Chapter 2
James
Istood in the doorway, watching my stepbrother drop his wet belongings on my clean counter. Kent never was the type to think before he did something. He just did it, then got mad when anyone pointed out he was being thoughtless.
Why did I ever agree to let him stay with me?
“So…” I said, pushing the door closed behind me. “Lease problems?”
“Yep,” Kent grunted, looking around my tiny apartment.
“Did Brittany go stay with someone else?”
“Fuck if I know,” Kent growled, his lip curling up at the corner. “She can do whatever she wants.”
Ah. So this wasn’t a lease issue at all. He and Brittany were fighting again. Good to know that our new arrangement was starting with a lie. Typical Kent.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the closed door. “How long do you actually need to stay?”
Kent’s eyes swept over my apartment again—the neatly made bed in the corner, the small desk where I’d been working when he called, the couch that was going to be his new home. I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing how much honesty he could afford to put up with.
“Two weeks,” he said finally. “Tops. Just until I find a new place.”
Two weeks. I felt my stomach drop. When he’d said “a night or two, maybe a week” on the phone, I’d been hoping for three days maximum before he got bored and left. Two weeks in four hundred square feet with Kent sounded like a special kind of torture.
“Two weeks,” I repeated, more to myself than to him.
“Is that a problem?” There was an edge to his voice, that familiar sharpness that used to precede him shoving me into lockers.
Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, it’s a problem.
You made my life hell since I was sixteen years old, and now you show up out of nowhere expecting me to house you like nothing ever happened.
Like you didn’t call me every slur in the book.
Like you didn’t make me dread coming downstairs for breakfast every fucking day.
“No,” I said instead, because apparently I was still the same pushover he remembered. “Two weeks is fine.”
Kent nodded, satisfied, and started peeling off his soaked hoodie.
He was built like he lifted bricks all day long, which maybe he did for all I knew.
He had broad shoulders and thick arms, the kind of body that came from actual labor rather than a gym membership.
Water droplets clung to his neck as he tossed the hoodie over one of my kitchen chairs.
“You got any towels?” he asked. “I’m soaked through.”
I pushed off from the door and walked to the small linen closet near the bathroom. “Yeah, hold on.”
As I pulled out a clean towel, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I looked tired. Resigned. Exactly how I felt. Behind me, I could hear Kent opening and closing my cabinets, probably looking for food already.
“Help yourself,” I called out, unable to keep the sarcasm completely out of my voice.
“Already am,” he called back.
Of course he was. Asshole.
I walked back out with the towel and tossed it at him. He caught it one-handed, already chewing on what looked like one of my protein bars.
“Those are expensive,” I said.
“I’ll buy you more.” He didn’t look at me as he said it, rubbing the towel through his hair.
Sure he would. Just like he’d be gone in two weeks. I was starting to compile a list of Kent’s lies, and we were only ten minutes in.
I moved to the counter and picked up his soggy box, holding it at arm’s length as water dripped onto my floor. “Where do you want this?”
“Just throw it anywhere.”
“It’s leaking all over my apartment.”
He finally looked at me, and for a second I saw something flicker across his face. Annoyance, maybe. Or embarrassment. With Kent, it was hard to tell the difference. “Put it in the bathtub then. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
I carried the disintegrating box to the bathroom and set it in the tub, watching brown water pool around the bottom. Whatever was in there was probably ruined. I wondered if it was important, then decided I didn’t care enough to ask.
When I came back out, Kent had made himself comfortable on my couch, his wet, socked feet propped up on my coffee table. He’d found the remote and was flipping through channels like he owned the place.
“Make yourself at home,” I said flatly.
“Thanks, I will.” He didn’t catch the sarcasm, or more likely, he caught it and didn’t care.
I stood there for a moment, watching him, this stranger who used to be my tormentor, now sitting in my living space like he belonged there. The worst part was how easily he did it—how naturally he took up space, claimed territory, made himself the center of gravity in any room he entered.
I used to wish I could do that.
“I’ve got work to finish,” I said, gesturing to my desk. “I’m on a deadline, so I need it quiet.”
“Sure, sure.” He waved a hand dismissively, eyes still on the TV. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
Another lie to add to the collection.
I retreated to my desk, trying to ignore the presence of Kent sprawled across my couch six feet away.
My laptop was still open to the project I’d been working on—a logo redesign for a local brewery.
The deadline was Friday, which gave me three days.
Three days that would now include Kent’s commentary, Kent’s mess, and Kent’s entire existence invading every corner of my carefully constructed life.
I put my headphones on and tried to focus on the screen, but I could feel his eyes on me. When I glanced over, he was staring.
“What?” I asked, pulling one headphone off.
“Nothing.” He looked back at the TV. “Just weird seeing you all... grown up, I guess.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I put my headphones back on and stared at my screen, at the logo that suddenly seemed completely wrong, all of it wrong, everything wrong.
