Chapter 8
Sleep wars against my consciousness. I’m unbelievably comfortable.
Warmth surrounds me. Strong arms pull me close.
A soft breath grazes my neck, matching the tempo of a hard chest breathing in and out.
A noise persists, worming into my awareness and dragging me to reality.
Someone is pulling into the driveway. I sit up, the illusion of comfort melting away.
“Shit!” I jump to my feet, startling the sleeping Derek, who moments before held me in his arms on the couch.
“What?” he asks, eyes bloodshot as he sits up and assesses the living room around him.
“I think they’re home! You need to get out of here.”
He rubs his face in his hands and chuckles. “Isabella, I live here too. I can be in the living room with you.”
I look around. It’s so apparent to me what happened here the night before—the smells, the empty bottles, the peanut butter jar on the counter, the disarray of throw blankets over the couch—but it could all be in my mind.
Last night, after I fucked a bear, there was a lot of explaining and understanding that needed to follow.
Derek was stuck. His knot engorged, trapping his semen inside of me.
I guess that’s why he debated whether my birth control would prevent a pregnancy.
I had no fucking idea of the fortitude of the tiny pill I popped every day.
It sure as hell better work because I’m not having bear-children with my fucking stepbrother.
Perhaps it was my one-beer buzz or the fact that I was still delirious from being fucked senseless, even the knot felt out of this world amazing after the pain passed, but I kind of just…
accepted that Derek was a bear. Well, only sometimes.
Like when he came. I wonder if that’s the only time it happens.
I didn’t care to ask last night. Just let him apologize as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck, cleaned me up, and carried me to the couch to cuddle.
Now with morning breathing down my neck, my mind races with everything I should have asked yesterday.
But there’s no time, because my parents fidget with their keys on the other side of the front door.
I right my pajamas and comb my fingers through my undoubtedly unruly hair. “Just go in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! It looks less obvious!” I push him off the couch and work on straightening up the cushions.
“Jesus Christ, you need a fucking Xanax.”
“Shut up! Hurry!”
Derek makes it to the kitchen island just as the front door swings open. My mom enters, eyes wide as she takes in the room before her. “Oh, honey. You’re up.”
“Yeah,” I say a little too eagerly.
She spots Derek. “Oh, and you're up too.”
“Yup.” Derek says as he works on filling up the coffee pot.
My stepdad enters, huffing as he drags two large rolling suitcases behind him. “Oh, good morning.” He eyes Derek skeptically.
“Coffee?” Derek offers.
My parents stare at him, not responding.
I’m internally screaming, sure they can tell what happened between us.
My mother breaks the silence, stepping into the kitchen and places her purse on the counter.
“I don’t think I’ve seen both of you up this early since you were in middle school on Christmas Day. ”
Derek motions a full coffee cup to me. “Blame this one. She loves to make noise, and apparently, our walls are super thin.”
Not a lie. Even if he is an asshole. I hope my parents don’t catch the obvious innuendo. Something about his confession calms my nerves, though, as if my parents are human lie-detector tests and saying somewhat the truth clears our name, even though they’re definitely not.
Darrell continues searching Derek suspiciously, joining my mom in the kitchen and resting the suitcases against the counter. “How was everything while we were gone?”
“Oh, fine,” I say too eagerly again.
Derek shoots me a pointed look. “Nurse of the year over here,” he says, almost sarcastically.
Darrell doesn’t seem convinced. He moves closer to Derek, still inspecting him.
I attempt to lighten the mood, “How was your trip?” I ask, sitting on the couch, still able to feel Derek’s warmth from under me.
Mom beams. “Oh, it was wonderful! Met lots of fans. Did a bunch of tourist stuff in the city, ate at fabulous restaurants.”
“Sounds nice. Seems like a faraway trip, though, for such a short time.”
“Yes, we were sad to leave, but I was dying to get back to you.”
“Oh…really?”
“Yes, because you'll never guess who we ran into while we were there.”
“At the conference?”
She shakes her head. “No, at a steakhouse on our last night.”
“Okay…”
“Lewis!”
“What?” My whole body heats. Why does she seem so fucking giddy about running into my newly ex-boyfriend? She'd better follow up with a story about how she keyed his car afterwards.
“Isn’t it kismet?” She beams.
“Um, why would it be?”
“Because, what are the odds that the three of us would be at the same restaurant all the way on the other side of the country?”
“Yeah, spooky,” I reply.
“Well, I had to invite him to dinner!”
“No, you didn’t?” Bile fills my throat.
“Yes, Isabella. He told us that he missed you and regrets breaking up with you!” She squeals, a smile on her face.
“He did?” I can’t believe it’s possible. Of course, I’m not over him, and the prospect that he regrets ending things with me sends my thoughts spiraling into an array of what-ifs.
“Yes!” She squeals.
Darrell clears his throat. “Fine young man. Always liked him.”
I raise a curious eyebrow. Darrell never seemed interested in any aspect of my life, let alone the men I date, but I don’t let his comment interrupt my lightning mood.
“When is he coming?” I ask.
I’m shaken by a coffee cup falling to the ground. Derek glares at me, fists clenched, face red, and jaw clamped. “Sorry. My shoulder hurts,” he says before turning to ascend the stairs.
Shit. I forgot he was in the room or even imagined he would care.
I should feel bad about appearing so obviously interested in the notion of my ex rekindling our relationship, especially after everything that just happened last night.
But Derek is my stepbrother. No matter what monster secrets and pleasures we shared, it doesn’t change the fact that any sort of relationship with him is completely inappropriate.
Besides, if Lewis really is regretful about our breakup and wants to get back together, I can move out—the answer to all of my problems. I can’t help but feel excited at the prospect.
“Well, that was dramatic,” Mom says with a laugh, returning her attention to me and away from the staircase.
“I’ll clean it up,” Darrell groans and grabs a broom from the entryway closet.
“Anyways, he’s coming tonight!”
“Tonight?”
“Yes! We both happened to be on the last night of our trip, so it worked out perfectly. It’s a good thing you’re up early because we have a lot to do!
” Mom pulls out her phone. “I’ve got to make you a hair appointment, get you a spray tan, and we have to figure out about catering.
” She stops her neurotic chattering and steps toward me, placing a hand on my cheek and examining me closely.
“I wonder if we could squeeze in some injectables.”
I push her hand away. “Mom!”
“Okay, fine. Another time. Let me get to work.” She holds her phone up to her ear, stomping away to plan my transformation.
I’m a flurry of emotions—nerves, anxiety about all there is to get ready, and a small, annoying nagging guilt for Derek’s feelings chirps at the back of everything.
I should go to him, explain all my thoughts, explain how this can’t happen between us, and Lewis is the most hopeful prospect I have in my life right now, but I stuff the idea away.
He’ll get over it. He doesn’t actually want to be with me.
Things between us are already too hairy—literally.