says reverently against my lips, kissing me again before he pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
It feels wrong to have a warm, fuzzy feeling for being praised for giving good head, but the way he’s reacting feels like I’ve achieved something. Whenever he calls me his good girl, I feel like I won a prize, and I like it so much I’m prepared to never really consider what the reason is behind that.
“I wish I could take you to bed and spend the rest of the day making you feel as good as you just made me, but we really do have to get stuff set up for the barbecue,” Oz says, and I can hear the regret in his voice.
“Okay,” I agree, wishing we could go back to bed but knowing we can’t. When I woke up and he wasn’t here, I had a moment of panic that he’d left and wasn’t coming back—which is ridiculous because I was sleeping in his bed, in his house—but the fear I felt was very real.
In just a few short days, he’s altered me and changed my entire makeup, and somehow, he’s become vital to me. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but now that it has, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.
When I blurted out that I loved him, I hadn’t meant to say the words. But this morning was the first time I truly felt the truth of loving him. I hated waking up without him. I hated the emptiness of the house without his intense, all-consuming presence in it. I hated how much I’d wished he was there.
Instead of releasing me, he pulls me in tighter, and I sigh, relaxing into his chest, because I need him, and I think he needs me just as much.
The barbecue is actually a lot more fun than I expected. With Oz’s team, the Barnetts and their extended family, and the families of the smoke jumpers who are at work, we have quite a group, and once the grill has been lit, some music put on, and the firepit crackling, it becomes quite a party.
Although Oz got all the barbecue food and stuff for some sides, everyone brings something, so it becomes more of a potluck, and with the food comes a newly discovered sense of community. Everyone congratulates us, we chat, drink, dance, and eat, and it’s kind of awesome.
The party doesn’t go too late, the Barnetts leave to take their hoard of kids to bed, and the jumpers all have to be at work at seven a.m. But as we say good night after cleaning up everything except the cold firepit and barbecue, I can’t help feeling like I’ve somehow been accepted into a really exclusive group, and I like it.
Once we step into the house, Oz tugs me into his arms and smothers me with a hug so tight I can barely breathe. But I squeeze him back just as tight, clinging to him, because when I wake up in the morning, he won’t be here.
“Let’s take a shower, then get to bed, Mrs. Malik. I need to gorge myself on you to get me through four days without you.”
Sighing sadly, I nod against his chest and let him pick me up and carry me upstairs. The night is sad and sweet in equal measure. Knowing that we’ll be separated for the next four days after we’ve barely spent a moment apart is hard.
Instead of hard and fast, when we come together, it’s hauntingly intense—moving as one, coming as one, joining as one. By the time I finally succumb to sleep, the thought of spending four days alone feels like a punishment I’m not sure I’ll be able to endure.
The sun is barely tinting the dark sky when I feel Oz slowly untangle himself from me, and the bed dips as he shuffles to the side of the mattress and climbs off.
“Is it time already?” I ask sleepily, rolling to face him.
“I need to get my stuff packed for the next few days. I usually do it the night before, but we were busy last night.”
“Oh,” I breathe, exhaling sadly.
“Go back to sleep, Little One. I’ll call you on my morning break as long as we’re not on a call out.”
“I can sleep after you leave. Do you need any help?” I don’t know why I’m offering to help, I have no idea where he keeps his stuff or his preference on clothes, but it feels like the right thing to say.
Smiling warmly, he shakes his head. “No, it won’t take me long, you stay warm.”
Pulling the comforter over my shoulders, I watch as he pulls a duffel bag from the back of the closet and starts to systematically pack it with clothes, his charger cable and tablet, razor, and toothbrush.
Once he’s done, he zips the bag closed, then strides into the bathroom. When he reappears, he quickly gets dressed into cargo pants and a Rockhead Point Fire Department T-shirt.
The only time I’ve seen him dressed like this was the night he barged into my bedroom in the middle of the night and scared me half to death. At the time, I was more interested in my sworn enemy kissing and fucking me than I was in taking in his outfit.
There’s something really sexy about how prepared he looks. The T-shirt clings to his biceps and wide, firm chest. His pants are entirely utilitarian, yet they showcase his thick thighs to perfection. He looks utterly delicious, and he’s leaving.
He must see something on my face, because he climbs onto the bed, straddling me with the comforter between us. “I’m going to miss you,” he whispers against my lips, cupping my cheeks with his palms as he holds his weight over me on his elbows.
“I’m going to miss you too,” I say, my voice weak and full of tears that I absolutely refuse to shed.
“I need you to be my good girl while I’m at work. Make sure you’re eating. I expect pictures for each meal, even if I can’t reply. I’ll try to call on my breaks, and we’ll video chat every night. It’s only four days.”
