Chapter 17
Seventeen
SEBA
Lightning flashes through the rain-splattered window. It’s been storming all evening, forcing me to stay inside. Meaning no nightly run. Meaning I’m trapped in this house. With Mom and Declan.
And Cade.
“Seba, can you get the popcorn?” Mom asks, bustling by with glasses of wine for her and Declan. He’s a wine connoisseur (snob). It boggles my mind that she can stand the stuff after dealing with an alcoholic husband for over a decade. Then again, when it comes to my stepfather, he can do no wrong.
I do as I’m asked and reluctantly enter the kitchen, bracing to collide with my tormentor.
No stepbrother lurking.
Unfortunately, he’s inescapable tonight. Our parents insisted on a family night once a week to bond and prioritize time together. It’s a horrible idea for too many reasons, but here we are, having a movie night in.
When I return with the popcorn, Mom is snuggled up to Declan. He smiles as I set the bowl on the coffee table and claim the opposite side of the sectional. My ass has barely touched the cushion when the distinct scent of Cade invades my nose.
“That’s my spot.”
Christ.
He stands in front of me, clutching a fluffy blanket and… a stuffed animal? At least he’s wearing clothes— a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized band tee. He looks so innocent with this ridiculous pout on his lips and an annoyed glare.
It’s kind of… adorable.
My teeth clamp on the inside of my cheek.
He’s not adorable.
“I got here first.”
His eyes narrow. “But I like the corner.”
“So do I.”
“Come on, Bud,” Declan pleads with his son. “There’s plenty of room.”
Cade’s jaw flexes. I drape my arm over the back cushion with a gloating smirk. He huffs and chucks the stuffed animal— a character from one of the video games he's obsessed with— at me.
“Scoot over.”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s demanding.
Shit.
I slide right as he plops next to me.
He’s so close. Too close. And I’m stuck with my arm stretched across the back of the sofa. Basically around his shoulders.
This is bad.
Really bad.
Cade tucks his legs in, situates the blanket over himself and snatches his stuffed toy from my lap to prop behind his head like a pillow.
Declan grabs the remote while Mom hogs the popcorn, completely oblivious to the awkwardness oozing from our end of the couch.
Or maybe it’s just my awkwardness, because Cade doesn’t seem to notice as he checks his phone under the blanket.
“We used to have movie nights all the time,” Declan grins, tipping his glass at us. “Cade loved the horror ones, especially the hauntings.”
“Oh, really?” Mom grimaces.
Cade fists the edge of the blanket, eyes unfocused. My heart rate spikes. I’ve seen that look before in the blue refrigerator light. It’s grave. Fearful. Lost in the depths of his mind.
My finger brushes his shoulder.
He blinks a few times, his gaze going cold and guarded. “Used to.”
Declan’s smile falters. He sips his wine and points the remote at the TV, starting the movie— another superhero remake. But I’m still hung up on those quiet words. Used to.
Pins and needles begin prickling up my arm, the cotton of Cade’s shirt imprinted on the tip of my finger— the one still hovering centimeters above. It’s like magnets live beneath his skin, repelling and drawing me closer. It’s fucking aggravating.
I glue my eyes to the TV until they burn.
Excruciating minutes pass.
Mom and Declan are immersed in the predictable plot.
My arm goes fully numb.
Cade slouches further into the cushion, thumbs flying over his phone screen. Subtly, I adjust, straining to catch a name or a message, but the blanket is in the way.
I glance at our parents again. Completely absorbed. Then lean over a little further…
“It’s rude to read someone else's texts,” Cade hisses.
“What's so important that you have to respond right now?”
“None of your business.”
Now it’s one-thousand percent my business.
“Who is it?”
“Why does it matter? You text Andrea all the time and I don’t say shit.”
Because I’m interested in her, I almost snap. But that means…
“You’re talking to someone?” It’s more of a growl than a whisper.
“Texting is a form of conversation, yes.”
I'm going to head-butt him.
“You know what I mean.”
“And if I am?”
Something in the movie explodes. Sirens and car alarms and screams blare through the speakers. My hand rolls into a fist to prevent me from ripping the phone from his hand and throwing it out the window. After finding out who the hell he’s texting, of course.
His screen blinks with a new message. He swipes it open, not looking at me anymore.
I’m mentally filing through every damn human I’ve seen interact with Cade— both guys and girls, because it could be anyone— while he smiles at his phone like a giddy thirteen-year-old.
Then bites his lip. In the dark living room, highlighted only by the flashing TV, I can barely make out a pink tint in his cheeks.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. What if they make his eating disorder worse? Or trigger that horrible catatonic state?
Over the next hour, while he not-so-subtly texts nonstop, I stew in a cesspool of reasons why he should stay far away from whoever this person is. By the time the movie comes to an end, I’m boiling over.
Mom stretches her arms overhead with a sleepy smile. “Pretty good, huh?”
Declan hums in agreement, setting his empty wine glass down. I think he fell asleep halfway through.
Cade immediately springs off the couch and lets out an exaggerated yawn. “It’s been real, but I’m beat.”
Our parents nod with tipsy, spaced-out stares as he sprints upstairs. They might buy his bullshit, but I know better. It’s barely eleven. Cade never goes to bed this early. He’s usually up doing…
It’s like a boot to the face.
Is the mystery texter the one he’s been fantasizing about when he…
I’m on my feet in seconds, mumbling about needing to piss before racing after him. He’s halfway to his room, that fucking phone beckoning me like a red flag does a bull.
My hand clamps around the back of his neck.
He gasps.
Spinning him, I pin him to the wall by the throat. “You lied,” I snarl in his face. “We both know you’re not going to sleep.”
Wide blue and honey eyes gaze up at me. Little puffs escape through parted lips. His pulse thrums against my palm as his chin lifts a fraction.
“So?”
My fingers flex. “You’re a brat, you know that?”
I feel his Adam’s apple roll with a swallow, his eyelids drooping.
“Gonna punish me, Saint Seba?” He rasps, teeth catching his bottom lip as he arches—
It’s then that I realize my thigh is wedged between his legs. Each breath rocks him against me. A tiny sound vibrates from his throat— so quiet, it’s barely a pant, but it slides down my spine, taking a rush of blood with it. There’s no stopping my body’s primal response.
Or his.
The evidence of my effect on him digs into my hip.
A deviant smile unfurls on his lips.
It’s a lightning strike to the dome.
I’m exposed.
Because he’s not the only one hard.
I rip away, stumbling until my back hits the opposite wall. A dark, breathy chuckle reverberates off the ceiling, the floor, the fucking inside of my skull, following me as I retreat to my room and sink to the carpet against the locked door.
Fuck.