Chapter 6
Wren
The door closes behind Edie, and all hell breaks loose.
“You absolute…” Nick’s voice breaks as he shoves me hard in the chest. The impact knocks me back into the hallway table, a photo frame of the family clattering to the floor.
The pain blossoms across my ribs, but I’m not done. I’ve been waiting for this moment for two years. The moment Nick finally drops his perfect politician act and shows his true colors.
“Feel better?” I ask, straightening, working my shoulders like nothing bothers me.
“Nicholas!” Mom gasps, horrified, but he’s already moving toward me again, face flushed with rage.
I catch his wrist before he can grab me, twisting just enough to make him stop. “That’s your one free shot, dumbass. Next time, I’ll put you through that wall. Don’t act like I can’t.”
“You screwed her in our parents’ bathroom!” Nick’s voice cracks with disbelief. “During Christmas dinner!”
“And?” I release him, stepping back, brushing off my sleeve like he’s nothing. “She’s not your girlfriend anymore. Hasn’t been for six months.”
“That’s not the point…”
“That’s exactly the point.” I turn to the room full of stunned relatives and family friends, frozen mid-gawk.
“Nick dumped Edie because she didn’t fit his image.
Called her too much when she’s perfect. Said she was too loud at parties, too proud of her job, too everything that makes her who she is. ”
“Wren,” Dad warns, his voice that low growl that used to make us both shut up as kids. “Now’s not the time.”
“When is the time, then?” I shoot back, the laugh that escapes me as brittle as the broken photo frame. “When Nick brings home another polite woman he’ll treat like a prop? When he finally runs for office and needs a Stepford wife for campaign photos?”
“At least I have ambition.” Nick’s voice shakes, the golden-boy sheen cracking. “At least I’m not wasting my life playing with motorcycles.”
“I’m building something tangible. You’re just auditioning for approval.” I take a step closer. “What are you doing besides trying to become Dad 2.0?”
“Enough!” Dad snaps, the authority in his voice cutting through the chaos. “Both of you, in my office. Now.”
Dad’s office, which we used to call the “computer room” in the 2000s, still has the same cracked leather chairs and dusty blinds from my childhood.
Same overstuffed chairs, same stupidly big desk from a big-box office store, same books no one’s read in decades, and that same disappointed silence.
We’re in our twenties, but the air in here makes us feel like we’re eight again.
“Explain yourself,” Dad says finally, eyes on me.
“Nothing to explain.” My heart is still hammering, but my voice is steady. “I want Edie. She wants me. End of story.”
“She’s your brother’s ex-girlfriend,” Mom says, coming into the room behind us. “There are rules, Wren. Boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” I laugh. More like a hiccup, really. “Like when Nick knew I liked her and went after her anyway? Like when he brought her to Christmas dinner just to rub it in my face?”
“That’s not—” Nick starts.
“December, two years ago,” I cut in. “You showed me her picture at Thanksgiving. Saw my face. Months later, you asked her out.” I meet his gaze dead-on. “Tell them that’s not true.”
Nick’s silence is all the confirmation I need.
Dad turns toward him. “You pursued a woman because your sister wanted her?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” I demand. “Because from where I’m standing, you saw something I wanted and had to take it. Just like always. My guitar when we were kids. My role in the high school play. My friends. My space.”
“You’re bringing up high school?”
“I’m establishing a pattern.” I rake a hand through my hair. “But this time, you didn’t just steal something—you broke it. You got the girl, then tossed her aside because she wasn’t shiny enough for your goddamn image.”
“She wasn’t right for me…”
“No, she’s perfect for me.” The words come out rougher than I mean them to, but I don’t care. “And now she’s mine.”
Mom’s hand flies to her chest like she’s been slapped.
“For how long?” Nick sneers. “Until you get bored? Until the next woman shows up at your shop with a sob story?”
“Forever, if she’ll have me.”
That shuts him up. The room goes still, the air heavy with disbelief. Even I can hear how much truth sits in those words. Two years of wanting her, watching her shrink under him—and now that I’ve had her, there’s no going back.
“You can’t be serious,” Mom says softly. “You’ve known her for what, two days?”
“I’ve known her our whole lives!” I remind them.
“And I’ve watched her kill pieces of herself trying to be what Nick wanted.
Saw the light go out of her eyes every time he corrected her.
Every time he made her smaller.” I glance at him.
“You had a woman who lit up a room, and you treated her like a broken light bulb.”