“It’ll be fine.” I try to assure both him and myself at the same time.
“James and Tori are only houses away, and the Barnetts are just over the hill.”
“I know.”
His face crumples and his hold on me tightens. “Don’t leave me, Etta, don’t fucking leave me.” The words sound like they’ve been ripped from his soul.
“I won’t,” I promise.
Grabbing my hand, he lifts it up, pressing his lips to my wedding ring. “This means till death do us part. If you run, I’ll chase you, and I’ll find you.”
Pulling my fingers from his grip, I cup his cheek. “I won’t leave,” I say, making sure I’m looking him in the eye when I make my promise.
The next few weeks are filled with highs and lows. The days when Oz is at work are lonely and long. I miss him more than I expected, considering how little time we spent together. When he’s at home, we isolate from the rest of the world, content to exist in our bubble where nothing and nobody except us matters.
James, Tori, and the Barnett women take their roles as my new friends oddly seriously. Despite my desire to hermit when Oz is away, they force me out of the house for dinners, drinks, and shopping.
Cora and her mom own the clothing store in town, and after our second dinner, she insisted on seeing my closet. I honestly thought she might cry when she realized how few outfits I own.
Apparently, she saw this as a carte blanche invitation to restock my closet and become my new full-time stylist. I was skeptical when she called her husband Huck to come drive us to the store, but he dutifully turned up twenty minutes later and took me, Cora, Betty, and Bonnie down into town like it was a perfectly normal request at nine p.m..
When I tried to pay for the bags and bags of clothes she helped me pick, Cora waved my credit card away and told me Oz had already taken care of it. The same way he takes care of every single need I have. We grocery shop together when he’s off shift, but then he arranges for the store to deliver fresh food to me whenever he’s not here to drive me to town.
He called ahead and covered the bill for the girls’ dinner James, Tori, and I went to three days ago, and he even arranged for the restaurant to surprise me with my favorite dessert after I mentioned how much I loved blackout cake.
When we’re together, he’s attentive, sweet, and filthy all at once, and honestly, I’m amazed I’m not bowlegged from how much sex we have.
The tattoo studio is almost finished, and I’ve started the preliminary marketing strategies to promote the opening, as well as taking on some marketing work for both Tori’s patisserie and Cora’s clothing store. Granger and Alice have also asked if I’d be interested in doing some freelance work to build his online profile for the beautiful bespoke furniture he builds.
My life here is…good. Great even. I have a husband I love, great friends, an awesome new job, and a fresh start in a place that truly does feel like home. There’re only two dark spots in my otherwise bright world. The first is that Octy isn’t here yet. Despite us video chatting on a daily basis, the issues with her landlord have escalated, and right now, she’s staying with her and Betty’s old boss Suede and his husband Johnny because her landlord is refusing to allow her access to remove her belongings from her apartment.
Oz offered to round up the guys and go speak to her landlord, but right now Octy is holding out hope that the landlord will back down and let her get her stuff and refund the damage deposit she put down when she moved in.
The second blight on my newly discovered bliss is my mother. Prior to my move to Montana, I’d have called our relationship cordial. We speak on the phone once or twice a month, exchange pleasantries, and then do it all again a few weeks later. But since I moved to Rockhead Point and into Oz’s house with him, it’s like she’s suddenly become much more interested in me and my life. I wouldn’t want to call my mom weak-willed, because she’s not. What she is is resourceful to the point where it’s almost simply self-serving. As a kid, I could always tell when she met a new guy because her dress, hair, makeup, and hobbies would change to suit the new man’s preferences. When she met Bruce, she became what she thought he wanted her to be, which was a preppy little Stepford wife. The perfect Suzy Homemaker.
She’s played the part for so long now, I think it’s genuinely who she is with her husband and the children they share, but to me, it’s always felt a little forced. Bruce has always had a weekly phone call with Oz, and now that we’re living together and she’s been reminded weekly how often her husband and stepson speak, it feels like she’s copying Bruce and trying to recreate the contact he has with his son, with me.
Despite speaking to her more in the month since I came to Montana than I have since we lived in the same house, I still haven’t told any of my family about mine and Oz’s relationship or that we got married. Oz has no intention of telling his dad, and honestly, he doesn’t understand why I’d tell my mom or my brothers and sister. But not telling them feels like we’re keeping our relationship a secret because we’re ashamed of it.
Despite our unconventional relationship, I’ve gotten past the idea that our parents being married makes us getting married wrong. We’ve never lived, acted, or felt like siblings, and just because our parents are in a relationship and share children, doesn’t have any impact on the way Oz and I feel about each other.
