24. Kinky, Fun, and Temporary

There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Evelyn’s still asleep on my lap, and Caleb hasn’t woken up.

The past few weeks flash through my head—that first night at Vice. Then realizing she was my step-niece. Watching her hook up with Caleb while I struggled to avoid her. Being miserable. And then finally giving in. Being happy for the first time since I was a boy.

And threaded throughout the entire one-month saga: guilt. Every time I thought of Mark, I worried about his reaction. I know why, too. I haven’t always been the best person. I have dominant kinks. To outsiders who don’t practice the lifestyle, it looks like I mistreat women.

This is his daughter, who he asked me to look after.

He’ll see this as a betrayal.

He steps into the living room, not realizing anyone is in here, and flicks on the light.

“Oh, Link, sorry—who—” He gapes.

Caleb and Evelyn wake up, startled by the light.

Mark stares between the three of us, likely trying to figure out if he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing—his daughter in lingerie, sleeping on top of two men.

Two men that Mark knows are kinky.

One of whom is his stepbrother.

“Dad, what are you doing home?” Evie asks, struggling to sit up. She’s tangled in the blanket I threw over her when we got home, but finally manages to get upright, her face flushed either with the effort or with the embarrassment of being caught. Probably both.

“I did what I promised, tried to end the contract early so I could get home and spend time with you. Surprise.” Mark rubs a hand down his face as if trying to wipe away the sight of us before him. “I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing. This isn’t right.”

Evelyn stands up, tugging the blanket with her. She has to if she doesn’t want her father to get an eyeful of her in lingerie. Caleb and I stand up on either side of her, but I’ve never felt farther apart from them both.

After a long moment of quiet, Evelyn says, “Dad, I’ve been wanting to talk to you in person?—”

He holds up a hand. Gently, he says, “I don’t want to hear from you right now, Pumpkin.”

Her mouth closes. Nobody speaks. I don’t know what I could possibly say that would make this better. Caleb knows to keep his mouth shut, so he’s doing that. At the same time, a part of me is irrationally angry that it isn’t his brother we’re at risk of alienating. It isn’t his only remaining family.

But being mad at Caleb is a convenient distraction from who I’m really mad at: myself.

I should’ve insisted we talk to Mark. I should’ve been patient, done things slowly, done things right. Now we’re in a clusterfuck and I can’t find a way out.

“Mark, I don’t know what to say,” I start.

“No. Don’t talk.” He’s breathing hard and he runs a hand roughly through his short hair. “Don’t fucking talk to me right now, brother.”

Fuck.

“But we need to talk,” I say. “I have to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, I can see quite clearly what’s going on, that you’ve been taking advantage of Evelyn?—”

“Nobody’s taking advantage of me, Dad,” Evelyn says.

He doesn’t respond to her, but instead points at me and Caleb. “You two need to go. Now.”

“Mark, don’t do this,” I say.

“You should hear us out,” Caleb adds.

“Don’t tell me you love each other.” Mark shakes his head and laughs as if it’s the stupidest thing he ever heard. “Lincoln, you’ve never loved anyone except yourself.”

That fucking hurts.

Before I can respond, he continues, “After what you did to Willow, you think I’d want you anywhere near my daughter in a…a sexual way?”

That hurts even more. Willow and I were a toxic cocktail, between her need to be the only person in my life, and my need to dominate her and punish her for that, and her struggle to disentangle herself from it all. I could never tell her that I loved her. I could never tell any woman that I loved her. It took me over a year of therapy to unpack everything that went wrong with Willow, and Mark knows it.

I start to say, “Look, I?—”

Mark raises his eyebrows, challenge clear on his face. “Can you say it? Can you fucking say it?”

Do I love her, that’s what he wants to know. Can I admit my feelings, right here and now?

“I don’t know if we’re there.” I can’t look at Evelyn. “It’s too new.”

Mark holds out his arms and says, “Come here, Pumpkin.”

I want to reach over and grab her wrist, tug her to me, and offer her the protection and comfort she needs. But her dad is here. Not her daddies. Her dad. And she needs him.

She doesn’t look at me or Caleb. Instead, she goes to Mark, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She whispers, “Dad, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never.” He pats her back and glares at us past her shoulder. “Get the fuck out,” he mouths.

It was too perfect, too good, with Evelyn. Why did I ever think it could last?

Should I fight? I can’t fight Mark. He’s my big brother. I’ve looked up to him since I was a lost five-year-old, meeting my new stepdad and stepbrother for the first time. He was eleven and he was the coolest and I would’ve done anything, any fucking thing, to make him like me.

And here he is, throwing me out of his house.

Without a word, I walk past him and Evelyn. I try to make eye contact with her, but her gaze is stubbornly on the floor.

In Mark’s bedroom, I look around. I don’t have much, so it’s easy to pack. One thing after another goes into my luggage. Caleb’s in the spare room, doing the same.

Once I’m done packing, I go downstairs toward the front door. I hear Evelyn crying in the kitchen. Instinctively, I try to move toward her. I want to pull her into my arms, sprinkle kisses all over her face, reassure her that we’ll work everything out.

But Mark blocks the way. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

The front door is open behind me, night air spilling into the house, moths flitting inside, attracted by the light. Caleb’s already outside, tossing his bags into the back of his rental.

Mark’s expression is a mix of anger and bleak sorrow as he looks at me. “She’s my daughter. My baby girl. Why did you have to touch her, of anyone? Any other woman in the world. Not her.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I say, sounding meek even to my own ears.

He shakes his head. “That’s not good enough.”

* * *