3. Kelsey
Kelsey
The morning light spills through my curtains, too bright, too sharp. My thighs ache in a way that makes heat crawl up my neck. I pull the sheet tighter, fingers digging into the fabric.
What the hell was I thinking?
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. I finally made a move. And not just on my stepfather… even my stepuncle.
But I couldn't help it.
I wanted to try.
The thought coils low in my belly, shame and something darker twisting together. I press my palms to my cheeks, but the heat doesn't fade.
I don't know if I can face them. But do know I can't stay away.
So I stand, passing by the mirror before heading out.
The camisole clings to my skin, damp in places I don't want to think about. I tug the straps into place, my fingers trembling just enough to betray me.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and step into the hallway.
The scent of sizzling bacon and buttery pancakes curls through the house as I descend, but it does nothing to settle the knot twisting tighter in my gut. Every step down the stairs feels like walking toward a verdict… one I'm not sure I'm ready to hear.
My fingers curl around the banister, knuckles whitening as last night's words echo in my skull. The way Kieran's voice dropped to that rough, possessive growl. The way Kyler's gaze burned through me like he already owned every secret I'd ever kept.
I pause at the kitchen threshold, my breath catching.
I can't believe Kieran Dalton can make mid-forties look this good.
His broad shoulders block most of the stove, his short, tousled silver-gray hair catching the morning light as he flips pancakes with practiced ease. His full, neatly trimmed gray beard frames his strong jaw, making the silver fox look even more imposing.
The muscles in his forearms flex beneath his rolled-up sleeves, his calloused hands moving with surprising familiarity around the kitchen. When he finally glances over his shoulder, his copper hazel eyes find me immediately.
I turn, my eyes landing on Kyler Dalton.
He is leaning against the counter like he owns the place, which, I guess, he kind of does.
He has the kind of presence that makes the room feel smaller, his muscular, athletic frame filling out his clothes effortlessly.
His short dark-brown hair is slightly tousled, and his thick, neatly trimmed beard frames his strong jaw.
His pewter gray eyes are sharp as they lock onto me, giving nothing away.
There's no smile, no softening in his expression, just that same unshakable confidence that makes my pulse stutter.
His arms are crossed over his chest, the extensive tattoos stretching across his shoulders, chest, and arms shifting with the movement, while his calloused hands rest against his biceps.
I swear I can feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch.
I look away and force my feet to move, sliding onto the stool at the island. The leather creaks under me, too loud in the suffocating silence. My fingers tap restlessly against the granite, my throat dry.
How the hell am I supposed to act normal after last night?
Kieran turns, spatula in hand, his eyes sweeping over me. There's something almost predatory in the way he takes me in, like he's memorizing every detail, every breath. "Morning," he rumbles, voice rough from disuse.
"Morning," I manage, my voice embarrassingly small.
Kyler pushes off the counter, his movements fluid, controlled, as he reaches for the coffee pot.
"Coffee?" His voice is low, rough, the kind of tone that makes my stomach flip.
I nod too quickly, my fingers brushing against the handle. The heat seeps into my skin, grounding me. "Please."
He pours, the stream of coffee dark and rich, filling the mug with a quiet hiss. When he hands it to me, his fingers brush mine, the callouses on his knuckles scraping lightly against my skin.
"Careful," he murmurs. "It's hot."
"Thanks." The word comes out breathier than I intend.
Kieran sets a plate in front of me without a word…
fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and pancakes.
My stomach growls, but the food might as well be sawdust with how nervous I am.
Still, I pick up my fork, the metal cold against my fingers, and stab at the eggs.
The tines scrape against the plate, the sound grating in the silence.
No one speaks.
The quiet stretches, thick and suffocating, pressing down on me until I can barely breathe. I can feel their eyes on me… Kieran's steady, assessing, Kyler's sharp, knowing. My skin prickles under the weight of their attention, my pulse hammering in my throat.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, and take a sip of coffee. It burns all the way down, bitter and scalding, but it grounds me.
"We need to talk about last night."
