3. 3
By the time the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the lake had gone almost black.
After most of the afternoon on the water, Victor suggested a fire down by the shore.
Now I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs with my legs stretched toward the flames, pleasantly tired, an empty beer bottle dangling between my fingers.
The air had cooled quickly after sunset, and I'd pulled a sweatshirt over my tank top, although I'd left my shorts on.
The heat from the fire felt good against my bare legs.
Somewhere across the lake, something splashed in the darkness. Crickets chirped in the trees, and the fire popped loudly enough to make me jump.
Brandon laughed. "City girl."
"Shut up."
I smiled and sank deeper into the chair. This was nice.
Brandon crouched in front of the fire, poking at one of the logs with a long stick. He'd insisted on building it himself, although judging from the amount of smoke he'd produced in the first ten minutes, building a fire wasn't among his many talents.
"You're smothering it," Victor said.
"I'm not smothering it."
"You keep moving everything around."
"I'm trying to get it to burn."
"It was burning," I said.
Brandon glanced over his shoulder. "Whose side are you on, Zoe?"
I lifted my empty bottle. "The side that doesn't freeze to death."
Victor laughed, and Brandon flipped me off, but he was smiling when he turned back to the fire.
"Leave it alone for a minute," Victor told him. "Give it some air."
This time Brandon listened. He sat back on his heels, and a moment later the flames caught along the edge of a stick, spreading upward in a bright orange curl.
"There you go," Victor said.
Brandon looked ridiculously pleased with himself, and I smiled.
There was something strange about seeing them like this after everything that had happened.
Brandon had spent years describing his father as if Victor were some monster from his childhood, a selfish man who had destroyed their family and never looked back.
Yet here they were beside the lake, arguing over a fire.
Except now, watching them together, something uncomfortable twisted beneath the satisfaction. I'd spent so long trying to convince Brandon to give his father another chance, and somehow, impossibly, it was working.
I should have been happy. I was happy.
But all I could think about was Victor's hands on me that morning.
One stupid mistake. One moment Brandon could never know about. And suddenly this thing I'd wanted so badly felt terrifyingly fragile.
I looked away from them and lifted my empty bottle.
"Anybody want another beer?"
"Yeah," Brandon said.
Victor nodded. "Thanks, Zoe."
I pushed myself out of the chair and headed toward the cabin. Behind me, Brandon said something I couldn't make out, Victor answered, and Brandon laughed. I glanced back before reaching the porch.
The fire flickered between them, casting orange light across their faces.
Victor stood beside his son with one hand tucked into his pocket while Brandon crouched beside the flames, poking experimentally at the logs again despite being specifically told not to.
Victor shook his head, but even from here I could see him smiling.
Something inside me loosened.
Maybe this was going to be all right.
I stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind me. The sudden quiet felt strange after the crackle of the fire and the murmur of their voices. I crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, letting the cold air spill over me as I reached inside and grabbed three beers.
I tucked two against my stomach and pressed the third to my forehead, closing my eyes as the cold glass touched my skin, and I sighed with relief.
Whatever had happened between Victor and me was over.
The thought came more easily now. We'd come here for Brandon.
That was what this weekend was supposed to be about, and Victor had finally remembered that.
Maybe what had happened between us had frightened him too, not because he regretted it necessarily, but because he'd finally understood what it could cost him.
I rolled the cold bottle across my forehead and down against my cheek, letting the chill soothe the lingering warmth beneath my skin. Everything was going to be all right.
"There you are."
I jumped and the cold bottle nearly slipped through my fingers. I turned to see Victor standing just inside the kitchen, the firelight from outside catching the hard edges of his jaw.
"I... I thought you were helping Brandon."
"He seemed to have it under control." Victor glanced through the window. "Just needed a little nudge."
I followed his gaze. "You two seem to be... getting along."
"Yeah." His expression softened as he watched Brandon. "It's good seeing him happy. I wish I'd been there for him more. But at least I can be there for him now."
