11. Sebastian
CHAPTER 11
sebastian
T he humidity felt like a weight pressing down on my shoulders, as I watched Maxine pace the back porch. Her bare feet moved silently, but her body language screamed tension. The photograph—the one that could destroy everything—was clutched in her hand like a weapon.
I knew the moment I stepped outside our conversation would change everything.
"Can't sleep?" The words sounded stupid the moment they left my mouth.
Her eyes locked onto me, and I felt exposed. Stripped down. She held out the photo—my dad, her mom, her father. Taken a week before the ‘accident’ that wasn’t an accident.
"You’ve been carrying this, haven’t you?" Her voice was raw, brittle around the edges.
I swallowed hard; the truth sat like a stone in my chest, heavy and sharp. "I overheard them," I finally admitted, my voice low so no one overheard. "The night it happened. They were talking about the brakes. About making it look like an accident."
Her world tilted. I could see it. The foundation beneath her feet crumbled, and everything she believed shattered. The tears that ran down her cheeks felt like physical things—sharp, raw, devastating. I wanted to reach out. Protect her. But protection was how we got here in the first place.
"I wanted to protect you," I said, and the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Her gaze cut through me, piercing and unyielding. "Protect me? You let me believe it was an accident! Let me live a lie."
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken truths and regrets. Her hands trembled as she clutched the photograph tighter, the picture crinkling beneath her grip.
"My dad was my everything," she said, and her voice broke. "He always made me feel like I was enough. And now... now, I don’t know what’s real anymore."
The words hung heavily in the air. I stepped closer, the weight of the photograph in her hand pulling my gaze. "You don’t have to fill the space he left, Max," I told her, my voice soft. "Some days it’ll feel lighter. Other days, heavy as hell. But you’re not alone."
Her eyes met mine as she searched for something—answers, maybe. Or just a shred of honesty in a world that had stolen too much from her. "Why do you care so much?" she asked.
Because you had lived in my head since we were teenagers. Because every smile felt like summer. Because watching you grieve had been tearing me apart. I voiced none of those thoughts.
"Because you’re not just anyone, Maxine," I said instead. "You’re family. More than that."
The tension between us shifted and became something electric. Something dangerous.
"We’re stepsiblings—" she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Doesn’t change how I feel," I interrupted. "How I’ve always felt."
She looked at me then, really looked. And I could see the moment she decided to take the leap. She reached out, her hand trembling, and threaded her fingers through mine. It felt like a beginning and an ending all at once.
The photograph seemed to pulse between us, like a reminder of the truth about what happened. But, for the moment, we sat in silence as darkness claimed the sky. Her hand in mine felt like hope. Like a promise. Like the calm before everything changed.
The night held its breath. And so did we.