10. Dane Gallagher #2
There’s too much in it—too much need, too much I’ve kept buried for too long.
She lets out a soft moan against my mouth, and it hits me harder than anything else.
Everything in me tightens. The feeling deepens and sharpens. I can’t think past it—not past the warmth of her, the way she moves against me, the way she holds on like she doesn’t want me to pull away.
Whatever control I had left is gone.
The kiss shifts, deepening without either of us holding back. My mouth moves against hers with an urgency I can’t hide anymore. It’s messy and intense—years of silence breaking all at once.
Her tongue brushes mine, and the sensation hits harder this time. She makes another quiet sound, and it goes straight through me.
My grip in her hair tightens without thinking as I shift closer, the space between us gone. The press of her against me, the warmth of her breath, the way her fingers hold me there—it’s overwhelming, and still not enough.
I’m aware of how easily this could go further if I let it. And that’s the problem. Because it’s not simply physical. That would be easier to ignore.
This is something deeper. Something I’ve refused to name.
And there’s relief in it. Like a part of me I’ve kept locked away from her has finally been seen.
I feel opened up by her in a way I don’t know how to handle. Like she’s reached straight into the one place I’ve kept off-limits and made it impossible to pretend it doesn’t exist.
I kiss her harder, and she meets me with the same intensity. Her fingers hold me there like she doesn’t want me to pull away. Whatever restraint I had left slips further out of reach.
The world narrows down to this—her mouth, her breath, the way she moves against me like she’s been holding this back as well.
Everything else fades. There’s just this—too much and not enough at the same time.
Finally, I pull back just enough to breathe, my forehead resting against hers. My lips still brush hers between breaths, like I don’t quite know how to stop.
Her breathing is uneven, and every small sound pulls me further in.
I’m not steady anymore. Or careful. I’m only one step away from losing whatever control I have left. Because something’s been set loose that we can’t put back.
If she kisses me again, I don’t know what’ll happen next.
“Charlotte.” My voice comes out rough.
She blinks up at me in the dim light. “Yes, Dane?”
I force myself to lean back a fraction more, putting space between us even though everything in me resists it.
“This isn’t right.”
Confusion flickers across her face immediately, her brow pulling together as she tries to understand.
“Was it a bad kiss? Did I do it wrong?”
Nothing’s ever felt like that before.
“No—the kiss…” I cut myself off before I can say too much, forcing it into something safer. “It was perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to gather the right words.
“Us kissing,” I say finally. “That’s what’s wrong.”
She just looks at me. “Why?”
It’s a simple question. There’s no simple answer.
I don’t reply right away. Because the second I say it out loud, there’s no taking it back.
But I don’t have a choice.
“Because you’re my sister.”
Charlotte lets out a short laugh. “You’ve never called me that. Pretty sure you said I’d never be your sister.”
That hits harder than she knows.
She’s not wrong. I spent years treating her like she didn’t belong in the family. Back then, calling her my sister felt like giving in—like accepting something I didn’t want to be true.
“You made it pretty clear you didn’t see me that way. So why the change of heart?”
Because the truth is worse than the version I believed when I was twelve years old.
“I say it because you actually are.”
Her head tilts as she studies me. “What are you talking about?”
“Ryan told me something before he died. He overheard a conversation between your mum and my dad.”
Charlotte shifts, sitting up a little straighter. “What kind of conversation?”
“A serious one. About you.”
She inhales deeply. “Okaaay.”
“They thought they were alone. Ryan was nearby and heard everything.” My voice sounds off, even to me, but I push through it. “He said they were talking about when to tell you the truth.”
Her brow furrows. “What truth?”
There’s no easy way to say it, so I just go for it. “You weren’t just adopted by my dad. He was your father.”
Which means he was having an affair with Tara while he was still married to Mum. She had it right all along. And I hate that he did that to her.
“Ryan said Dad wanted to tell you after the sailing trip. He thought you were old enough to understand.”
Charlotte just stares at me.
“You’re not my step or adopted sister. You’re my half-sister.”
