Casey
C onsciousness tickles the edges of my mind, pulling me from a heavy, dreamless sleep, but as flashes of last night flash behind my closed lids, instead of opening them, utter humiliation squeezes them tighter.
My mind weaves through the memories, each sending me deeper beneath the heavy, charcoal gray comforter and soft, white cotton sheets as flames of mortification race over my body. All the drinks, the dancing, the things I said. Dear Lord, did I really ask Jagger to “teach me sex”?
And Graham. Ugh.
I rub a sore spot on my arm as everything replays in slow motion. My stomach twists painfully as the anxiety builds.
“Open your eyes, Sunflower.”
The memory of his rough voice commanding me as he…
But no. That can’t be right.
My fingers grip my head, pressing my thumbs into my temples. It wasn’t real, . You know that. Graham would never do that except in your stupidly overactive imagination.
A loud bang makes my eyes spring open. My thundering heart leaps into my throat. I slip out of my bed, fear lodging in my throat despite knowing no one can get in my apartment without the code, and I search for my phone, ready to call nine-one-one.
It’s not here, and neither is my purse.
Another loud crash makes me jump.
Then footsteps sound across the hardwoods of my apartment. It sounds like it’s in the living room. My breath hitches as I look around my sunflower-decorated room for anything that can be used as a weapon, frustrated when all I see are my pretty yellow throw pillows, plushies, and a book.
It sounds as if the footsteps are getting closer, coming this way. My hands clap over my mouth to muffle a whimper of fear that works its way up my throat.
Call it desperation, but I grab the only thing I have and dash to the door. I press myself tightly to the wall beside it and hold my breath, praying whoever it is doesn’t come in here.
It sounds as if they’re right outside my door. Sweat trickles down my spine. My knees shake so hard it’s difficult to stand. I choke down a sob as the knob turns but somehow force my eyes to stay open.
With a scream, I swing, catching the intruder off guard. I land two hits to a wide back before I drop my weapon and take off down the hallway. I’m in the living room when a thick arm cords my waist, lifting me off my feet. Tears stream down my cheeks as I thrash and flail. “Please don’t hurt me.” I kick some more, but it’s pointless. I can’t get free.
“Will you stop thrashing like a feral cat?”
I freeze, eyes going wide, and look at the arm wrapped around my waist. Beautiful filigree scrollwork weaves up to a banner with his family name across it and to a shield with a knight’s helmet adorning the top. I was always fascinated by that tattoo as a child.
My eyes track up, meeting his gaze with his stupid judgy eyebrow. “What are you doing here?” It comes out all breathless from running through the apartment, scared out of my wits.
His mouth puckers, eyes narrowed as he sets me on my feet. I turn around, folding my arms across my chest. “I brought you home last night, remember?”
Of course, I remember, even though I wish I didn’t. I thought when you got drunk, you didn’t remember the humiliating things you said or did, but I would never get that lucky.
I quickly rush across my cold floors before he can see the flames rushing up my chest. “I thought you left,” I mutter. After grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I turn to the sink and fill it from the tap. I need something to take my mind off his presence. I hate how nervous he makes me, though it’s not really nerves. It’s this stupid twisting in my stomach that I desperately need to go away. “W-why are you still here?”
“I wasn’t leaving you like that.” My spine turns to steel as his breath brushes my neck. How did I not hear him coming? A hand lands on either side of me, and goosebumps skitter across my skin. What is he doing? “I administered fluids and vitamins. I stayed in the chair in your room to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit or break your neck in case you got up.” The words are so clinical and rational, but the way he says them…
I ignore the butterflies taking flight in my stomach, turn, and place my hands on his chest, trying to push him away because I can’t breathe—or rather, I can, but all I’m breathing is him . He moves a fraction but is still crowding me. My heart somersaults as I swallow and try for stern. “Hydration therapy? You gave me an IV ? Isn’t that a little invasive? And a complete lack of consent.”
Head tilting to the side, he narrows his eyes at me. His jaw shifts, and the annoyance and anger in his eyes become glaring. “You tried to drink the club’s entire vodka and tequila supply last night, and I’m wrong for trying to take care of you? I guess you wanted a hangover from hell.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me.”
He doesn’t seem to appreciate when I say that. The fury swirling in his eyes turns volcanic, and he looks ready to strangle me. But what does he expect? It’s true. I’m not his concern. He washed his hands of me years ago, and I understand it. But it still freaking hurt like hell.
“Of course it’s my job. You’re mine. ”
What? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe when I was younger I felt like his, but I know he didn’t feel the same. Or at least he didn’t mean it the same, but the way he said it tears through me, causing me to shudder. “N-no, I’m not.”
He wants to argue. It’s written across his face. Obvious by the tilt of his mouth—if his mouth turns down anymore, he might start baring teeth. “I’m not arguing with you right now. I have other things I want answers to, starting with why in the hell you don’t have any food in this place outside enough Ramen to feed a village? Why are you even buying that shit?”
“I haven’t had time to shop.”
His chest rumbles. I seem to push his buttons, but I don’t understand why. After years away, why does he care again? It’s making my head spin. “Lying comes awfully easy to you now, Sunflower.”
“Don’t pretend you know me.” I snap as anger that he does know me—that he saw straight through my deceit—laps at my frayed nerves. I shove at his chest again, and he allows me to move him. I stalk toward the door and yank it open. “You can see yourself out now.” I wave my hand, gesturing for him to leave.