This was going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
I tried to work for another hour, but it was useless. Every click of the remote, every shift of Kent’s weight on the couch, every breath he took seemed magnified tenfold. The logo on my screen blurred into meaningless shapes. I saved my work and closed the laptop.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced, pulling off my headphones.
Kent glanced at his phone. “It’s nine-thirty.”
“I get up early.” Another lie, but a necessary one. I couldn’t sit here pretending to work while he watched TV like we were roommates who’d chosen this arrangement.
“Suit yourself.” He’d found a basketball game and was already absorbed in it, his earlier interest in me apparently exhausted.
I went through my nighttime routine in the bathroom, brushing my teeth while staring at the soggy box in my tub. I could see a corner of fabric poking out—a shirt maybe, or a towel. The cardboard was already starting to fall apart, pieces of it floating in the murky water.
When I came out, Kent hadn’t moved. I climbed into my bed and pulled the covers up, turning to face the wall.
The apartment was too small for any real privacy.
My bed was maybe fifteen feet from the couch.
I could hear everything—the announcers on the TV, Kent’s occasional grunt of approval or disappointment, and the creak of the couch springs when he shifted position. It was almost overwhelming.
I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep, but my mind kept circling back to the same question. Why did I say yes?
I could have told him no. I should have told him no.
I didn’t owe Kent anything, certainly not after the way he’d treated me.
But when he’d said, “unless you’re too good for family now,” something in me had crumbled.
That same pathetic part of me that had always wanted his approval, wanted him to see me as an equal instead of a target.
I was still that scared sixteen-year-old, apparently. Still desperate for scraps of validation from someone who’d never once shown me kindness. I felt pathetic.
The TV volume dropped suddenly, and I heard Kent’s footsteps cross the hardwood floor. The bathroom light clicked on, and I heard him rummaging through the medicine cabinet. A few minutes later, the toilet flushed, and he came back out.
The apartment went dark except for the glow from the TV, now muted. I felt the vibration through the floor as Kent settled back onto the couch. Springs creaked. He sighed long and heavy.
I waited for sleep that wouldn’t come, listening to my stepbrother breathe in the darkness, and wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
Around midnight, I gave up on sleep entirely. I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to Kent’s breathing even out into something deeper. He’d fallen asleep with the TV on, the light flickering blue and white across the walls. The remote had slipped from his hand onto the floor.
I sat up slowly, careful not to make the bed creak, and looked over at him.
In sleep, he looked different. Younger, maybe.
Less angry. His face had gone soft, his mouth slightly open, one arm thrown over his head.
For a moment—just a moment—I could almost see the older stepbrother he’d been before he’d decided I was worth hating.
Then I remembered the names. The shoves. The way he’d “accidentally” spilled an entire beer on my laptop the summer I was nineteen. I shook my head, trying to force the moment to pass.
I slipped out of bed and padded quietly to the couch, reaching down to grab the remote. As I straightened up, Kent shifted, and I froze. His eyes stayed closed. I turned off the TV, and the apartment plunged into darkness, broken only by the streetlight filtering through my curtains.
Back in bed, I pulled out my phone, keeping the brightness low.
I had three texts from my friend Melissa asking if I wanted to grab drinks tomorrow night.
I typed out a response. Can’t. Family emergency.
Then I deleted it and wrote another. Can’t.
Have a guest staying with me. That was closer to the truth, even if “guest” was a generous term for Kent forcing his way into my life when he wasn’t wanted.
I scrolled through my messages, not really reading them, just needing something to do with my hands.
My mom had texted earlier. Hope you’re having a good week, sweetie!
She didn’t know her stepson was currently drooling on my couch.
I wondered if I should tell her, then decided against it.
She’d just worry, or worse, she’d think this was some kind of reconciliation.
Some healing moment between stepbrothers who’d never really been brothers at all.
Another message popped up, and I clicked on it instinctively.
My dating app popped up with a message from a guy marked so close that he must’ve lived in my same apartment building.
He didn’t even bother to say hello. Instead, he got straight to the point by sending me a picture of his cock. Underneath was a simple message.
Him: You looking?
I felt a stir in my pajama pants and glanced over toward the couch. Kent was still fast asleep. He probably wouldn’t notice if I snuck out. Not that he’d care, anyway. Just him being there was already making me stressed. Blowing off some steam might not be bad.
I started typing back.
Me: If you can host, I’m down.
The reply came instantly.
Him: Come over. First floor, 1A.
Taking care to be silent, I threw on a hoodie, grabbed a condom from the bathroom, and headed out the door.
I didn’t have enough time to question my decision before I found myself standing in front of the stranger's door.
I knocked and it opened almost instantly.
The man standing in the doorway was handsome, scruffy, and already half-hard in his sweatpants.
“Hey,” he said with a crooked grin.
“Hey.”
I stepped inside, the door shutting behind me.
“Do you wanna watch a movie or somethin’?” the stranger asked as he nonchalantly stroked himself through his sweatpants.
“No.” I reached up, pulling him down into a kiss. “I want you to fuck me.”