Despite our far-from-auspicious start, the longer I spend with Oz, the more I distance his behavior in the past with the man he is now. I haven’t exactly forgiven him for everything he did to me when we were children, but I’ve allowed myself to let go of a lot of the anger and resentment I was feeling.
On several occasions, Oz has asked me to tell him the extent of his bullying, but I haven’t. It feels almost childish to drag the past into our happy present, and even without knowing all the details, he’s already made up for a lot of the hurt and pain he caused me.
Tonight is his last night on shift, and he’ll be back in the morning. To say I’m excited to see him would be an understatement. I never thought I’d be the girl who missed their husband when he wasn’t around, but apparently, I am. The girls are a great distraction, but when he’s not here, he’s never far from my thoughts.
His rule that I’m not allowed to touch my pussy when he’s not around is still in force, and my body is needy and desperate for the intimacy only he can provide after four long days without him.
After showering and getting ready for bed, I slip beneath the sheets naked and am almost too excited to sleep. Forcing myself to close my eyes, I remind myself over and over that by the time I wake up, he’ll be here, but it still takes me too long to fall asleep.
“Good morning, wife,” he whispers into my ear, his huge, warm body cradling mine from behind.
“You’re here,” I breathe, pulling out of his arms so I can roll over and face him. “I missed you,” I confess.
“I always miss you.” His lips find mine a moment before I climb on top of him, straddling his waist and his hard dick.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” he asks with a smirk as he grabs my ass and grinds me against his hard length.
“I need you,” I whimper, rolling my hips until his dick is positioned at my entrance.
“You’ll always need me,” he promises, burying his dick in me in one satisfying thrust. “Ride me, Little One, use my cock to make yourself come.” His words sound amused but are full of quiet demand that I’m incapable of ignoring.
Instead of his controlling nature settling now that we’re a few weeks into our relationship, he’s somehow gotten more demanding and dominant. When he found out that Buck likes to have food delivered for his wife James, he started doing the same, and now most of the time, meals appear at the door at least once a day when he’s not here to cook for me.
He hasn’t mentioned me giving up my job again, but instead he makes a point of asking me how my day is looking each morning and then ensuring I don’t get lost in my work. The most up-to-date models of my cell phone and laptop were mysteriously delivered to the house one day, as well as a huge curved monitor that I mentioned I’d love to be able to afford.
Anything I smile at, admire, or talk about is suddenly waiting for me on the doorstep, and I have to be careful not to mention I need something because he buys it for me before I have a chance to get it for myself.
He’s spoiling me, and I wish I could say I hate it, but I don’t. I wouldn’t care if he stopped buying me stuff, I don’t need any of the things he’s bought me. But he’s spoiling me with time, attention, and praise, and my mind, body, and soul are lapping it up like an addict.
“Oz,” I whine as I struggle to find a rhythm.
“You’re doing fine, baby, keep going,” he assures me, sensing that I’m starting to get a little anxious. This is only the second time he’s let me go on top. The first time, he lifted me onto his dick, then used me to fuck himself, lifting me on and off his length like a sex doll.
This time, I’d needed to be closer than I was, but now that my pussy is stretched around his cock, I’m second-guessing my ability to ride him without his help.
“Please,” I beg, tentatively lifting up, then sinking back down onto him.
“Is this what you need?” he asks, wrapping his huge hands around my hips and slowly rocking me up and down his length.
“Yes, oh god,” I moan when he pushes my hips back and thrusts up into me from below.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight like this,” he purrs, holding my hips firmly enough that I’ll have bruises but not tight enough that I’ll care.
“More,” I beg, clamping my internal muscles as I slowly slip up and down his hard cock.
“Jesus, Etta,” he snarls. “Fuck, I missed you so damn much. I love you.”
“Love you,” I pant, feeling my orgasm starting to build inside of me. “Oh god.”
Guiding my movements, he thrusts up into me as he pulls me down to meet him, hitting that spot inside of me that both hurts and feels freaking amazing at the same time. The moment I start to come, he sits up and tips me backward until I end up beneath him, his huge body covering mine. Grabbing one of my legs, he lifts it over his hip, pulls back, and slams into me, making a fresh surge of pleasure explode inside of me.
Gritting his teeth, he fucks me hard and deep, not stopping until his dick swells and jerks, pumping me full of his hot cum. “Fuck, yes, four days since I filled his greedy little cunt with my cum, I want you so full you’ll be pregnant with triplets by the time I’m done.”
I’d like to think I’m used to his dirty talk by now, but my cheeks still heat, and I have to fight the urge to look away whenever he talks about getting me pregnant. I know we both like it when he tells me he’s going to breed me or fuck his baby into me. But I’m starting to hope that maybe one day he actually will.