“I tried to help her—”
“You tried to change her.”
My phone buzzes on the table. It’s a text from Edie. “Parked outside your place. Your neighbors are getting a show. Changing in my car.”
My breath stutters. I can almost see her, with that red dress bunched around her waist, and heat rushes through me. I’m slightly embarrassed. I pocket the phone before anyone notices.
“I’m leaving,” I announce.
“Wren, we’re not finished,” Dad bloviates.
“I am.” I head to the door. “Nick, if you show up at my place, I’ll call the cops. Mom, Dad, I love you both, but this isn’t your fight. And if anyone else here has opinions… for the Lord’s sake, keep them to yourselves.”
“You’re really choosing her over your family?” Mom’s voice trembles, as if that were ever a cause for concern.
“I’m choosing her over Nick’s ego. There’s a difference. The rest of you can decide whether you want to be part of our lives or not.”
I’m halfway through the doorway when Nick barks at me. “She’s only with you to get back at me.”
I turn, beholding the desperation in his eyes.
He really believes that, huh? “No, man. She’s with me because I see her.
The real her. Not some project to be improved, but a goddess who deserves to be worshipped.
” I pause long enough for the silence to sting.
“And tonight, that’s exactly what I plan to do. ”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m honest. Something you might try sometime.”
I leave them with that, boots loud on the old wood floors, the air behind me thick with shock and Mom’s choked sobs.
I take the stairs two at a time to my childhood room, grab the overnight bag I’d optimistically packed, and head out the side door before anyone can stop me.
The house is in chaos behind me—voices raised, dishes clattering, Dad trying to restore order.
Not my problem anymore.
Outside, the rain has started again, a steady coastal drizzle that slicks the driveway and glistens under the yellow porch light. The bruise on my chest throbs, a physical echo of everything I’ve just burned down.
The drive to my apartment is torture. The road curves along the dark water, headlights catching something that might be sleet.
Every red light feels like punishment, every slow turn another test of restraint.
Knowing Edie’s waiting—probably still feeling the ghost of my hands, the mark of my mouth—makes me drive faster than I should.
When I pull into the garage, her Honda is parked in the visitor spot, droplets jeweled across its hood. She’s standing beside it in different clothes, jeans and a soft gray sweater that looks stolen from my high school closet. Her hair is down, and her skin is flushed from the chill.
“Hey,” she says, shy in a way that undoes me.
“Hey yourself.” I cross the wet pavement and pull her against me, needing confirmation of her warmth. “You okay?”
“Better now.” She melts against me, warm, even though her clothes are damp.
“Your family?” she asks.
“Losing their minds.” I can’t help the wry grin. “Nick shoved me.”
Her eyes widen. She touches my chest where the bruise is darkening, her fingertips feather-light. “He hurt you?”
“Worth it.” I catch her hand and press a kiss to her palm. “Come on, let’s get inside before someone calls the cops for public indecency.”
My apartment is exactly as I left it, coffee mug on the counter, a jacket tossed over the couch, and the smell of motor oil lurking beneath a cheap apple-cinnamon air freshener. But Edie in the doorway changes everything. The space feels warmer, alive, like she belongs here.
“Want a drink?” I ask because it’s something to say, and my mouth needs preoccupying.
“Want you,” she says instead, and the words hit me like Nick’s hands. Only I like it.
“Edie…”
“I’ve been feeling you inside me all through dessert.” Her voice trembles, but she keeps going. “Every time I moved, I could feel where you’d been. It made me so crazy I thought someone would notice.”
“Jesus.” I grab her waist, pulling her against me. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” She rocks her hips against mine, slow, deliberate. “I need you again. Need you to make me forget everything but your name.”
I kiss her hard, walking her backward through the apartment, bumping into walls and laughter breaking between gasps. “I need to see you properly this time,” I murmur against her mouth. “All of you.”
“Please,” she breathes.
In my bedroom, I force myself to slow down. The bathroom had been frantic. This, I want to savor. To make her feel how wanted she is.
“Strip,” I tell her softly. “Slowly.”
She hesitates but obeys, pulling the sweater over her head.
The lamplight turns her skin gold, her hair dark silk over her shoulders.
Her black lace bra is nearly transparent.
My throat is dry. Then the jeans—unzipped, peeled down inch by inch, revealing matching underwear that I totally felt earlier but didn’t see.
“Leave the underwear,” I say when she reaches for the elastic. My voice lowers. “I want to unwrap you myself.”