Chapter 46
I’ve done my best not to think about it. Deep down, I know I should just be an adult and talk to him. But truthfully, I’m terrified of the worst-case scenario.
It hasn’t affected anything between us; I’m sure Ayden can’t even tell the difference. All it’s done is stop me from saying it again. I love you. It’s only been five days since New Year’s, so it’s not like it’s been months. Still, I replay it in my head constantly.
The shock in his eyes.
That pause. That dreaded fucking silence…
God, it felt like it dragged on forever. I swear I fell into a black hole in that moment, and only talking brought me back. Who knows how long we’d have sat there otherwise.
It probably wasn’t the best time.
Stupid. Stupid.
I lean forward, elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands. I should’ve said it after the fireworks. No. On Christmas Day. That would’ve been perfect.
Not after fucking him.
My stomach drops at the memory. That’s exactly why he hesitated. Who the hell drops that then?
Though… what if that’s not the reason?
What if he doesn’t feel the same, and seeing the devastation on my face forced him to say it back? It would’ve been fine. He doesn’t need to love me right now. I could wait. I’d wait forever for him and his feelings.
He didn’t have to lie…
No. I can’t think that. I can’t assume he lied.
Holy fucking shit. My head hurts—this migraine is a bitch with no mercy.
Normally, I’d curl up in Ayden’s lap or shut myself away in a dark, silent room, but I can’t do either right now.
Alysa left this morning, and it’s just the two of us again. Silence isn’t an option—if I sit in it, my mind will run too wild, and I don’t want to lie to him about how I feel.
To be frank, I can see the benefits of therapy clearer than ever. Back when I had it every week—even in the hospital—my mind wasn’t so clogged with these thoughts. Now it’s been weeks without that outlet, and maybe… just maybe, that major in front of my diagnosis isn’t exaggerated.
The sound of footsteps on the wood behind me keeps me from clawing at my temples in frustration.
I’ve been sitting on our dock for a long time. The sun was high when I said I just needed some air, and now it’s close to setting.
He gave me space, lots of it, and I know he’s worried.
How could I have ever doubted that he loves me?
His hand brushes my shoulder, and I sit up straight, tilting my chin to look at him standing over me.
“Can I join you?”
I nod, and he lowers himself to sit beside me. But only for a moment. Then, thinking better of it, he shifts into my lap instead.
He straddles my hips and settles onto my thighs. His fingers drag across my temples, through my hair, and against my scalp, before his elbows come to rest on my shoulders.
“Migraine worse, or better?”
I sigh. “Neither. It’s all the same.” Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him flush to me. My forehead drops against his shoulder, eyes closing. “How’re you? Ya know, with Alysa leaving and all.”
His hold shifts, the embrace tightening around my head.
“Sad,” he admits softly. “But I’m glad she’ll be coming back.”
“Me too.”
“Is her leaving the reason you’re so aloof?”
I press my lips together, then nod. It’s not exactly a lie. Her departure definitely feeds into this feeling, but it’s nowhere near the main reason. While I want the title of stepbrother gone between me and Ayden, I still see Aly as my sister. It’s complicated.
Maybe one day she’ll be my sister-in-law. That would fix the problem.
Guess I just need to get over this hump—my stupid insecurity about the pause.
“You sure?”
I lean back slightly, resting my forehead against his. “There’s a lot going on in my head…” I’ve never told him this, but I don’t think there is any stigma around it—well, I hope not, anyway. “I suffer from diagnosed depression.”
I leave out the major part. I don’t want him to see me as unstable, even if… maybe I am at times. Like right now.
He leans back, surprise flickering across his face. “What? When?”
I chuckle, though it comes out strained. “Before I got here… Um…”
My chest tightens. This is a lot to dump on him. I’ve never told him how that night truly affected me—how I nearly didn’t make it here at all. It’s not that I don’t want to, I do. I’m just working out how to.
I lift my hand, dragging my cold fingers across the warmth of his cheek. Goosebumps rise along his neck as I let my hand rest there.
“You can tell me,” he says, giving me that devastatingly handsome smile. “You should tell me, actually. That’s better.”
But telling him everything would mean bringing up the reason for my diagnosis. The choice I made. The guilt I still carry.
My swallow is rough.