The more time I spend with the Barnetts and their tribe of kids, the more I hope that one day my body will cooperate and I’ll grow a baby Oz inside of me. There’s no sign of that time being this month, but who knows? Maybe eventually it’ll happen.
When our ragged breaths settle, Oz stares down at me for a long moment before he dips his head and presses his lips to mine. “You’re such a good girl, I love you so much, Etta.”
It doesn’t matter how often he tells me—and he tells me often—I still get a thrill hearing him say he loves me, and I know that even though it’s crazy, it’s still true. I don’t know if it was fate, or destiny, or just dumb luck that brought us to each other, but I’m so glad that whatever force was in charge directed me to Rockhead Point and him.
Two hours later, and I’m on my eighth orgasm and fourth round of sex. I’m sticky, sore, and exhausted, and loving every minute of it. Our reunions after not seeing each other for days always seem to turn into frantic days in bed while we gorge on each other, making up for lost time.
A low growl gurgles from my stomach, and I laugh, placing my hand over my belly like it’ll somehow stifle the sound.
“You’re hungry,” Oz says, flashing me the same consternated expression he always gets when he thinks he’s not taking good enough care of me.
“I’m fine, we can eat soon,” I whisper, pulling his face down to me and kissing him.
“We can pick up where we left off after I feed you,” he growls, in that tone that I know brooks no arguments.
“Oz,” I whine needily.
“Etta.” My name is a warning, but I don’t heed it, pushing myself up off the bed, pressing my breasts into his chest, and wrapping my arms around his neck.
He never pushes me away when I go to him, instead, he curls his arms behind my back and then lifts me with him as he shuffles to the end of the bed and stands with me still in his arms.
“Food first, then we’ll go back to bed for the rest of the day, okay?”
I nod.
“Did you get all your work done yesterday?” he checks.
“Yep, I have posts scheduled for today and tomorrow, so other than checking and responding to emails, I’m all yours.”
“Yes, you are,” he growls playfully, nipping at my neck as he carries me down the stairs and drops me naked onto the kitchen counter.
I squeak when my bare butt hits the cold marble.
“Sorry, Little One, I should have grabbed you one of my shirts,” Oz says, chuckling. “I’ll go fetch you something to keep that cute butt warm until I fuck it later.”
“What?” I gasp.
Instead of answering, Oz smirks, then jogs out of the kitchen, his still semi-hard cock bouncing with each step. Gobsmacked, I watch his tight ass as he bounds up the stairs.
A knock at the front door has me frozen to the spot. Our friends all know not to bother trying to speak to us for at least the first day after Oz gets off shift. After Warrick let himself into the house and almost walked in on Oz fucking me bent over the dining table, the word spread fast that our house was off limits for at least the first twenty-four hours.
“Was that the door?” Oz shouts.
“Yes,” I whisper-yell, jumping down from the counter and backing up to the far wall of the kitchen in case whoever is knocking decides to invite themselves in.
Another knock rattles the door, and I wrap my arm across my chest like covering my nipples makes me any less naked.
“Here, put this on,” Oz says, rounding the counter and handing me his bathrobe.
Taking it gratefully, I pull it on, tying the cord as tightly as I can.
“I’ll go see who it is,” he says, his sexy ass now covered by gray sweatpants.
Nodding, I edge to the counter and peer around it, trying to see, but stay hidden. In my partially concealed spot, I hear the door open, even though I can’t see who’s there.
“Surprise,” a familiar, jovial voice says loudly.
“Dad?” Oz says, his tone both shocked and unimpressed.
“Surprise!” Bruce says again excitedly, completely ignoring Oz’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting.
“What are you doing here?”
“We came to visit you and your sister,” Bruce announces.
I wince at hearing him call me Oz’s sister.
“She’s not my sister,” Oz corrects him, his tone terse and cold.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?
“I guess,” Oz says coldly.
When I hear not one but several sets of feet march into the house, I start to internally panic. Bruce, on his own, I could probably have avoided. It’s doubtful he would look at me and Oz and see anything except exactly what he wanted to see—a brother and sister sharing a house. But my mom isn’t an idiot, even if sometimes she pretends to be. The moment she sees Oz in sweatpants and me in his bathrobe, she’s going to know exactly what’s going on between us. What I’m unsure of is how she’s going to react.
“We’re literally on the side of a mountain,” Bruce says with a hint of derision. “If you’d gone into insurance, you wouldn’t be living in a place like this.”
“Maureen,” Oz says, greeting my mom and ignoring his dad’s not-so-subtle dig.
