Chapter 4

four

REVENGE WITH A SIDE OF REGRET

X ander moves so fast, I barely process that he’s out of the bathroom and down the hallway before Tate’s door is fully open.

My grip on my phone tightens and I slip out of the bathroom and back into my room passing Tate as he heads towards the bathroom.

I really need to convince my dad of a remodel with adding an en suite to my room.

I lean against my door as soon as it shuts behind me and slide to the floor.

What the actual hell was that?

My fingers press against where I can still feel the burn of his lips against my cheek, the slight scruff of his beard scratching at my sensitive skin. The entire interaction must have lasted mere moments, but feels like a lifetime as I replay the entire thing in my mind one more time.

Would he have really kissed me? Would I have let him?

The erratic beating of my heart is enough of an answer, even if I don’t want to put words to it.

Alexander Channing, bane of my existence, almost kissed me, and I was going to let him. Might have even asked him to if we hadn’t been interrupted.

What would it have been like if we hadn’t been?

Would he have been right? Would I have been able to taste the tequila on his lips? Would they have felt as soft pressed against my lips as they did against my cheek and throat?

Oh god, what on earth is happening to me?

I can not really have a budding crush on the guy that has tormented me for most of my childhood. Sure, he’s never been quite as bad as my brothers. But he has enjoyed every bit of the suffering I’ve had to endure at their hands. Laughed at countless dinner tables when my brother’s have tattled on me to our parents, burped in my face, or kicked me under the table.

That guy can not be the guy that actually has my heart racing.

Color drains from my face as I realize we’ll be sitting at yet another table together tomorrow. With my brothers. And my dad. And my stupid racing heart and butterflies trying to explode from my stomach. The reality I’m faced with just keeps getting worse.

I tighten my grip on my phone, debating if I should text Becca for advice, but quickly dispel that idea. She’s too into the idea of us double dating cousins to even want to hear about another guy. She wouldn’t have good advice anyway.

Deep breaths, Em. Deep breaths. We can think about this logically.

What was different about tonight?

He was drunk. Really drunk.

That’s probably all it was. He might not even remember this happened tomorrow morning. It was probably just the tequila talking. Ignoring the ache that train of thought causes, I push back to my feet and crawl back into bed .

There’s no way Xander looks at me as anything but Tate’s little sister. Hasn’t he made that clear over the years?

I shouldn't make a big deal out of something that probably meant nothing. Shouldn’t let the butterflies in my stomach take off over a few drunken moments.

And me? I only reacted because…because compared to the rest of my night, Xander doesn’t look so bad.

That’s all it was. That’s all it has to be.

There were definitely no butterflies. It was probably gas. That’s right. Xander is much more likely to elicit gas than butterflies.

I cringe. Thank god no one can hear my thoughts besides me.

Maybe that’s enough thinking for tonight. Xander is just as annoying and gross as ever and I’m going to sleep like a baby knowing that.

I groan to myself, tossing and turning. I never should have climbed out of bed. Who needs their phone during the night anyways? No one. Definitely not me.

Except, it’s nearly impossible to get my mind to shut off for long enough to actually fall asleep. Might need my phone after all. Turning on a playlist, I attempt again to push out the noise of my traitorous thoughts and focus on the lyrics. But images of Xander are prominent in my dreams every time I do happen to drift off. The ghost of his touch on my thighs, the pressure of his grip on my hip, and the soft brush of his lips over my skin contrasting with the roughness of his facial hair.

He really just had to go and find a new way to get under my skin, didn’t he?

Bastard.

It’s still early. Probably too early for anyone else to be awake. I could go back to sleep, but I already know what’s awaiting me behind closed eyes.

Alexander really is the bane of my existence. In new and creative ways every day. Just has to keep outdoing himself. I crawl out of bed and find some sweatpants to throw on under my shirt. Learned enough lessons last night. I grumble the entire way to the kitchen, thinking only about the coffee that will surely bring life back to me.

My steps falter as I reach the kitchen realizing the scent of coffee isn’t just my imagination. Who else would be awake this early?

I turn the corner and stop in my tracks at the sight of Xander standing in my kitchen. Shirtless. Drinking my coffee. Because of course he is. It’s like he has no sense of decency.

Is it too late to go back to bed?

His eyes open and time seems to slow as I hold my breath while his gaze lifts, tracking across the kitchen floor until they land on me frozen in the doorway. At least I have pants on this time?

An indecipherable look crosses his face and he lifts his mug to cover his expression. Annoyance flares at the lack of reaction. Did he really forget?

“Shouldn’t you be hungover?” The words spill from lips without meaning to. A little snarkier than I intended.

