Chapter 9 #3
“Maybe. But you are my brother.” She gave my side a warning pinch. “Which is why I know the weird and wondrous workings of your brain—better than most, anyway. I don’t like to waste my breath, so I’m directing my threats for maximum impact.”
Well. She wasn’t wrong.
“Are you done yet?” I caught her in a headlock before she could say anything else, ignoring her muffled cackling.
“You can crush me all you want,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “Can’t crush the truth, though.”
I chose to let her have the last word—too caught up in watching Tay ham it up for the crowd, grin and flower crown tilted sideways, in a shirt that clung just a little too well. Whatever heat burned in my belly had nothing to do with alcohol. He was… Fuck, how could I not want him?
“Don’t mess it up.”
Only I didn’t know what that meant. Stay away or cross a line that might trip us flat onto our faces?
To hollering applause, Tay jumped off the makeshift stage and started for me.
I got up to catch him, laughing even as my skin stretched tight, and fixed the flower crown before it could slide down his forehead.
“Sixteen-year-old you was onto something,” I told him.
“You’ve got the charisma. Just don’t forget your original fans when you get discovered at some open mic night in a month. ”
“You cheered first.” His expression dipped into something I couldn’t quite read—soft and bright, a little too real. “Not the kind of thing I would forget.”
I kissed his cheek and didn’t dare look at him afterwards, just pulled him back down onto the sofa with me, Charley scooting over to make room. I didn’t dare look at her either.
Someone went next with an enthusiastic and only slightly off-key version of “Purple Rain,” belted into the mic with reckless abandon.
Her friends half harmonized and half screamed in backup, and it drew me back into our surroundings—a citronella candle flickering unevenly in a seashell on the nearest table, its flame doing battle with the sea breeze, while Tay’s thigh stayed flush against mine.
Briefly, I found myself staring at the condensation sliding down his glass like it might hold answers before I let my attention skim across the gathered crowd of wedding guests.
Theo and his parents clapped with full-bodied joy—cheerful, supportive, and absolutely nowhere near the actual rhythm.
Any other time it might have bothered me, but here, with everyone just having fun, it made me smile right as I caught Tom’s eye.
He turned away immediately, back to the group he’d been chatting with.
For a fleeting, shameful second, I remembered how Tay had kissed me yesterday after the game—hot and sharp-edged like I was his.
Would he do it again if I gave him a reason?
Jesus, no. Provoking jealousy when I was the one keeping us at arm’s length would be unfair.
I had reasons. Good reasons. Except they were starting to look just a little translucent, and letting Tay leap first meant I could dodge the blame if it all went sideways.
Not exactly noble of me, and the fact that I was tempted at all, just—it was telling.
I didn’t really have this thing under control now did I?
My name got pulled next. Karma worked fast.
At my theatrical groan, Tay tilted close to hug me, tucking a smile against my neck. “Come on, babe. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“Who says it won’t kill me?” I asked but got up anyway, waving to show I could be a good sport about this.
Right. Song.
I wasn’t drunk enough for Tina Turner and also just sober enough to ignore both Charley and Tay yelling for Céline. Over my cold dead body. Arctic Monkeys seemed like a safe choice—tight, fast lyrics I could hit with enough precision to hide that my voice wasn’t the best.
The music kicked in, my shoulders too tight even though the words came out clean.
I stared at the lyrics, neck hot, and tried to ignore all the eyes on me—failed.
God, yeah, I was no rock star in the making.
My performance was passable at best and more likely just bearable.
Once I’d hit the final note and handed back the mic, relief flooded me like helium.
I ducked off the stage as if I were fleeing the scene of a crime.
Tay cheered the loudest. Of course he did.
Someone was in the process of murdering Britney Spears—acoustically, at least. Also, Mom was trying to convince me that saying a few words at the wedding wouldn’t actually kill me. Dubious.
“You know I hate that sort of thing,” I told her around a fortifying sip of something far too sweet. “Public speaking, that kind of stuff.”
“She’s your sister, Dean. She’s only getting married once.”
Well, according to the stats…
Just then, Tay appeared—a warm, sudden weight against my side. He curled an arm around me before I could say something I’d regret, thumb hooked into the waistband of my shorts, and I leaned into him without thinking.
“Mind if I steal him for a sec?” he asked my mom.