“Hello, Oscar, it’s lovely to see you,” Mom says brightly.
“Kids, say hello to your brother,” Bruce urges.
I hear the sound of shuffling feet, then a quiet chorus of “Hi.”
I recognize my sister’s voice. “Where’s Henni?”
“Henni?” Oz asks gruffly, but before he can say anything else, I step out of my hiding spot.
“Hey guys,” I say, trying to force a confidence and enthusiasm into my voice that I really don’t feel. As nice as it is that my family came to visit, I don’t want them here. I don’t want our past lives to invade the bubble of newly discovered happiness we’ve created here.
“Henni!” Everly exclaims, rushing forward to hug me.
“Hey, sweetie, how are you?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her tightly. She’s only fourteen, but she’s already taller than me, and I feel tiny in comparison.
“Hey sis,” Carson says when Everly finally lets me go.
“Hey.” I offer him a wave, knowing how embarrassed both he and my other brother Dawson get if I try to hug them. “Mom, Bruce. I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“We wanted to surprise you kids,” Bruce says, once again completely oblivious to the mood of the room.
“Why are you in a bathrobe? Is that yours? It’s kind of ugly,” Everly says, with the innocence of a child.
“We were in bed,” Oz growls.
My eyes go wide, and I slowly turn to face him, my expression incredulous. Did he seriously just say that?
“In bed at this hour? What a waste. You’ve missed the best part of the day,” Bruce says obliviously.
“Spending the day in bed with my wife doesn’t seem like a waste to me,” Oz growls.
“Wife,” my mom gasps, looking from me to Oz, then back to me again.
“Wife?” Bruce barks. “You’re married?”
“Yes,” Oz says, widening his feet until he’s standing in a military stance, his expression hard and stern.
“When? Who? Why?” Bruce sputters.
“Almost a month ago, Etta, and because we love each other,” Oz says, laying it all out there like he’s announcing he changed his pizza order, not that he married his stepsister.
“What?” Mom whispers, staring at me with a mixture of hurt and disgust, while Bruce just looks confused.
“How could you get married without telling me? Why didn’t you invite us to the wedding? We’re your family,” Bruce says, his jovial expression dissolving for maybe the first time in all the years I’ve known him.
“Bruce,” Mom says, interrupting him.
“He got married, our son got married,” Bruce says, his tone indignant.
“Bruce,” Mom says again.
“How could this happen? Why would you do this?” he asks.
“Bruce!” Mom snaps, sounding like the mom I knew for years before she met Oz’s dad.
“What’s the matter, Maureen?” Bruce says, finally turning to look at my mom.
“ They got married.”
“What?” he asks.
“ They got married. Henrietta and Oscar. They got married,” she says, spelling it out for her husband.
While Mom is distracting Bruce with her explanation of the situation, Oz moves to my side, pulling me to him and holding me tightly against him.
“No,” Bruce says, turning to look at us and shaking his head, like he can simply deny the truth.
“Etta and I got married almost a month ago,” Oz says coldly, grabbing my left hand and lifting it up to showcase my gorgeous engagement and wedding rings.
“No,” Bruce says again, his round face getting redder and redder as he looks at us.
“Kids, go and wait outside,” Mom says, oddly calmly.
“He’s hot, Henni,” Everly calls, flashing me two thumbs-up as Carson and Dawson usher her out of the front door.
The moment the door closes, Bruce storms toward us. Oz pushes me behind him, placing himself firmly between me and his dad.
“I’d think very carefully about what’s about to come out of your mouth,” Oz warns.
“It’s illegal,” Bruce hisses. “It’s incest.”
“We’re not related,” Oz says, his tone glacial and laced with warning.
“You’re brother and sister,” Bruce argues.
“No, we’re not. We’re not biologically related, and we’re not siblings. You married Etta’s mom, that’s as far as our familial relationship goes. We didn’t grow up together, we never shared a home for longer than a few days. We never acted, felt, or treated each other like family until the day I slid this ring on her finger and made her my wife in front of God, a judge, and witnesses. We’re not doing anything wrong, and I will not have you in our home, casting doubt over our fucking marriage.”
“You’re both my kids,” Bruce says, still continuing to argue, even though his protests are weak and entirely untrue.
“No, we’re not. You stopped being my father the day you cheated on my mom, and Etta has a dad, and it’s not you.”
A part of me wants to interrupt and let Bruce know that I do appreciate all he’s done to be a good stepfather to me over the years, but my feet are rooted to the spot and my mouth feels so dry I swear I can taste sand.
Bruce makes a grunting, protesting sound, but my mom speaks over him before he can say anything more.
