Chapter 8
Kade
One month later
MY PALMS ARE SWEATING like I’ve dipped them in the pool.
I wipe them against my jeans for the hundredth time as Emmett and I walk the familiar path to the main house, our shoes crunching on gravel in sync.
One month. One perfect, terrifying, life-altering month of being with my stepbrother in ways that rewrite everything I thought I knew about myself.
Now we’re about to blow up our carefully constructed world by telling our parents over pot roast and mashed potatoes.
That idea makes my heart slam against my ribs.
“You okay?” Emmett asks, his voice low. His fingers brush against mine—a fleeting touch, casual enough to look accidental if anyone’s watching from the windows.
“Peachy,” I lie. “Just thinking about how to phrase ‘Hey Dad, remember how you always wanted me to be more like Emmett? Well, now I’m doing him.’”
Emmett chokes on nothing, shoving my shoulder. “Jesus, Kade. Don’t you dare say anything like that.”
I laugh, the tension cracking. “What? Too direct?”
“Too everything.” He shakes his head, but I catch the upward curl of his lips. Even after a month, making Emmett laugh still feels like winning some kind of prize.
The path seems shorter than usual tonight, the main house looming before us all too quickly.
Emmett pauses just before we reach the porch steps, his green eyes finding mine.
Something unspoken passes between us—reassurance, solidarity, the promise that whatever happens in there, we face it together.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, even though my throat feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. “As I’ll ever be.”
The smell of pot roast hits us the moment we step inside—rich, savory, achingly normal. Caroline appears in the hallway, dish towel in hand, her face lighting up the way it always does when she sees her son.
“There you are!” She envelops Emmett in a quick hug before turning to me. “How are my boys?”
“Good,” Emmett answers for both of us. “Something smells amazing.”
“Your favorite,” Caroline beams. “Pot roast with those little potatoes you like.”
We follow her to the dining room, where my dad is already seated at the table. He looks up, giving Emmett a warm smile and me the usual measured nod—the disparity I’ve grown so accustomed to. I barely notice it anymore.
“Right on time,” he says, checking his watch. “Punctuality is—”
“—a sign of respect,” I finish for him.
He lifts his eyebrows, surprised by my completing his catchphrase or by the lack of sarcasm in my tone. Either way, he nods in approval.
I slide into my usual chair, aware of Emmett settling into his spot beside me. We do this every week, but tonight feels different. Special and scary, because of what we’re about to do.
Our knees brush under the table, and I have to concentrate not to react. One month of being able to touch him in the privacy of the guest house has made public restraint torture.
Caroline brings the last dishes to the table, and we fall into the ritual of passing food around. I heap mashed potatoes onto my plate, my stomach twisting itself into such tight knots I doubt I’ll be able to eat a bite.
“How are classes going?” Dad directs the question at Emmett first.
“Really well,” Emmett answers. “Professor Martinez asked if I’d be interested in a teaching assistant position next semester.”
“That’s wonderful!” Caroline exclaims, pride radiating from her face.
“And you, Kaden?” Dad turns to me, expectation in his gaze. “How’s the artwork coming along?”
I blink, surprised by the genuine interest in his tone. “Um, good, actually. Really good. My professor’s submitting some of my pieces to that student showcase downtown.”
“The one at the Harrington Gallery?” Caroline asks. When I nod, she beams. “That’s prestigious! Why didn’t you tell us?”
I shrug, pushing a chunk of meat around my plate. “Found out yesterday. Haven’t had a chance.”
Dad clears his throat. “Well, that’s excellent news. Perhaps we could all attend the opening.”
“All of us?” I repeat, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
“Of course,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to want to see my art. “Family supports family.”
Family. The word hangs in the air, charged with new meaning. I catch Emmett’s eye, a silent conversation passing between us. Is this the moment? Not yet, his slight head shake tells me.
I push food into my mouth, tasting nothing. Caroline chatters about her latest client, something about impossible demands for a living room renovation. Dad nods at appropriate intervals, offering sensible suggestions about budgets and timelines.
Under the table, Emmett’s foot hooks around my ankle. I focus on the pressure, the warmth of him beside me, as I mechanically cut another piece of pot roast.
“You’re quiet tonight, Kade,” Caroline observes, concern etching fine lines near her eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Just tired,” I lie. “End of semester stuff.”
She nods. “You’ve been working so hard. Both of you have. I barely see you two anymore, even on weekends.”
If she only knew why we’ve been holed up in the guest house. The memory of Emmett stretched out on my bed this morning, nothing but a sheet covering him as sunlight played across his bare shoulders, flashes through my mind.
“We’ve been studying,” Emmett offers smoothly. “Finals coming up.”
“Well, I’m proud of both of you,” Caroline says. “And I have to say, it’s so nice seeing you two getting along better.”
Dad grunts in agreement. “No shouting matches for weeks now. House has been positively peaceful.”
Emmett’s knee presses against mine—our signal. My heart rate doubles, blood roaring in my ears. This is it. We’re doing this.
I watch as Emmett sets down his fork, arranging it parallel to his knife. Always the perfectionist, even in moments of crisis. He clears his throat, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“Mom, David…Kade and I have something to tell you.”
Caroline’s hand pauses halfway to her wine glass. Dad’s posture stiffens, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact.