He flinches and nods but doesn’t say anything snarky back. Instead, dropping his gaze back to the floor and turning away from me. Don’t think he forgot after all.

How are we supposed to make it through an entire day together? More importantly, how are we supposed to without my brothers noticing anything is off?

“I am,” he answers, a deep rumble in his voice I’ve never heard before. I hate everything about it. Just like I hate everything about his stupid, sleep-rumpled hair, and his stupid abs and even stupider muscular arms.

Who walks around without a shirt anyways? Idiots. That’s who.

His shoulders hunch forward as he starts to shuffle his feet out of the kitchen and panic grips me in a vise. Say something, Emery. Anything.

How can we get back our normal?

Do I want to go back?

Yes, of course you do, you idiot. It was gas, remember?

I shake my head at myself. Nothing more than that and Xander being drunk. Right?

“Xander?” My voice sounds small even to me. My panic pushes out all sense of reason and logic. He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t look up to meet my eyes. I don’t even know why I stopped him. I just wasn’t ready to watch him walk away. Again. “Did you want to?”

Dammit, Emery. This isn’t at all what we were supposed to do. I swore I wouldn’t let myself wander down this path riddled with danger and caution signs.

“Em.” It’s a note of pleading I never thought Xander could be capable of. He’s always seemed larger than life. Infallible. Untouchable. But now…

“Don’t make me answer that.”

He’s begging me to let it go.

“Right, of course.” I laugh nervously, turning my back on him so he can’t see the embarrassment heating my face. I already knew my answer. What a stupid thing to think it would be anything different. That it could be anything more. I start fussing with the coffee machine, giving my hands something to do. “You were drunk. I’ll forget it happened. Back to friends, or–whatever we were.” My hands curl into fists against the counter and I can only pray he can’t detect the hurt in my voice. The doubt and insecurity.

“Emery.”

I’ll never hear my name the same way again. That soft note of regret will haunt me as surely as his touch from last night will.

Who cares anyways?

He’s Xander. Stupid Xander. Why would I want anything from him anyways? There’s no need to let him infect my life anymore than he already has.

I pop a pod into the machine and start it. At least I’ll have coffee soon. Lord knows I’m going to need it to get through the rest of this day.

“Your brother,” he starts and I shake my head.

“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything,” I cut him off. Of course he’d be more worried about Tate than anything else. Tate’s his friend. Not me. I’m just Tate’s little sister.

I don’t know if I should be relieved or petrified when my dad’s presence ruins any chance of Xander responding. “You two are up early.”

“Morning, Daddy. Happy Thanksgiving,” I greet, acting like Xander is no longer there. Anything to get over this awkward moment.

Xander clears his throat and I can almost picture the way his body is tensing under my dad’s assessment. “I thought I’d get a run in.” He is going to regret his habit of speaking without thinking now. “You know,” he continues to dig his hole, “before we stuff ourselves.”

I hear the sound of my dad’s hand slamming down on Xander’s shoulder. “What a great idea. I’ll join you.”

A giggle escapes my lips, drawing my dad’s attention. “Happy Thanksgiving, M&M. What’s so funny over here?”

I hand him the cup of coffee I was preparing for myself and start the process over, hiding my grin. “Nothing,” I answer. “You should wake up the boys and all go together.” It’s not often I can get my licks back in against my brothers. Can’t let a golden opportunity like this pass.

“Great idea,” he answers, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to squeeze me against his side. I’ll never understand how my dad is such a morning person, and especially how none of the rest of us are. Especially Tate. I’ve never met anyone who hates waking up as much as he does. “Want to join us?” my dad asks, but I’m already shaking my head.

Never start an attack if you aren’t prepared to deflect one back.

“I should stay and start getting things ready for the caterers.”

My dad nods, chugging the rest of his coffee like a heathen. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of my head before dropping his mug on the counter next to the sink and heading back out of the kitchen. “I’ll grab Zac and Wilder,” my dad tells Xander. “Grab Tate and meet back here in ten?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers. I finally turn around, lifting my mug to cover my smug smile. Xander looks green and I can’t wait to see how he looks when they get back after this run. My dad practically skips out of the kitchen, a little too excited to have all of us under one roof again.

“You’re diabolical,” Xander grumbles, glaring at me. Serves him right.

I lower my mug so he can get the full effect of my victory smile. “Checkmate.”

A win is a win.

Even if it doesn’t last for long.

If I could erase the last forty-eight hours from my memory I would. I can’t help but be embarrassed every time I replay this morning in my mind. My only saving grace is that Xander was too hungover to even remember me bringing last night up.