“Bruce, they might be our kids, but Oscar is right, they’re not actually related,” Mom says, her tone oddly rough, like she’s having to force the words out, even though her expression is still calm and neutral.
“It’s wrong, she’s your sister, she’s your sister,” Bruce says, his voice raised in an outraged cry.
“I think you should leave,” I say, finally managing to find my voice.
“What is wrong with the two of you? Is this a cry for attention?” Bruce shouts, his face red and his eyes bulging.
“You heard her, get out of our house,” Oz demands, pulling me with him as he storms across the room, yanking the door open and nodding his head toward it.
“No, we’re not leaving. We’re going to sort out this mess as a family. You can get an annulment and we can all forget this ever happened. Henrietta can move home, and we’ll never talk about this…whatever this is again. We’ll go back to just being one big happy family.”
The longer Bruce talks, the tenser Oz becomes.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Our. House. And. Never. Come. Back. You’re. Not. Welcome. Here,” Oz says, forcing each word past his gritted teeth.
When Bruce opens his mouth to speak again, Oz starts to move forward, and my mom rushes to her husband’s side, speaking to him quietly. Whatever she says must permeate the bubble of stupid Bruce is floating around in right now, because with a huff, he guides Mom out of the door.
The moment they’re outside, Oz slams the door shut and spins around to face me. I want to go to him, but my feet stay rooted to the spot, like someone built an invisible wall between us.
“Etta,” he growls.
Holding my hand up, I close my eyes, needing a moment or ten to process what just happened. What Bruce said was awful, but the way he reacted was just a slightly worse version of what I was expecting. But it was my reaction that makes me want to cry. I just stood there. I let him say all those awful things, and I just stood there while Oz defended us.
“Etta, look at me,” he demands.
Shaking my head, I dip my chin, so ashamed and disgusted with myself.
“Wife, you better open those eyes and look at me right this fucking minute or so help me…”
My eyes snap open before he can finish his threat. He’d never hurt me, I know that, but I hate to hear that tone in his voice, like he’s disappointed in me.
“Come here,” he demands the moment my watery eyes find his.
Wet, shame-filled tears rush from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks, making him blurry but no less perfect.
“Little One, don’t cry, it makes me feel crazy when you cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words sad and wet-sounding.
“For crying?”
“For being pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic,” Oz snaps.
“I am. I just stood there, Oz, while he said all those awful things. I didn’t say a word while he accused us of…incest.” My voice breaks on the word.
“Fuck him,” Oz growls, closing the distance between us like he can’t stand it any longer.
“My mouth went dry, and I had words, but they wouldn’t come out. I don’t think like he does. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re not.”
“Etta,” Oz says.
“You’re not my brother, you’ve never been my brother, you were my monster and now you’re my husband, but never my brother,” I say quickly, forcing all of the words I should have said while Bruce and my mom were here out in one rambling blurt.
“Little One,” he says softly, cupping my cheeks and wiping away my tears with his thumbs.
Lifting my gaze up to meet his, I swallow thickly.
“It’s okay,” he says, trying to reassure me.
“It’s not. How could he say all those things? Why would he say them?”
“Because he’s an asshole,” Oz says simply.
“But why didn’t my mom say anything? She knows we’re not actually related, she knows everything he said was wrong.”
“I don’t know why she didn’t say anything. But she didn’t agree with him, she just stayed quiet,” Oz says, defending my mom, even though he hates her.
“That’s worse,” I shriek, finding my voice for what feels like the first time and it’s not even the right time. “I’m her. Both of us were silent, pathetic idiots, just standing there listening to her husband spout venomous bullshit.”
Oz’s soft, amused chuckle stops my tirade in its tracks. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re defending us,” he says with a smile.
“Why’s that funny?” I demand.
“It’s not, I just like it.”
“Why aren’t you angry?”
“Because I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. Today gives me a reason to never have to speak to any of them again. He can think what he wants to think, but I stopped caring about his opinion of me and my life a long time ago.”
“What about the kids?” I ask.
“They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. I guess we’re half related by blood, but we’re strangers. They don’t need me in their lives, and I don’t need them. We’ve got plenty of family here. We don’t need them.”
A part of me wants to argue, to tell him we could have a relationship with them. That he could get to know the siblings we share, but honestly, after today, I’m not sure that’s possible anymore. I’d guess right now Bruce will be brainwashing them into believing that Oz and I are actually siblings and that we’re doing something weird and illegal.
Carson, Dawson, and Everly aren’t stupid, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t believe what their parents are telling them.
Sagging against Oz’s chest, I melt into his warm skin, needing to feel him close to me. Just like I hoped, he wraps his arms around me and holds me to him, blocking me from the rest of the world while he shelters me in his arms.