“What is it, honey?” Caroline prompts when the silence stretches too long.
My muscles coil tight, ready to spring, though where I’d run to, I have no idea. Emmett’s hand finds mine under the table, his palm warm and steady against my clammy skin. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.
“Kade and I are…together. As a couple.”
The words hang in the air, impossible to take back. I stare at my plate, unable to look at either of our parents, counting the seconds of silence. One. Two. Three. Four.
“I know it might seem strange,” Emmett continues, filling the void. “And sudden. But it’s not, really. It’s been building for a while, and—”
“How long?” Dad interrupts, his voice neutral.
I force myself to look up. Dad’s expression is unreadable, his jaw set in that way that could mean anything from deep thought to barely contained anger.
“A month,” I answer, finding my voice at last.
Caroline and Dad exchange a look, some silent communication passing between them that makes my stomach drop. This is it—the moment they tell us we’re disgusting, or that one of us needs to move out, or—
“We had a feeling something was different between you two,” Caroline says, her lips curving into a small smile.
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”
Dad nods, setting down his napkin. “You two haven’t fought in weeks. That was our first clue.”
My jaw drops. I turn to Emmett, who looks equally stunned, his green eyes wide, lips parted in surprise.
“You…knew?” Emmett asks, voice cracking.
“Suspected,” Caroline corrects, reaching for her wine. “There were signs.”
“Like what?” I manage, still trying to process the lack of shock or outrage.
Caroline’s smile turns knowing. “Well, that movie night a month ago, for one. When I stopped by with the food.”
Heat races up my neck as the memory floods back. “You saw—?”
“I didn’t see much, but…the candles were a bit of a giveaway,” she says gently. “And the looks on your faces… Let’s just say I recognized what was happening.”
“I wasn’t as quick to catch on,” Dad admits, running a hand over his short hair. “But I noticed how you two started looking at each other differently. And Kaden, you’ve been…calmer. More focused.”
“My grades are up,” I offer, as if that somehow justifies everything.
“We’ve noticed,” Dad says, surprising me with the pride in his voice. “Your entire demeanor has changed. Both of you seem…happier.”
I feel the tension draining from my shoulders, the knot in my chest loosening. Emmett’s thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, still hidden under the table.
“You’re not upset?” Emmett asks cautiously.
Caroline reaches across the table to touch his arm. “Why would we be upset about our sons being happy?”
“Because we’re stepbrothers,” I blurt out. “Because it’s weird. Because people will talk.”
“People always talk,” Dad says dismissively. “But you both are adults and can decide for yourselves. What matters most is that you treat each other well.”
I stare at him, this man who’s lectured me about perception and reputation for years, now dismissing potential gossip. “Who are you and what have you done with my father?”
Dad’s lips twitch in what might be the beginning of a smile. “I’m serious, Kaden. As long as you’re both happy and treating each other well, that’s what counts.”
Relief floods through me so powerfully I feel light-headed. I exhale, only now realizing I’ve been holding my breath. Emmett’s hand squeezes mine again, his eyes shining when I glance at him.
“We are,” Emmett assures them. “Happy, I mean.”
“Disgustingly so,” I add, unable to help myself. “He even got me doing dishes regularly.”
“Now that,” Dad says, pointing his fork at me, “is the true miracle here.”
The tension breaks as laughter ripples around the table. Caroline rises, returning moments later with a cherry pie.
“Now,” she says, serving generous slices, “since we’re having honest conversations, there are some practical things we should discuss.”
“Like what?” Emmett asks around a mouthful of pie.
Caroline and Dad exchange another look, this one awkward.
“Like…safety,” Dad begins, clearing his throat. “In your…physical relationship.”
My fork clatters against the plate. “Oh my god. Dad, you already gave me that talk when I was a teenager.”
“But at the time I didn’t know that you’re into…guys.”
“It’s important,” Caroline agrees, her cheeks pinking. “Even though pregnancy isn’t a concern, there are still—”
“I’m not hearing this,” I groan, clapping my hands over my ears. “This isn’t happening.”
Emmett looks equally mortified, his face flushing a deep red. “Mom, please stop. We’re adults. We’ve got it covered.”
“But—” Caroline begins.
“Nope,” I interrupt, hands still over my ears. “Not listening. Can’t hear a word. La la la.”
Dad’s mouth twitches again, amusement breaking through his serious expression. “They seem to have the point, Caroline.”
Caroline sighs, but there’s fond exasperation in it rather than disappointment. “Fine. I just want you both to be safe and healthy.”
“We are,” Emmett promises, still crimson. “Can we please talk about literally anything else now?”
“Of course,” Caroline says, pivoting. “David and I were thinking of redoing the guest house bathroom. What do you two think about subway tiles?”
The conversation flows into safer territory, and my body relaxes for the first time all evening.
I glance around the table—at my dad discussing tile patterns with enthusiasm, at Caroline gesturing animatedly about shower fixtures, at Emmett nodding along while sneaking glances at me when he thinks no one’s watching.
Family. It’s a word that’s always felt complicated to me, loaded with expectations I could never quite meet. But sitting here now, accepted exactly as I am, exactly as we are, I think maybe I’m beginning to understand what it really means.