Chapter 2
DEX
Iwoke up to sunlight stabbing through the blinds like accusation, and for one blissful second, I didn’t remember.
Then it all came crashing back, and I wanted to put my fist through the wall.
I was still in my flat above the garage. Couldn’t face going home to that empty house last night. Not after what I’d done. The sheets were twisted around me like I’d been fighting in my sleep, which I probably had been, reliving the moment over and over.
Her face when I’d pulled away. The hurt in her eyes before the anger took over. The way she’d looked at me like I was something disgusting.
I deserved that look. Deserved worse.
I rolled out of bed and immediately regretted it. My head pounded. Not from the whiskey, that had worn off hours ago while I lay awake torturing myself. But from lack of sleep and too much thinking.
The feel of her was still on my skin. Her taste still in my mouth. The sounds she’d made when I’d kissed her neck, the way she’d fisted her hands in my shirt like she couldn’t get close enough, the heat of her body pressed against mine.
And her eyes. God, those eyes. Looking at me in that bar like she actually saw me. Not Dex the friend, not Dex the surrogate brother, not Dex who was always there to help. Just... me. The real me underneath all the roles I played.
For the first time in months, I’d felt alive. Present. Like I existed as my own person instead of as an extension of everyone else’s happiness.
And she was their sister.
Trace, Booker, Xander, and Gage’s sister.
The sister they’d just found out about. The sister they were meeting for the first time today.
The sister I’d had my hands all over last night. My mouth on hers. My body pressed against hers in a parking lot where anyone could have seen us.
“Jesus Christ, Moore,” I said to the empty room. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower as hot as it would go, trying to wash off the guilt that clung to me like oil. It didn’t work. Under the spray, all I could see was her face.
The way she’d laughed in the bar, free and uninhibited. The vulnerability when she’d talked about feeling like an outsider, about being afraid of not fitting in. The way she’d touched my arm and said it helped to know she wasn’t the only one feeling lost.
She’d been talking about them. About being nervous to meet her brothers. And I’d been so caught up in the connection between us, so desperate for someone to understand the loneliness that had been eating me alive for months, that I hadn’t put it together until she said the name.
The Farringtons.
My brothers. In every way that mattered, even if we didn’t share blood.
And I’d almost slept with their sister. Would have slept with her if she hadn’t mentioned them. Would have taken her home and spent the night learning every inch of her body, losing myself in her until morning.
Before she ever even met them.
The realisation of the level of betrayal it would have been made me feel sick.
I got out of the shower and stood dripping on the bath mat, staring at myself in the foggy mirror. I looked like hell. Dark circles under my eyes, jaw tight, the guilt written all over my face.
This was who I really was. Not the good friend, not the loyal brother, not the guy who was always there when they needed him. I was the asshole who couldn’t even meet their sister without trying to fuck her.
And then I’d made it worse. I’d tried to call someone to pick her up. Had actually started to dial Xander’s number. The look on her face when she’d realized what I was doing...
“Are you calling THEM?”
The disgust in her voice echoed in my head.
She’d been right to be disgusted. What kind of person does that? Gets someone worked up, backs off in a panic, and then tries to dump them on someone else like they’re a problem to solve?
And I’d let her leave. Alone. Drunk and angry in a town she didn’t know, with no idea if she’d make it back safely.
I’d stood in that parking lot watching her storm back into the bar, and I’d been too much of a coward to follow her. To make sure she got home okay. To do the one decent thing and at least see her safely to a cab.
I’d done nothing. Just stood there hating myself and then walked home.
Some protector I was.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I grabbed it with shaking hands, praying for a text from an unknown number. Something to tell me she’d made it back safely.
But it was just the group chat. My brothers.
Trace: Big day! Can’t wait for you all to meet Leigh.
Booker: She’s going to love the farm.
Xander: Be there at one. Blake’s at the gallery this morning but she should be there about the same time. She’s bringing Amelia too.
Gage: Billie and I are looking forward to it. I think the girls have been plotting about what embarrassing stories they can share.