I’m sure he’s already forgotten about everything. Even if those few moments in the bathroom were the most electric moments I’ve ever had with a boy. Even that time…no. Let’s not go there.

Either way, stupid drunk moments mean nothing. Especially when one of the parties regrets every bit of it. I mean, both of the parties.

Okay yeah, moving on.

At the very least, he was distracted by the run with the others. I can’t help but smirk to myself as I remember how they all looked like death warmed over after they got back. My poor dad could only shake his head when three of the four boys ended up heaving up the contents of their stomachs in bushes along the running path.

Oh, how I wish I could have seen it.

Thanksgiving dinner felt like any other holiday dinner. With maybe a little added tension since so much focus was on Xander’s plans for moving here now that he knows he’ll be officially transferring to Westbrook.

My heart nearly fell out of my ass when my dad offered Xander to stay here until he gets things sorted out. Living with him? When he apparently has a shortage of clean shirts to wear?

No, thank you.

I’m trying to erase images from my mind, not add new ones. And one thing that I cannot deny anymore is that Xander Channing is hot. Annoying. Opinionated. Stubborn. Obnoxious. An interfering asshole. But hot nonetheless with his dark waves that are perpetually messy, giving him a wild look and stupid blue eyes that look nothing like my own. If mine are swimming pools, his are the ocean depths, holding mystery, and intrigue, and far too much danger.

I really should be more mad at him than I am about showing me what it can feel like when a guy touches you. My stomach clenches and I focus back on the conversation around me.

Thankfully, Tate took the reins of the conversation about where Xander will be staying. His bossy assholeyness does have some benefits every once in a while. We live close to the college, but not that close. Especially when you consider the early practices they have most days. All I care about is that it won’t be my problem. He won’t be my problem.

My dad reiterates that the offer will always stand and it makes me wish for the first time ever he wasn’t as nice as he is. Both him and my mom always took in strays. It’s why Xander and Wilder always have holiday dinners with us. They can’t turn a blind eye to someone who needs a little extra love or guidance.

I’ve lost count of how many hockey players, coworkers, and friends have spent holidays with us over the years after one of my parents found out they weren’t spending it with family. The fact it’s only the six of this year is actually a shock. I can’t remember the last time it happened.

Xander thanks my dad, because of course he does, but even he seems perturbed by the aspect of living together. Glad I’m not alone. Back to ground I’m comfortable on. Just my brother’s best friend.

The conversation takes a turn as Wilder asks me if I’m going to go to Westbrook. My face heats with the question and I push the turkey around on my plate before clearing my throat.

“I applied for early decision. ”

Four heads snap in my direction, staring at me in shock. Might not have shared that little tidbit with anyone yet.

I can’t meet any of their eyes as all the doubt rushes back in. “I have the GPA and the extracurriculars,” I instinctively defend. “I’ve been working with the yearbook and the school newspaper since freshman year. I’m the president of the student photography club this year. My photos have even been used in a couple of the local newspapers. It should be enough to help me stand out. My English teacher helped me with my personal statement, but she was really impressed by it. And one of my recommendation letters was from my photography teacher who I’ve known for years. If anyone could write a good letter for me, it would be her. So my chances of being accepted should be really good. It’s not like Westbrook only takes athletes. That would be impossible. And most of my photography experience is in athletic photography and journalism. So overall that should increase my chances.”

I know I’m rambling now, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s something that has been weighing on me and I actually have terrible nerves about. Only a few of my teachers knew about my decision.

Wilder leans over and bumps Zac’s shoulder. “I think I broke her.”

I snort, putting my heated face into my hands. They all already knew all of that information. “I thought I had a good chance at acceptance and would rather know early.”

At least, I hope I have a good chance.

My dad opens his mouth and closes it several times before he finally finds his words. “Don’t I need to sign something to approve that?”

Right. I can’t meet his eyes and I scratch the back of my neck, making the boys start to giggle like school girls cause they know exactly what I did. “Umm, yeah. The thing is,” I cough, clearing my throat. “You kind of did.”

The giggles turn into full cackles. Jerks.

I can feel my dad’s glare on me, but I refuse to meet it. No, thank you.

“You asked me when I was on the phone with a prospect, didn’t you?”

Twirling my fork in my fingers, I stare at my plate and can feel even my ears heating. “While you were watching film actually,” I mumble.

“That’s even worse,” Zac says, laughing all the harder. My dad is known for being super locked in when he’s watching film. I could have put just about anything in front of him and he would have signed it without even a second glance. And I mean anything. Zac and Wilder tested it once, and my dad signed a pillow case, a children’s book, and a watermelon. The last one I really thought they were lying about until they did it again and I watched it happen. He didn’t even question it. We never told my dad. But I kept that little tidbit filed away for when I needed it.