Silence fills the space between us. Then she shakes her head.
“No.”
Disbelief shows in her face, but I don’t argue. I’ve had two years to accept it. She’s had two seconds.
“No, Dane. I don’t want that to be true.”
“I don’t either.”
She reaches out, looping her pinkie around mine. “Tell me why you don't want it to be true.”
My gaze drops to our hands. I stare at where our fingers hook together, saying nothing.
“Dane,” she says quietly. “Tell me.”
There are a hundred ways to dodge it. A hundred ways to soften it, redirect it, avoid saying it out loud. But she’s watching me, waiting. She isn’t going to let this go.
“Because it complicates things between us.”
She frowns. “What does that mean?”
The words are a boulder sitting in my throat. “Charlotte—”
“Say what you mean, Dane.”
There’s no room left to hide.
I close my eyes for a second, then look at her. “It complicates things because I’m in love with you.”
There. I said it. And now the words are irreversible.
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then something in her softens.
“I’m in love with you too.”
It’s so simple, the way she says it, nearly knocks the breath out of me.
For a split second, something in me lifts—reckless and desperate—like maybe this changes everything.
Then it crashes back down.
“No.” I shake my head, shifting back, forcing space between us before I lose whatever control I have left. “Charlotte… we can’t.”
Her brow furrows. “Why not?”
She keeps looking at me, waiting.
“You know why. We just…” I pull my hand away from hers. “We don’t get to do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because siblings don’t fall in love. And they definitely don’t—” I stop myself from finishing, but it doesn’t matter. The kiss is still there between us.
“But we already did,” she says.
“It was a kiss,” I say quickly. “That’s all.”
Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. A kiss isn’t all this is. I’ve felt this too long. Thought about it more than I should have. Wanted things I had no right to want.
Charlotte is watching me. “You’re trying to make this smaller. Like it doesn’t matter. But I kissed you. And you kissed me back.”
“You didn’t know the truth. I did. I should’ve stopped it.”
She shakes her head, like she’s trying to make sense of it. “But you didn’t stop it. It happened. And I liked it.”
I liked it too.
“This can’t be happening.” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, but it’s too late. The first tear slips down her cheek, and something in my chest cracks at the sight of it.
“Hey, come here.”
I reach for her without thinking. She doesn’t hesitate—just folds into me, her face pressing into my shoulder as the rest of the tears come.
For a while, neither of us says anything. We just hold on.
All those years of distance, the tension, the things we never said—they seem to unravel in silence as the weight of this settles between us.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says against my chest.
“I know.”
“I tried not to feel it, but I couldn’t make it stop.”
“Same.”
My arms tighten around her, because I do understand. Too well. We both tried to ignore it, push it down, pretend it wasn’t there. And it didn’t matter. It grew anyway.
Now it’s here, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
She pulls back enough to look up at me, her eyes wet. “What do we do now?”
I already know the answer. I’ve known it since the first time I realized what I felt and understood exactly how impossible it was. I just never wanted to say it out loud.
“We do nothing.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“We don’t do anything.”
Her expression tightens. “Dane—”
I need to say the words before I do something stupid. “We can’t change how we feel. But we can’t act on it either.”
She stares at me, shaking her head. “So that’s it?”
I nod once. “That’s it. We just have to live with it.”
But it’s not that simple, and we both know it.
“When we were kids, all I ever wanted was to be your sister. Now there’s nothing I want less.”
Silence settles over the shelter again, heavier now that everything’s out in the open. The line between us has never been clearer.
For a while, neither of us moves.
She stays tucked against me, her head under my chin, my arms around her like they settled there on their own. We’ve never been this close. Not like this.
For years we shared the same space but kept our distance—separate sides, separate routines, only crossing paths when we had to.
Now she’s here, against me in a way that makes it hard to think about anything else. And neither of us is ready to be the one who lets go.
She shifts, settling in. Without thinking, I pull her a little closer. It feels instinctive. Protective. Something I probably shouldn’t look at too closely.
We stay like that, quiet in the dark.
Too close.
And somehow, still not close enough.