“Come on, I still need to feed you, then I’m taking you back to bed, and we’re ignoring the door for the rest of the day.”
Just like he promised, after he made me breakfast, he carried me upstairs in his arms and spent the rest of the day distracting me in the very best way.
But as much as I’ve tried, I can’t forget the things Bruce said or the way my mom just stood by and allowed him to speak to us like that.
It’s been two days since the confrontation with our family, and apart from a couple of text messages Oz has received from Bruce spouting the same kind of hurtful nonsense, we’ve not heard anything else from them.
After holing up in our house for three days, we’ve run out of food, so despite my desire to stay in the sex and ignorance-filled bubble we’ve created since our uninvited visitors showed up, it’s time to venture out into the real world again.
My stomach feels queasy the entire drive down the mountain. I don’t know why I’m so tense. Mom, Bruce, and the kids will have left town by now. But even knowing they’re not here, the urge to throw up only seems to worsen when we step into Tori’s store to grab something to have for dessert later.
“Hey guys,” Tori says, smiling widely at us the moment we walk in.
“Hey Tori, what are those?” Oz asks, pointing to the tray of cakes she’s carrying.
“These are mini Gateau St. Honorés. It’s a pastry topped with choux buns and Chantilly cream.”
“Oh, yeah, can we have a couple of those and?—”
“Do you have any of the lemon macarons?” I interrupt, phantom tasting the sweet, tart filling in the crispy bites.
“Not today, but I do have mini lemon meringue tarts that you might like.”
I nod, and she smirks.
“A couple of those and then a few macarons too, please,” Oz orders.
“Are you okay?” Tori asks me, her eyes running over my face.
“We had unexpected visitors a couple of days ago, I’m just a bit stressed about them still being in town,” I tell her.
“My dad, her mom, and their kids showed up at our place on Monday. My dad was a fucking asshole, and we kicked them out,” Oz says succinctly.
“I take it they didn’t take the news that you guys got married too well?” she asks. “Were they upset that you did it without them?”
“My dad accused us of incest,” Oz snarls.
“He what?” she gasps. “But you’re not related.”
“He’s a fucking idiot. He knows we’re not actually siblings, but in his head, we’re all just one big happy family.”
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry. What did your mom say, Etta?”
“Nothing, she just stood there and said nothing,” I explain, feeling a fresh bout of nausea rush up my throat. Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and try to push the queasiness back down again.
“Little One,” Oz says, concern lacing his voice as he runs his hands over my cheeks, then arms, like he’s searching for an injury.
“I’m fine. Thinking about what happened just makes me feel a little like I’m going to puke,” I confess.
“Fuck them. They don’t get an opinion on our life,” Oz growls against my ear.
“I’m so sorry, Etta. But Oz is right, fuck them. If they can’t support you, then you don’t need them. You’re surrounded by your found family here, so until they realize how stupid they’re being, you’ve got all of us,” Tori says.
“Thank you,” I say, tears filling my eyes and spilling over.
“Oh, my gosh, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she gasps.
“It’s not you,” I promise, waving her away.
“Etta,” Oz growls, dragging me into his arms and pinning me to his chest like he can hold me tight enough to make everything right with the world, and maybe he can. Being in his arms immediately lessens the gut-clenching sadness I feel, and when I bury my face into his neck, his clean, soapy smell instantly lessens the nausea.
“I’m okay,” I say, trying to assure him, even as I cling to him.
“I fucking hate him more than I already did for upsetting you like this,” he snarls angrily. “Let’s go home.”
“No,” I protest, gently pushing myself backward until he loosens his hold on me enough for me to look up at him. “We need groceries. So let’s just go to the store, then we can go home and stay there until you have to go back to work in the morning.”
Inhaling sharply, Oz’s brows furrow as he looks down at me. “I think I’ll ask Buck about using some of my vacation time, I don’t want to leave for four days when you’re still this upset.”
“I’m fine,” I promise on a shaky exhale. “It’s just been a shitty few days, but I refuse to let Bruce get to me. Let’s buy food so you can feed me, then I want to get into bed and eat junk food while we binge-watch crappy movies.”
“Okay, Little One,” Oz agrees.
Tori’s smile is soft and sweet when Oz finally releases me to go pay for our cakes.
“Girls’ night in tomorrow?” she asks me.
Feeling more gratitude for my new friends than I know how to express, I nod, offering her a teary smile.
“I’ll text you,” she says, handing off the box of goodies to Oz before she waves goodbye.
