“So what?” she eyed Dad behind me. “I’ve only been telling her that for years.”
Dad flashed nothing but his teeth. “I’m telling you, Invasion of the Body Snatchers. This isn’t our child.”
“Clearly.” She jostled me. “How have you been? You had a late night or something?”
Something like that.
My gaze drifted toward the ceiling, but with a nudge, my mom had me sitting on a barstool beside her.
My parents had a wide kitchen in our suburban home, the multi-level within only two miles of the beach. I grew up within a short drive of the Miami coast, but could count how many times I’d actually been to Miami on one hand. I loved the sun, but preferred our more modest-sized town and the childhood home I grew up in. When we were all here, my parents and I, the place was always
full. Mom and Dad constantly had events, both family gatherings and business. I remember being a teen while they hosted dinner parties for the neighborhood, but no matter how busy they got, they always made sure to tuck me in. I had more than one nanny growing up, but never, not once, did my mom and dad make me feel like they didn’t care, like they weren’t there for me. They were off changing the world, my role models whom I respected and loved. Our house was such a family place, welcoming with its feel, which was why Mom and Dad said they’d bought it.
“We wanted a place for you to bring back your babies.”
Mom always said that, the home reserved to be filled up with grandchildren. Of course, I’d never slowed down enough to even think about that. I’d been ultra-focused on school and my volunteer work. I did orchestra for a time too before I got too busy.
Mom’s hand came to tug at my waist-length hair, the haircut definitely needed on my end. My mousy brown hair nearly hit my butt, and though it was completely unmanageable, I only liked to cut it after it was long enough to donate. I supposed with my parents’ work in politics and helping people, I’d always gravitated toward that too. I couldn’t do much in school, but always actively tried to help out where I could. My mission trip had been to Haiti.
Mom immediately started asking about that. I hadn’t seen them except for a drop-in here and there all summer, and they really did only come home now to see me off before going back to school. That and, of course, to be here when my stepbrother Jaxen arrived. From what I understood, his plane was scheduled to come in sometime this evening.
I might have asked them about that.
Had I not heard movement on the stairs.
Literally creeks and cracks, stopping all conversation.
Stopping me.
A glance and my family’s gazes made a beeline in that direction. Mom lowered her arm. “Is someone here?”
Oh no.
Dad actually started to go in that direction, but there was no need.
Because he walked right in the room.
Brett waltzed into the kitchen like he’d been frequenting it for years, his eyes following mine. He walked right up to the kitchen island. Joined my family.
What the fuck did he think he was doing?
My heart catapulting into my throat, I thought I’d pass out. There was no explanation for this. Absolutely no explanation that would excuse the fact that the boy I slept with was now downstairs and very much standing in front of my parents. I could explain all I wanted, and my parents still wouldn’t be about this.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
This had to be akin to dying, this feeling inside. Complete and utter dread filled me as my parents’ eyes twitched wide and my mom got completely off her barstool. Dad had come around from the bar at this point, maybe a foot away from Brett.
Holy fuck, he’s going to kill him.
It was like Dad knew what I did in his house, approaching him, but Brett… well, Brett was the only one in this situation who didn’t appear to be totally floored by the turn of events in front of him. He stood there, cool as a cucumber in front of my dad.
My mouth parted. “Dad…”
“Jaxen,” came out of my Dad’s mouth first, my eyes twitching wide.
What…
But that’s what Dad had called him when he approached him, Jaxen. Dad put a hand out.