Her gaze moved between us, smile widening as she took a sip of some pink concoction with bits of coconut floating in it. Not her first, based on her happily flushed face and the slightly looser edges of her consonants. “Go ahead, hon. But lemme just…”
She fumbled for her phone to snap a picture. I blinked into the flash, Tay’s cheek pressed to mine. “Mom,” I grumbled. “Warn a guy before you blind him.”
“Sorry. Didn’t realize I hadn’t turned off the flash.” She didn’t sound particularly sorry, though, beaming at the photo like it belonged on a wall. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Which… Yeah. Shame about the empty frame once Tay and I, uh, broke up. Maybe there was no need for a quick end to this relationship we were staging.
“Fun fact?” Tay grinned at me. “I just got a pretty clear glimpse of teenage you.”
“Trust me, I could tell you some stories,” Mom said, full of warmth. “Another time, though. You two get going.”
We did—Tay leading me down a path between the trees, away from the beachside bar and into a quieter stretch of the resort.
The lights dipped lower here, the night thick with foliage and warm air.
We didn’t speak at first, just walked together until we reached a small overlook above the water.
Waves tapped at the rocks, the music reduced to a distant idea.
“You okay?” he asked, his question blending in with the lull of the ocean.
I threw him a surprised look. “Me?”
“You said you need a break from people sometimes. Figured you could use one now.”
I turned to look at him—easy posture, flower crown still perched like a crooked little halo. “I… Yeah. Thanks. How did you know?”
“Karaoke doesn’t seem like your idea of a good time.” He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Also, your face goes all pinched. You know—tight smile, narrowed eyes, like someone just asked you to spend the evening with an anti-vaxxer.”
Really? Now that he’d mentioned it, I could sense tightness knotted between my shoulder blades, and I consciously relaxed my jaw. I hadn’t realized how closely he’d been watching. Somehow, it didn’t bother me—maybe because he’d said it without judgment, like it truly wasn’t a problem.
“Thanks for the nightmare trigger.” I glanced away, suddenly too aware of how it went both ways. I’d learned to read the moment his smile turned real, the tilt of his head when he listened, or how he squinted into the sun when he couldn’t be bothered to find his sunglasses.
“I’ll hold you through the aftermath.” His tone was light, but something about it still pinged a gentle echo in my chest. I inhaled, eyes on him.
“You’re still wearing the flowers.”
“Right, yeah.” He reached up, touching the crown with a little smile that glinted like a firefly in the velvet night. “Kind of forgot about it, to be honest. It’s fun, though—like a fashion accessory, you know?”
He just… was.
Effortless and open in a way I couldn’t fake if I tried. As if he’d wandered in from some better, softer version of the world and didn’t even realize he was pulling the breath from my lungs just by standing there.
“Tay,” I said, just his name because it was all I could think of.
“Dean,” he bounced back, sounding slightly amused and maybe the faintest hint uncertain.
And I kissed him.
Just like that—warm, sweet, open. I nudged him back onto the wide lounger tucked into the corner of the overlook, half in shadow, half caught in moonlight.
The cushions gave under his weight, humming with the day’s leftover heat, and I followed without thinking, slotted myself between his knees.
His hand slid up my ribs like a dare, the other coming up to grip my forearm, thumb brushing the inside of my elbow.
Salt and sugar on his tongue. I chased it, and he let me in, no hesitation, his legs parting, hips tilting up. Something sparked low in my spine.
Not here.
I pulled back, only just, to see his face—chest heaving, moonlight dripping down his cheekbone and the damp curve of his lower lip. Jesus. He looked undone, and I felt it.
His fingers still gripped my forearm, thumb pressing into skin, words hushed and dream-slow. “I thought—this morning, you weren’t…”
“I wasn’t.” My voice cracked. Jesus, get it together.
“But then you clapped like an idiot just so people would feel good about themselves, and you’re wearing a stupid flower crown, and you just look like this, and—” I cut myself off.
“The reasons why we shouldn’t, they’re still there. They’re good. But I want you too much.”
His breath hitched. Mine had never quite settled.
A beat. Then two. Then his hand drifted from my ribs to my hip.
“Right, okay. So… we going to keep making out in public, or…?” He’d clearly aimed for something a little lighter, like he wasn’t ready to trust just yet that this was real.
His eyes gave him away, though—a little dazed still, pupils blown wide.
Somehow, it was the final thing that I needed.
“Come on, rock star.” I stood and offered him a hand. “Time to relocate.”
Smiling, flower crown askew, he took it.