Just as I open my mouth—god knows what was about to come out—the crunch of tires on snow cuts me off. His gaze shifts past me, and I can’t tell if the look in his eyes is relief, frustration, or both.
“It’s Brittany.”
He eases off my lap so I can stand, and together we walk toward her just as she’s parking.
The moment she steps out, her grin consumes her entire face. “Well, hello, my favorite stepbrothers.”
I groan. “Leave, Britt.”
She mock-gasps. “I’m just messing with you. How about… my favorite couple?”
“I love that better,” Ayden says, wrapping his arm around my back and leaning into me as we stop a few feet from her. “What’s up? Didn’t know you were coming by.”
“Oh.” She quickly pulls out her phone, glances at it, then looks back at me. “Holiday’s over. Sessions are back on.”
Shit. That’s today?
“Can we restart them next week?” I ask. I know they’re important—I know I need them—but between this migraine, everything with Ayden, and Alysa leaving today, it’s too much.
“Nope. I didn’t just drive out here for chit-chat. I’ve got a date too, so let’s get this going.”
“Ohhh? Please tell me it’s Taylor,” Ayden teases.
The way her cheeks light up is answer enough. She quickly changes the subject. “Let’s go, Keoni. I’m not the one under interrogation here.”
I tip my head back with a sigh.
“Go, and I’ll get dinner started,” he says.
Looking down at him smiling up at me, I return it—even if mine is weaker. “Okay.”
“I hope you know I charge extra for these at-home visits when there’s an inch of snow on the ground,” Britt mutters.
“You complain a lot for doing your job,” I say with a groan before leaning in and kissing my sunshine.
I’ll be all right. We will be all right. I’ll get this out of the way, and then we’ll talk. He doesn’t need to love me right now—I’ll work for it. Every day if I have to.
That starts with me being honest about that night, what I could’ve done differently, and what I almost did.
“Have fun,” he says as I fall into step beside Britt.
I shove my hands into my pockets. Hopefully this will be quick. I really don’t feel good—mentally, or physically, thanks to this migraine.
“Alright,” she says the moment we round the cabin. “Talk to me.”
Ayden
About thirty minutes in, halfway through roasting the chicken and mashing the potatoes, my phone goes off.
I quickly wash my hands and rush to the coffee table where it’s resting. The familiar number makes me smile as I pick it up.
“Hey, Dr. Y—sorry, Markus.”
He sighs through a chuckle. “Good evening, Ayden. Hope you had a good holiday.”
“I did.” Good doesn’t even begin to cover the last few weeks. I honestly don’t know how it could have been better. “How was yours?”
“Good. Got to spend it with my family. They came over from Delhi. They’re leaving in a few days.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I tuck the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I head back into the kitchen.
“While I called to check on you, I also… have an update of sorts.”
I force myself to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t fidget. “Hopefully good news.”
He clears his throat.
Well shit, that doesn’t sound promising. “Because of the holidays, not much has been happening from a legal standpoint. But remember that friend I mentioned? Someone I was going to ask for help?”
“Yeah.”
I reach for the oven, and that’s when I notice how badly my hand is shaking. I swallow hard and turn it off instead. Right now, I’m more worried about dropping the pan or burning myself.
“He’s a private investigator.” My heart jumps in surprise. “Michael went on vacation with his family for the holidays, and I assumed the PI was doing the same. But I was wrong. He was looking into past reports filed by your ex—checking for any patterns.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, and lean heavily against the counter.
“It brought him to the crash… Ayden, did you ever see pictures of the incident?”
“No… Michael said it would only traumatize me to see what I caused.”
I’ve never heard Markus groan like this before. It’s low, almost a growl, laced with anger.
“That’s because there is none. No photos. No police reports. No… nothing.”
My heart isn’t slowing. It’s racing faster and faster, climbing with every beat.
“Maybe that makes sense. Michael’s dad is the chief of SFPD, and he said he was going to ‘take care of it’.”
“Maybe… but, Ayden, there’s no reports of cars being turned into the impound. I can’t imagine getting rid of all that evidence. Is it possible? Sure, but something tells me it wasn’t done to protect you.”
I’ve thought about that.
The idea has crossed my mind so many times—that maybe it wasn’t me behind the wheel. That maybe it was Michael. Or, worse… What if there was no car accident at all?
“Keoni!” Britt’s scream tears through the air from outside. “Stop!”