“Let me put these in the truck, and we can go and buy groceries,” Oz says, pressing a kiss to my temple before he turns and jogs over to the truck, opening the door and slipping the cake box onto the seat. The truck beeps as he locks it, and he strides purposefully back over to me, sliding his arm over my shoulders and pulling me into his side.
The grocery store is just around the corner, and we walk in comfortable silence, the weight of his arm keeping me close, his comforting scent filling my lungs with every inhale. When we reach the store, he releases me to go and grabs a cart.
“You parade around this town, brazenly touting your disgusting relationship?” a familiar voice says from behind me.
Slowly turning, I find Bruce, my mom, and my siblings standing in the entrance of the grocery store, their hands full of bags.
Blinking slowly, I stare at them, shocked to find them still here.
“Do the people of this town know that you’re related? Do they know that you’re having relations with your brother?” Bruce asks too loudly, garnering the attention of the people trying to pass by them to get out of the store.
I want to speak, and I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, I feel Oz’s intimidating presence at my side.
“What the fuck are you doing? I thought you left.”
“How can we leave when my children are behaving in this way?” Bruce asks, his eyes bulging, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he hisses out his hateful words.
More tears fill my eyes, but they’re not tears of sadness or exhaustion. My tears are pure, fury-filled extensions of the anger that I can’t seem to put into words. How dare he say these awful things? Why is he acting this way?
“You need to leave. You’re not welcome in this town. This is our home, and I will not tolerate you spouting this fucking nonsense here.”
“You don’t want anyone to hear, because you’re ashamed, because you know what you’re doing is wrong!” Bruce yells.
My fingers clench into fists, and I feel my muscles start to shake, but still the words won’t come. I’m not a confrontational person. My entire life I’ve avoided drawing attention to myself because I’m too scared, too weak, and timid to defend myself.
“Fuck you, old man,” Oz scoffs, but I can feel his tension mounting at his dad’s hate-filled tirade.
“She’s your sister. I sent her here to be with family, not so you could defile her.”
Enough.
Rage—hotter than I’ve ever experienced before—burns through me until it bursts from my throat. “Shut up!” I scream. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Every single set of eyes within hearing distance turns and looks at me. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but it feels like the world suddenly goes quiet. Like me finding my voice is so shocking that everyone has fallen silent to listen.
“Bruce, you are not my father. Oz is not my brother. We’re not blood related in any way, shape, or form, and there is nothing wrong, shameful, or disgusting about us falling in love and getting married. We weren’t raised as siblings. We spent a few weekends and a handful of awful holiday seasons with each other and then didn’t see each other again for fifteen years. The only thing remotely distasteful about this entire situation is you. You cheated on your wife with my mom, then you dragged your son into the new home you set up with your new girlfriend and her daughter. Then you acted like nothing happened. You are by far the most pigheaded, obtuse man I’ve ever met, and I’m not at all surprised that your son doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
Now that I’ve started speaking, I don’t seem to be able to stop.
“And Mom, what is wrong with you? Why are you just standing there and listening to your husband say such utter bullshit without saying a word? You know as well as he does that Oz is not your son, and Bruce is most certainly not my biological father?—”
“He raised you since you were nine years old,” Mom interrupts.
“Be quiet,” I snarl. “You had your chance to speak, and now it’s my turn. I know that you’ve always been who you thought he wanted you to be, but stupid and ignorant isn’t something anyone should strive to be. We didn’t tell you we got married because, first, our lives are not any of your business, and second, we were worried you’d pull something like this. This town is our home. We have friends and family here, and until you fully accept why everything that’s happened since you knocked on our front door is so incredibly wrong and sincerely apologize for acting this way, we’re not interested in you being a part of our lives.”
Turning away from my mom, like she’s completely insignificant, I look to my siblings. “Carson, Everly, Dawson. I love you guys. I really hope you know that even though both Oz and I are your half siblings, that doesn’t mean we’re related to each other in any way.”
“We know,” Carson says, turning and eyeing Oz cautiously.
“Good. I also know you know that what I just said to your mom and dad does not include you. If you want to talk to me, then you can call or text me anytime you want. I know you don’t know Oz, but if you’d like to, then maybe you guys could chat with both of us, or not, that’s totally up to you.”
“I’m not sure I need another big brother, but if you have any hot friends, I’d be up for an intro,” Everly says sassily.
“I don’t think I know any single ten-year-olds,” Oz tells her gruffly.
“I’m fourteen,” Everly snarls, sounding scarily reminiscent of my growly husband.
“Still too young,” Oz hisses.
“Kids, it’s time to leave,” Bruce says, herding the kids away from us without another word.
The moment they’re gone, all the adrenaline that’s made me bold enough to yell at my entire family drains away, and I promptly fold at the waist and throw up all over the sidewalk.