Chapter 2
Two
SEBA
Guitar rifts rise as the country song blasting in my headphones nears its end. Adjusting the box of who-the-fuck-knows-what in my arms, I squint against the setting sun reflecting off the second-story window of the neighbor’s house.
She’s not there anymore.
She sat there for ages, barely moving. I thought she was a creepy doll or something at first, but then she changed positions. I tried waving. She didn’t react.
Now she’s gone.
Did I imagine her? I am pretty dehydrated.
Maybe she's a ghost. Except I don't really buy into the whole paranormal thing. Wiping my sweaty cheek on my shoulder, I trudge up the gravel drive toward our new home— the Sutherlands' pity rental. There’s no way we’d be able to afford this place without a tremendous discount from my stepfather's cousin.
Not that Mom cares. She’s living her real-life fantasy as the wife of Declan Warren, the new Art Director of Fort Manor University.
He put a ring on her finger six months after meeting her at a sculpture exhibition hosted by the Rhodes Gallery, where she works as a receptionist. They ran to the courthouse the same week that Declan secured his position at Central Florida University.
All so we could start fresh as a blended family.
Mom insists it was fate, but it's all too rushed to me.
Then again, I hate change and lately, it feels like I've been chucked into an alternate dimension. I was more than content living in the trailer on the outskirts of North Fort Manor’s orange groves, surrounded by the kind of quiet only cicadas and frog calls interrupted.
Where I spent foggy mornings drinking coffee on the front steps, counting birds at the feeder and nights tracing constellations.
It was bliss after years of drunken arguments, endless tears and smashed bottles.
But Mom's got a pair of rose colored glasses permanently taped to her face. She claims what happened to Dad was a blessing in disguise. That God was protecting us from the situation getting worse. The thing is, I can’t imagine God steering a drunk man headfirst into a pole on the opposite side of a deserted county road, leaving his wife penniless and his son fatherless.
I don’t believe it was an act of God.
It was an act of man.
A broken, selfish man who refused to change.
The front steps groan in protest under my weight as if they’re insulted that a six-foot-two linebacker dares to use them. Like most homes in this neighborhood, it screams Old Fort Manor heritage: a pretentious combination of southern generational wealth and coastal charm.
The front door swings in while I'm shuffling my boots on the brand new welcome mat Mom bought— and really shouldn’t have wasted money on.
“You know we can take breaks, right?”
Sweat stings my eyes as I look up from my shoes. My stepbrother leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.
The menace smirks.
I’ve never met anyone like him. Even on the exterior, he's an anomaly, with ice blonde hair so light it’s almost translucent in the sun and angular features wrapped in snow white skin.
But what really puts me on edge are his eyes: one pale blue like fog above the ocean, and the other, a glacier splashed with golden honey.
Partial heterochromia.
They unnerve me.
Everything about Cade Warren is unnerving. His words are double-edged swords. His smiles loaded with deceit. His body poised to strike. He’s a water moccasin: stealthy, venomous and flashing warning signs I’d rather avoid at all costs.
“Move,” I grunt.
He taps his pointer finger on his bicep.
“What’s the password?”
He’s the most exasperating little shit alive.
“Stop acting like a child and let me in.”
“But I am a child according to you, remember?”
Like I'd forget snapping at him for lying about his age to buy cigarettes at the gas station after we filled up the U-haul. I had no issue informing the cashier that he’s only seventeen before shoving his ass out the door.
He’s been a royal bitch ever since.
“You sure act like one.”
He scowls. “At least I’m fun. You have an opportunity to be the cool older stepbrother, but nooo, you'd rather be a rule-following Bible humper.”
I’m not a violent guy by nature, but in the short span of time I've spent in Cade’s presence, I find myself fantasizing about strangling him an abnormal amount.
“I think the term you’re referring to is Bible Thumper.”
His nose wrinkles in annoyance. “Whatever. I’m pretty sure both jack it to Jesus.”
Alright, that's enough.
Shoving the box into his chest, I easily send him stumbling back. His fault for not moving; the idiot knows I’ve got a minimum of fifty pounds on him.
Stomping through the foyer into an unnecessary sitting area with chairs fit for grannies and toddlers, I drop the box on the scuffed wood floor.
Rustic flooring, Seba. Seemingly overnight, Mom became an interior design expert.
The place came fully furnished and decorated in what she informed me was ‘cottage core.’ In other words, a dollhouse inspired by Old Florida magazines.
“That clearly says ‘Kitchen’ on it.”
Apparently, plowing through Cade like a practice dummy didn’t convince him to fuck off.
“Declan said to just bring everything in. We can organize later.” I sigh, pushing sweat off my forehead.
“Do you do everything you’re told?”
I shoulder past him when I'm hit with the lingering hint of cigarette smoke mixed with something… sweet. My nose twitches. I pick up the pace, striding on a mission to the front door—
Where a man stands haloed in the doorway.
The setting sun’s rays illuminate his figure like a saint in a historical painting. He takes a purposeful step over the threshold, shadows dripping away to reveal a charismatic half-smile and lines crinkling the corners of dark brown eyes.
“Hello there, son, didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckles, hooking a thumb to the right. “I live next door.” Where the girl in the window lives. “Simply wanted to introduce myself. The name’s William Sinclair.”
He extends a hand.
I go to shake it—
“Is it normal here for neighbors to walk into each other's houses?”
Fucking. Cade.
Sinclair’s head snaps to my stepbrother. His smile falters before morphing into a sheepish grin.
“Apologies. I’ve known the Sutherlands for years and was under the impression that one of their children took over the house. It was wrong of me to assume.”
The line between Cade’s brows deepens, but he doesn’t spew another snarky comment. Instead, he cranes his neck and hollers at the top of his lungs, “Dad! Some guy is here!”
I inhale slowly and close my eyes.
Dear Lord, give me the grace not to chop my new stepbrother’s throat the first day we live under the same roof.
When I open them, I’m met with a scrutinizing gaze. Sinclair’s lip twitches as if he heard me. A trick of the light.
Then he winks.
My jaw goes slack. There’s no way…
Footsteps descend the stairs.
“Ah, you must be Pastor Sinclair!” Declan exclaims. “My Aunt and Uncle mentioned you might stop by.”
Pastor.
As the leader of the church.
All pleasant introductions and conversations fade into background noise.
Had he heard my prayer after all?