"That's what he wants. Even if he doesn't always know how to say it."
Then he looked at me.
"And I'm glad I can be here with you too."
An unwelcome flutter hit me low in my stomach. "Brandon is happy," I said, although my voice had lost some of its certainty. "That's why we came, right? For him."
"Sure," Victor said and started toward me.
My pulse quickened with every step. I knew I should hold my ground, knew backing away would tell him more than I wanted him to know, but my body moved before I made the decision.
One step. Then another. The cold bottle was slick beneath my fingers, and I tightened my grip as Victor kept coming until the edge of the counter caught me across the lower back.
"You should... you should probably get back out there before he notices you're gone."
Victor smiled and plucked the beers from my hands, setting them down on the counter. His hands ended up on either side of me, resting on the counter's edge.
"We have time, Zoe. Plenty of time."
He was close enough now that I had to tip my face up to look at him, close enough that I caught the faint scent of smoke clinging to his shirt and the beer on his breath.
My heart was beating much too fast. I told myself it was nerves, that anyone would be nervous with her boyfriend's father standing this close after what had happened that morning, but my body knew better.
Heat was already gathering beneath my sweatshirt, prickling along my skin.
"V-Victor..." My voice caught, and I glanced past his shoulder toward the window.
Brandon was still silhouetted against the fire, close enough that I could make out the stick in his hand when he leaned forward to adjust one of the logs.
My stomach tightened. "Brandon could come in. He could turn around and see us."
"I know."
His eyes stayed on mine, and suddenly I was too aware of everything: the counter digging into my back, the refrigerator humming behind me, the sound of the lake lapping the beach drifting through the glass, and Victor standing close enough that one small movement would bring our bodies together.
"But you were fine out there," I whispered. "You acted like nothing happened."
"I tried."
"Then keep trying."
I ducked beneath his arm. A ridiculous little ache opened in my chest when he let me go.
It made no sense. This was what I'd wanted.
I'd wanted him to stop, and he had, yet some stupid part of me had expected his hand to close around my wrist or his voice to stop me before I made it two steps.
I hated myself for wanting that almost as much as I hated the disappointment when it didn't happen.
The cool air of the great room brushed my overheated skin as I left the kitchen behind.
I could still feel Victor there without looking back, could almost feel his eyes following me, but I forced myself toward the door.
Brandon was outside. All I had to do was walk another few yards and sit beside him.
Whatever had happened that morning could stay a mistake, and whatever had almost happened in the kitchen could become something neither Victor nor I ever mentioned again.
"Zoe."
My breath caught as Victor's hands caught my waist and pulled me back against him.
The sudden contact sent a shock through my whole body.
His chest pressed hard against my back, solid and hot through the thin layers between us, and his other arm came around me before I could find my balance.
His breath hit the side of my neck in short, heated bursts, stirring the loose strands of hair beneath my ear.
"V-Victor... we can't!"
"I've been trying all afternoon," he said against my ear. "I sat out there with my son and tried not to look at you. I tried not to think about being inside you."
His voice was rough now, nothing like the calm man who had been sitting beside the fire with Brandon.
I could feel the difference in him everywhere our bodies met, in the tension of the arm around my waist and the uneven rise of his chest against my back.
When he pulled me closer, the hard bulge beneath his jeans pressed against the curve of my ass.
I wiggled in his grip, but it only made it worse as I ground my ass into his crotch.
Suddenly, I remembered his cock, thick and heavy, stretching me open in ways Brandon never could.
My pussy started to weep, soaking through my shorts.
"Brandon is your son," I tried again, squirming in his grip, but every movement only made me hotter and wetter.
"I know."
"Then how can you do this?" My voice faltered. I could see the dark windows beyond the couch, the fire throwing an occasional orange shimmer across the glass. Somewhere beyond them Brandon was still waiting for me. "How can you do this to him?"
"How can you?"