I stared at the messages, my stomach churning. They were excited. Happy. Ready to welcome their sister into the family.
And I’d nearly destroyed that before it even started.
If anyone found out what happened last night—if she told them—they’d never forgive me. I’d lose them. Lose the only family I had left.
And I’d deserve it.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I should say something.
Confirm I’d be there. But what could I say that wouldn’t be a lie?
It was too late to back out now. I’d pulled that crap too much over the last couple of months, and Xander had told me in no uncertain terms that if I failed to show this time he was coming to get me himself.
I didn’t mean to push them away. Or at least I didn’t think I did.
But seeing the way their lives were changing into this perfect version was hard to watch.
Even if that did make me a selfish prick.
At least it was on brand with what I’d nearly done last night.
Dex: I’ll be there.
Short. Simple. Hiding everything.
I set the phone down and braced my hands on the counter, head bowed.
I’d been pulling away from them for months now.
Ever since Gage got engaged to Billie, since Xander and Blake had finalized Amelia’s adoption, since I couldn’t go to a single family gathering without being reminded that everyone had someone except me.
It wasn’t their fault. They’d found their people, built their lives, created the families they deserved after everything Regina had put them through. I was happy for them. I was.
But somewhere along the way, I’d stopped being Dex and become just “the friend.” The extra brother but not quite. The one who was always there. Always available. Always willing to help with whatever they needed.
I’d spent years helping them heal from their mother’s damage. Supporting them through their struggles. Being the steady presence they could count on.
And I didn’t regret it. I’d do it all again.
But when had I stopped building my own life? When had I become so focused on being there for them that I forgot to want things for myself?
Trace had Delaney and the kids. Booker had Reece and the ranch. Xander had Blake and Amelia. Gage had Billie.
And I had what? My grandparents’ garage. My grandparents’ house. A life I’d inherited, not chosen. A life I was maintaining instead of creating.
I was thirty-four years old, and I’d never lived anywhere but Willowbrook and Queens, but that barely counted. That was before. When I’d been too young to realise life could be filled with well-intentioned regrets.
I’d never built something that was mine. Never taken a risk on what I wanted because I was too busy making sure everyone else got what they needed.
There was a dark part of me, small and ugly and growing, that resented them for it.
Not for being happy. But for not noticing that I was drowning while they celebrated.
For assuming I was fine because I’d always been fine.
For not seeing that I was disappearing into the role of “good old Dex” until there was nothing left of the actual person underneath.
I hated that part of myself. Hated the resentment that curled in my gut when I went to family dinners and watched them with their partners, their kids, their lives. They’d done nothing wrong. They deserved their happiness.
But I deserved something too, didn’t I?
And last night, for a few perfect hours, I’d had it.
Had felt seen and wanted and real. Had connected with someone who understood what it felt like to be on the outside, preparing to try and take a step inside.
Who made me feel like I mattered as more than just a supporting character in everyone else’s story.
Then I’d found out she was their sister, and I’d panicked and destroyed it.
Because that’s what I did. I put them first. Always.
Even when it cost me everything.
I got dressed mechanically. Jeans, t-shirt, nothing that required thought. Down in the garage, I tried to work. Tried to focus on the brake job I’d left half-finished yesterday.
But all I could see was her.
The way she’d looked at me in the bar, like I was the only person in the room. The way she’d laughed, the sound lighting something up in my chest. The way she’d kissed me, hungry and desperate and real.
The way she’d looked at me in that parking lot when she’d realized what I’d almost done. When she’d understood that I was going to call her brothers to come deal with the mess I’d made.
“You were ready to take me home thirty seconds ago!”
The accusation rang in my ears. She was right. I had been ready. Had wanted her so badly I was shaking with it. And then I’d shut down and tried to pass her off like she was a problem I couldn’t handle.
Because she was. She was the biggest problem I’d ever faced.
She was their sister. Off-limits in every possible way. And I wanted her anyway.