My dad looks confused at Zac’s reaction who can barely even breathe now he’s laughing so hard. Such a jerk. But my dad keeps his attention on me. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Do you understand it’s binding? If they accept you, you have to go to Westbrook.”

I nod my head slowly. I went through all of my options with my counselor at school. He really emphasized the binding part. I knew where I wanted to go. But I can hear the hurt in my dad’s voice that I didn’t discuss it with him.

I can’t even explain to him why I didn’t. There wasn’t a specific reason, I just wanted to make a decision for myself. Know that I made this choice because it was the right thing for me. With no influence from my family. But how do I tell him that?

“Even if I take you guys out of it, Westbrook would be at the top of my list of schools. We already know their athletic department is state of the art, but so is their photojournalism department. It also has a strong booster club with many connections to professional sports which could be the connection I need to get my foot in the door.”

The guys have stopped laughing as they watch my dad for his reaction. Tate looks surprised as his gaze stays locked on me. He’s quieter than usual. My dad sighs. “You put a lot of thought into this.”

I nod again. “I really did.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t want to talk to me about it. Even going out of your way to have me sign the application when you know I wasn’t focused on what I’m signing.”

I finally meet his gaze. “I needed to know I was making this choice for myself, by myself.”

He nods and I can see the understanding bleed into his hurt. They all were rooting for me to stay close to home. “I never would have pushed you for early decision, Em. There are a lot of risks in doing that.”

“I know. I have my applications ready in case I am rejected.” The thought alone sends chills down my spine. It’s really the only college I’ve pictured myself at. I’ve spent years going to games there and exploring the campus when I managed to sneak away from my brothers. I love everything about it. The old buildings that feel like they hold so much history in the walls mixed with the newer halls that hold the state of the art facilities. It’s a perfect mix of modern and classic that calls to me.

“When did you grow up so much?” he asks, a small smile on his lips now .

I snort. “A long time ago. You guys just refuse to see it normally.” That makes everyone laugh, but Tate nudges my shoulder at my side.

“Proud of you, M&M,” he says under his breath, just for me to hear. I can’t help but beam at him. As annoying and overbearing as he is, his words mean a lot to me.

“So when will you find out then?” Xander asks.

“Mid December,” I answer.

“Damn,” Wilder says. “That is nice.” Everyone else nods. As athletes, they all struggled to wrap their heads around me not finding out where I would be accepted until the spring of my senior year. Zac committed to Westbrook later than anyone else, but even he was signed pretty early in his senior year. The rest of them knew by the end of their junior years. It was definitely a sore spot for Zac for a hot minute. But he proved his worth. It was probably the best thing to ever happen to him. He’s improved more because of his drive to prove to his coaches they made the right call betting on him.

“I’m going to be anxiously checking the mail now,” my dad laughs and my stomach roils with anxiety. Sure I have backups for my backups, but I can’t actually imagine going to another school.

Each game I go to solidifies that. It almost feels like I’m already a Wolf.

“Can we please talk about something else now?” I beg. “Anything else.”

I can tell my brothers are wavering. They would enjoy getting a little of their own payback for this morning. Even Tate was pissed well into the afternoon after the early morning wake up call. But there are some things that are off limits. My college acceptance is one of them.

Or it better be, at least. Or I might be the one throwing up next .

“What games do you got planned for tonight, Papa Moore?” Wilder asks, becoming my new favorite person.

“Please don’t call me that,” my dad deadpans, before going into the games he was thinking. We probably do more game nights than most families, but when you have people as competitive as college athletes, it just makes sense. There’s no better way to end a holiday than a good game and a fair share of yelling.

Zac pushes out his chair and Wilder follows suit. “Sounds good, Pops. We’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

My dad arches a brow, but it’s Xander who protests, “Oh, no. What about cleanup?”

Zac and Wilder trade wild grins. “We have to go kidnap Colby,” Wilder explains.

Zac smacks him. “He means save. We have to go save Colby.”

I perk up. “Colby is coming?” They both nod and grin, satisfied with themselves. I’ll give it to them. It’s a clever plan to get out of helping with cleaning up. They know no one will protest bringing Colby here.

When my dad doesn’t protest, they fist pump before taking their plates to the kitchen. Xander and Tate trade their own looks before turning to me, but I’m already shaking my head.

I push back my chair and pat Tate on the shoulder. “I did all the prep. Have fun with cleanup.”

They both groan, but my dad only chuckles, lifting his glass to me in salute. Prep is infinitely easier since we have caterers, but none of these idiots seem to have caught on to that fact yet.