What the fuck?
“Markus, I… I have to go. What do I do? What’s my next move?”
“Nothing,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I just wanted to keep you updated. The PI’s going to start tailing Michael again once he’s back from holiday. Looks like he and his family went to Utah or something.”
I don’t have time to unpack that. They never left for the holidays. Not once in the six years I’ve known him. But maybe things changed after I wasn’t around.
“Thank you.” I don’t wait for his reply, because Britt’s scream cuts through the air again.
“Just stop and talk with me!”
I rush toward the back door, but before I reach it, it swings open. The glass in the four pane window rattles, I’m shocked, honestly, it didn’t shatter.
I stumble back against the adjacent wall as Keoni barrels inside.
“Hey—” He brushes past me so fast I don’t even get a glimpse of his face. “Keo?”
He snatches the truck keys hanging by the door and throws the front door open.
“Oh, fuck—Ayden, I didn’t mean to,” Britt stammers, her face stricken with horror. “Try to stop him. Please.”
I don’t hesitate. I tear through the house, not even bothering with shoes. The cool wood of the patio is nothing compared to the icy bite of the grass as I hit the yard.
“Keo, wait!”
He doesn’t even flinch at my voice. He just keeps power-walking toward his truck. If he were sprinting, I’d never catch him—but I force myself into a run and manage to grab his arm.
“Stop, Keo. What’s wr—”
He spins on me, causing me to cut myself off before I can finish.
I’ve never seen him cry before, and while he isn’t now, I can tell he’s either on the edge of it or just pulled himself back. His eyes are bloodshot, red splotches running across his temples and down his neck.
“What… what’s going on?” My voice is lowered, trying to soothe whatever’s happening.
He wets his lips, the keys in his hand jingling faintly, but I don’t dare look away from his face.
“Talk to me. Keo, baby, what—”
“Just… stop.”
I don’t know if my heart can take this. Not all in one night.
Something shifts in his expression. Like he’s finally seeing that it’s me, and not just anyone standing in his way.
“Fuck, Ayden…” He drags a hand across his face, then shoves it up through his frazzled hair. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I step in front of him, keeping just enough space between us to let him decide what he needs. “Talk to me.”
His chin falls to his chest as his eyes shut, breath shuddering out of him. “Christ. I’m a hypocrite. I demanded you tell me what was going on, why you never came here. Yet here I am… not… telling you what happened.”
My smile is weak, but it’s real. He really was forceful back then, and I wish I could be like that now—demand answers, have a commanding presence. But that’s not me.
“Start now. No better time than the present.”
His hardness falters, softening into something closer to fear, and it breaks me. He shakes his head, but I don’t let up. I step closer, setting my hands on his arms.
“Keo, talk to me. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not trying to, I just—”
“Remember what you said? Don’t let you push me away.”
“Ayden…”
“Don’t shut me out. What are you afraid of?”
“Losing you,” he blurts, so fast I know without a doubt he believes it. “I should’ve told you months ago… what I did…”
I hold his gaze, unwavering, hoping he sees that nothing he could ever say or do would make me leave.
“This guilt is… unbearable. I can’t…”
“You can.”
He groans, frustrated, the sound jagged.
“If only it were that easy. These feelings—they come so suddenly, so violently. And I can’t stop them.
I can’t beat the shit out of them, I can’t…
put a restraining order on it—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
A sigh slips through, ragged and low. “I’m sorry… ”
Without hesitation, I step into him, wrapping my arms around his body. My head rests against his shoulder, and for a moment, I brace myself for him to push me away.
But he doesn’t.
“Stop apologizing to me. I understand…”
His hand finds the back of my head, the other anchoring around my back. He holds me like he’s afraid the world will rip me out of his arms.
“I’m here. Talk with me,” I whisper. “The only way I’d ever go anywhere is if you let me go.”
“I don’t want that.” His voice cracks, and I swear it’s impossible to hold him tighter—but I do.
“Then tell me. Let me help carry the weight of this guilt, Keo.”
He swallows hard, like the words lodged in his throat are razor blades. His grip shifts, desperate now, like whatever he’s about to confess could end the world. Maybe for him it feels that way. But not for me. The only way my world would ever end is if he wasn’t in it.
“Wanting your forgiveness for this… feels so fucking selfish. I’m sorry, Ayden…”