His left eye twitches and his fists clench at his side. He walks—more like stalks toward me. His fingers grip my jaw, forcing my attention on him. “I’m going to go because you need food, but when I get back, we will talk.”
I jerk away as humiliation burns my eyes. “Don’t bother coming back, Graham. I’m not your problem, and I won’t open the door.”
He smirks. Why does he smirk? “See you in fifteen, Sunflower.”
I close the door and drift to the sofa. My head drops into my hands as I fall onto the plush, fluffy cushions, sinking deep into the comfort and wishing it would absorb me.
“Lying comes awfully easy to you now, Sunflower. ”
He’s wrong. It doesn’t come easy. Each one tears away another piece of me. I’ve been doing it for so long, I’m surprised I have anything left.
But what was all of that before? The invasion of my personal space. The mine thing. That look… I shiver as I picture those near-black eyes raking over every inch of my body, and I wonder if last night…
No. That didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. He would never do that—any of it. He doesn’t see me sexually or otherwise. I’m letting my imagination get the best of me.
And I’m realizing my subconscious—and body—didn’t get the memo. We don’t have a crush on Graham anymore, dammit.
I’m wallowing in my guilt over lying and over my irrational anger, overthinking every second of our interaction, and almost panicking that I’m falling back into the same toxic delusions with my eyes closed and head resting against the soft cushions when my phone rings. I follow the sound until I find the tiny bag I use as a purse sitting on the console table by the door. My fingers dip inside, wrap around the screaming device, and bring it to my ear without glancing at the screen.
“Hello?” My voice breaks from so much anxiety running through me.
“Just wanted to let you know your dad is on his way, so if you don’t want any awkward dad-stepbrother face-off, make sure you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious are decent.” Even without seeing her, I can see her good-natured, taunting smirk.
I want to roll my eyes, but my brain is stuck on one part. “Why is Dad coming over?”
“There is some drama involving Blaze he needs to sort, so he’s on his way to his office and said he was going to stop by to drop off your bag you left at the club. Which is…”
“Code for checking up on me,” I finish when she trails off.
“Bingo. Case, I’ve been trying to get him to tell me, but he won’t budge. So do you want to fill me in on why Liam has flipped some weird fucking dad switch since Graham showed up? I never say anything about the twice-a-week dates or ask questions when he pulls you to the side, but the tension in him has gotten really high, and it all coincides with your stepbrother’s appearance.”
I sigh as I walk through the apartment to the glass door leading to the terrace. I slide the door open and step out, going to the bright yellow chaise lounge, deciding maybe some sun will ease this strange feeling in my chest. This feeling of… Well, that my world is about to be flipped on its ear. For better or worse is TBD.
The sun beats down on my skin, instantly warming the chill my anxiety caused as I consider what to tell Lily. She deserves to know. My dad is keeping secrets from her because they’re my secrets. It makes me feel like shit, but I’m grateful he’s always felt our business was separate from theirs. Though, a few weeks ago, I was giving him such hell because he kept their business away from me. I’m a hypocrite of epic proportions. But I’m not ready to tell her yet. “Can I promise to tell you one day? Just not today?”
“Yes. I know I’m pushy, but I won’t force you to tell me anything you don’t want. But only if you promise you’re okay. That I don’t need to worry about you.”
Relief that she doesn’t push and guilt that she’s so understanding—somewhat out of character for my bossy, controlling best friend—spreads through my chest. “I promise,” I mumble. “Did you… Um, did you mention to Dad that Graham is the one who brought me home?”
I close one eye as I wait for her response. “Why do you think I’m so fucking curious about what the deal is?”
My entire face scrunches as I lift my thumb and middle fingers against my eyes. My stomach does a double backhand spring, and nausea punches me in the solar plexus. “Okay. So maybe Dad knows about the crush I had on Graham when I was younger and has been wary of him ever since.”
It’s the truth enough, right?
“Hmm. Maybe I should remind him that Graham is not actually your brother.”
“Lily, don’t you dare,” I screech.
“Fine. I’ll mind my business. For now. But if he gets overbearing and nuts with you, I will… I’ll hold out on him until he behaves.” I gag but don’t respond because there’s no point. Lily will do what Lily wants, and I will hide in my room until the storm passes. “Now, spill on all the sexy stepbrother deets. Please tell me: did he bend you over and call you his good girl?”
My face turns to fire, and I don’t need a mirror to know it’s turned every shade of red in the spectrum. “No!” At this rate, the neighbors will knock on my door to ask me to go back inside. “Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. He’s my stepbrother, remember?”
“So. Not like you’re actually related. No blood shared means you can swap DNA all night long. And all day.”
Lord, once her brain latches on to something, you need the jaws of life to pry it loose. She doesn’t care about the stigma. Forbidden isn’t even part of her vocabulary. If she wants it, she takes it, and she cannot understand why everyone doesn’t do the same.
“It doesn’t matter. I told you. He doesn’t see me that way. I’m the little girl he found crying in the library because I wanted my dad. The girl my dad asked him to watch out for.” I learned that secret not long after my accident. “I keep telling you, but you aren’t listening.”
“Yeah, whatever, Sunflower . I hoped after you sobered up, he would get you punch-drunk on his dick.” I groan. She laughs. “Okay. Okay. I’ll move on to something else.”
“What, I’m afraid?”
“How do you feel about him?”
See what I mean? Dog with a bone. “Ugh. I told you. I had a teenage girl crush. I was young and stupid, but I’ve long since moved on.” I huff when she chuckles. “I’m serious, Lily. I haven’t thought of Graham at all in years. I am over him.”
“Are you now?”