Chapter 8 Reed
REED
The fridge hummed quietly in the corner of the cluttered garage.
In the center of the space sat an old Honda Civic, waiting patiently for Cam to get around to fixing it.
Since it was Saturday, the car would probably sit untouched until at least Monday.
This garage doubled as a home workshop for Cameron, the town’s favorite mechanic.
He proudly referred to it as his garage, though it was a mix of workspace and storage overflow.
A built-in lift took up the majority of the garage, and it was surrounded by tools scattered across benches and the concrete floor.
Along one wall stood a tall metal storage rack filled with plastic totes marked for every holiday.
That part had Wren written all over it. She was the one who insisted on buying the decorations and keeping them organized.
An old fridge, a few rusted bikes, and a lingering scent of oil and gasoline completed the space.
It was chaotic but familiar, a little piece of Cam’s world that felt lived-in and real.
I stalked toward the far corner of the garage where the refrigerator was and yanked the door open. I grabbed a cold beer and just… stood there.
I needed the second.
I’m not sure I could go back inside because Wren was looking at me like she felt it too.
It felt like every glance we’d stolen tonight was building into something neither of us could name out loud.
If Cam noticed or if he so much as sensed what I was thinking, he would without a doubt beat the shit out of me.
Or worse, he’d never look at me the same.
She was off-limits. She was Cam’s little sister and the one girl I should’ve never looked at twice. But fuck, since I kissed her on her birthday six years ago, it felt like looking was all I was ever doing.
It was every second she walked into a room.
Every bite of sarcasm she threw was like armor.
Every flicker of sadness she tried to bury beneath her favorite hoodie that she always wore like a shield.
And now… now I couldn’t unsee any of it.
Couldn’t stop the way I wanted to pull her into me and promise her she didn’t have to carry any of this shit alone.
I ran a hand down my face and let the bottle chill my palm.
Just get back in there. Give Cam beer. Play it cool. Don’t look at her the way you did before. But I already knew I would.
I shut the fridge door and walked back in.
The room looked the same, but something in it had changed. Cam was still on the couch, controller in hand, shouting something obscene at the screen. The armchair was empty, and the tea on the table had disappeared along with the sketchbook. She was gone.
And that low burn I’d been trying to hold at bay? It twisted into something darker, like hunger and frustration had knotted together in my chest.
Why did she leave?
As I took my place back on the couch, I handed the beer to Cam without looking at him. My eyes were busy scanning the space, like I was missing something obvious. Maybe she’d just slipped into the kitchen or gone to the bathroom.
Just like that, I was colder than the bottle I’d just let go of. The second she wasn’t in the room, it was like the air didn’t move right.
I shouldn’t want her the way I do. Shouldn’t think about how she looked in the kitchen, barefoot and quiet, like a storm wrapped in softness.
Shouldn’t be imagining what would’ve happened if Cam hadn’t spoken up or if I’d kissed her like I wanted to.
How far it might have gotten before we remembered where we were.
Or how fucking breathtaking she would’ve looked if I had lifted her onto the counter, ripped her shorts off, and made her come on my tongue. But I was imagining it.
I ran a hand through my hair, willing the heat low in my gut to cool.
Maybe I was reading into things. Maybe that look in her eyes wasn’t necessarily how she felt towards me, but was just leftover sadness I mistook for something else. Maybe I wanted it so badly, I’d imagined the way her lips parted when I got too close. Imagined the way her breath caught.
God, what if I was wrong? What if she didn’t feel it at all? What if she were feeling like she owed me for last night? The thought settled like lead in my chest. I wasn’t sure I could turn this off now, even if I had to.