Kyler finally breaks it, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He pushes away from the counter, his shoes thudding against the hardwood as he steps closer.
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth, the eggs forgotten. The metal trembles in my grip, and I set it down carefully, my fingers curling into my lap. "Yes." The word is barely a whisper.
Kieran's copper eyes darken, his jaw tightening. "Why did you give both of us permission?"
My fingers twist in my lap, the truth clawing up my throat before I can stop it. "Because I've had a crush on both of you for months." The admission burns, raw and unfiltered. "And I didn't want to risk things getting weird if I just… asked."
Kyler's breath hitches, his pewter gaze sharpening. The air between us crackles, thick with something I can't name. My cheeks flame, but I don't look away.
Kieran takes the seat across from me, his massive frame dwarfing the stool. His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering, intense. There's no hesitation in his voice when he speaks, no room for doubt. "But we need to know…"
"Which one of us you want," Kyler finishes, his voice rough, almost impatient.
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. My heart slams against my ribs, so hard I'm sure they can hear it. My breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, my chest tight.
I stare down at my coffee, the dark liquid reflecting the overhead lights, and try to gather the courage to say what I've been avoiding since last night. Since the moment I realized I didn't want to choose.
How do I tell them I want them both?
My throat works, my fingers twisting together in my lap. "I like…" The words stick, my voice cracking under the weight of their stares.
"I like—"
Then my phone rings.
The shrill sound slices through the tension, and I jump so hard my knee knocks against the island. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the mug, and I lunge for my phone, my fingers fumbling over the screen.
The name flashing across the display makes my stomach drop.
It's my friend.
I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end is sharp, impatient. "Kelsey, where are you? You should have left the house by now."
My face burns, my fingers tightening around the phone. "Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm getting ready right now." I scramble off the stool, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Kieran stands immediately, his eyes narrowing, but I can't look at him.
I can't look at either of them.
Kyler's lips quirk, amusement flickering in his pewter eyes despite the interruption. "Finish what you were saying."
I ignore him, shoving my phone into my pocket and grabbing my plate. The eggs are cold now, congealed, but I scrape them into the sink anyway, the fork clattering against the porcelain. The coffee follows, the dark liquid swirling down the drain.
My hands shake as I rinse the mug, the water too hot against my skin.
Kieran's voice rumbles behind me, low and unyielding. "You're not getting out of this conversation."
I turn, my back pressing against the counter. My fingers grip the edge, the cool granite grounding me. "I know. But I have to go."
Kyler folds his arms, his biceps flexing beneath the tattoos. "We'll finish it later."
I nod, my cheeks burning, my pulse roaring in my ears. "Later."
Then I bolt.
The stairs blur beneath my feet, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I take them two at a time. My room is a sanctuary, the door clicking shut behind me like a lock engaging. I lean against it, my forehead pressing into the wood, and finally let out the breath I've been holding.
My fingers tremble as I press them to my lips, my mind racing. I didn't tell them. I didn't say the words. But the truth is written in every look, every touch, every unspoken moment between us.
I want them both.
And there's no pretending anymore.
* * *
The bathroom mirror fogs slightly as I exhale, my breath curling in the chilled air. My fingers trace the edge of my lipstick, just a swipe of berry-stained gloss today, nothing too bold, before I snap the cap back on with a satisfying click.
The cognac curls of my hair tumble over my shoulders, still damp from the shower, and I rake a hand through them, fluffing the waves into place. My reflection stares back at me.
I snatch my bag off the counter, the leather strap cool against my palm, and rush down the stairs, my shoes thudding softly against the wood.
Kyler is still there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his dark beard catching the morning light like threads of pewter. His gaze lifts the second I step into the room, those gray eyes sharpening as they sweep over me.
"That was quick." The words are low, rough, like gravel underfoot, but there's a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
I tilt my head, feigning confusion. "What was?"
"Getting ready." He takes a sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact. "You usually take long."
I roll my eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "And how the hell would you know that?"
Kyler just shrugs, the movement pulling at the fabric of his shirt, the sleeves straining slightly over the tattoos snaking up his forearms. "I pay attention."