9. Asher

NINE

Tears streakeddown my cheeks the moment I shut the door to my room. They weren't the sorrowful tears of someone who was hurt. They were angry, furious tears of someone who had glimpsed everything he could possibly wish for, then had it taken away that same moment.

Had he really said it? Had he told me he had wanted me for the longest time? My throat closed as a sob of sheer anger and hatred at this clusterfuck of an evening bubbled within me. It welled and made my chest so tight it felt close to a panic attack. I could barely inhale a breath of fresh air as I marched toward my bed and collapsed onto the mattress.

Guilt was quick to follow. The back of my throat ached when I swallowed. My stomach lurched at my first attempt to replay the events of the evening. I didn't realize I was doing it until it hurt, but I scratched the back of my neck as my skin grew too tight for me.

It wasn't fair.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to smash everything that was on my shelves and kick the side of my desk. I wanted to punch the walls and let out this suffocating cry, but I couldn't. I had no right to it. Mom wasn't guilty. George wasn't at fault for arriving home at the worst possible time. They'd done nothing wrong. So why did I hate them?

I pressed my face into the pillow as if I could smother myself if only I stayed very calm. Obviously, my body knew better. My clouded judgment was precisely that—clouded. The mist around my consciousness was thick, impassable, haunting. At the center of it all, like a shining beacon, was Jordan. Fiery and passionate in ways I had never witnessed. The person I had glimpsed tonight was so far beyond my imagination that it was hard to blend him with the smug, self-centered prick I had grown up with.

And just as I felt another way of immeasurable appreciation for his existence and the confusing, incredible, unexpected words he had told me, my heart sped up. Guilt rose within me and spread like some dirty, oily substance on clear water.

I gasped for air, turning to my side and facing the wall.

Had he really wanted me for the longest time? What the fuck did that even mean?

I redirected my anger. Our parents couldn't control the external events that were part of some cosmic joke. It was pure luck I'd heard Mom shouting for us and switching that speaker off. George couldn't be blamed for doing a quick fix on that bathroom leak and wanting to see his son and stepson sooner rather than later.

But Jordan…

Oh, Jordan. He could have made that move last night. He could have done it a year ago. Had he even winked at me at any point in the time of us knowing each other, I would have been his. He could have timed it any way he wanted.

So could you, something told me. And yet I hadn't. I hadn't known.

I hadn't fucking known.

Neither did he, the annoying, treacherous voice of reason reminded me.

And I ran through millions of reasons why it was his job to give me a hint first. He knew I was gay and I had never suspected he was bi. He was older, was he not? How was he so meticulous about the way I wore my wristwatch but never thought to give me a clue that he wanted me?

I couldn't find it in me to hate him the way I used to. He had opened his heart, even if for a minute only. More than that, he had spent days bringing us closer together. Games, dinners, wine, all those goddamn candles. How stupid was I? He'd been flirting!

If only you'd said something, I thought. If only you'd made it a little clearer for me. Even tonight, I wouldn't have said a thing. I had feared wrestling with him, but the temptation to have our bodies so close together, to be roughed around by him, to be so irresistibly topless and coiling in the grass was too much to throw away. But I'd known what it would do to me.

And it was up to me to say it. Not him.

Tears stung my eyes and I squeezed them shut, holding a deep breath of air in my lungs. I shuddered. I was going to be sick. We could have been caught in a reckless act of animalistic lack of self-control. We could have lost everything. This family, however fucked up in that kitchen sink way, was the last refuge any of us had.

I couldn't even look my mother in the eyes. Or George. God. He had always nudged us to act like brothers. Both of them had.

I gritted my teeth and pushed them all out of my mind. I was a fuckup. I had always been a twisted fuckup, jerking off with Jordan in front of my eyes like it vindicated me. I had never been able to look away from him when he sunbathed or swam or simply breathed near me. There hadn't been a time in my life since meeting him when I hadn't casually searched his crotch for some random, spontaneous hardon or the bulge of his balls. I needed help, the sick fuck that I was. And even as I told that to myself, the thing I wanted most was Jordan's weight crushing me into the mattress the same way it had crushed me against the soft summer grass.

He was the center of every erotic awakening of my life, except the first one. He was the dream I had been holding in for years. And he was knocking.

The gentlest ticking of the tip of a fingernail against my balcony door made me want to scream.

What did he expect? That we would just pick up where we had left off? Or worse, would he tell me it had been a moment of weakness that could never happen again?

Maybe it was better to hear him out and get it over with, but I couldn't make my limbs work.

The knocking stopped after a few moments and I knew he had given up.

The morning foundme still dressed in a pair of grass-stained pants and a shirt I hadn't correctly buttoned. My hair was rumpled by the pillow, my eyes were sandy with sleep, and my heart longed for death when I realized I had a day to face. I grumbled and murmured curses that last night had not been a nightmare and that there was evidence everywhere of what had happened.

I'd had an oddly restful night. Perhaps the wine had caught up with me. Perhaps my body was giving me the rest I needed to face the day. Or, maybe, I was a heartless bastard who didn't actually care. Either way, I had slept through the night without moving a finger.

I changed into my shorts and a regular, sleeveless T-shirt, then paced my room. Breakfast smelled delicious from downstairs. The scent crawled under my door and lured me out, even though I wished I could stay locked in my room and never see anyone again. Jordan least of all. How could I look at him and not betray all I felt? How could I be in the same room as Jordan and not have the dam in my chest crack open and let the flood of feelings out?

Chances were, he would be away by now. If I knew him at all, I knew he steered clear of trouble. And a single night's weakness — or delight, depending on how you looked at it — would be reason enough for Jordan to stalk away from me. He had mastered the craft of avoiding me so long ago.

When my stomach growled loudly, I scowled and went to brush my teeth. The scent of French toast was stronger in the hallway, so I rolled my eyes and went downstairs. George was in the kitchen, blasting Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while flipping French toast in a large pan. "Morning," he said with a dimpled smile. So much of him existed in Jordan, it was eerie. His round face, his brown eyes, and his deep voice. Jordan had inherited all of them, but there were also differences that separated them. George was a good-looking guy, straight as they come, and with a physique formed by hard work. Jordan's features, on the other hand, were put together so that he was a museum-worthy sculpture. The guy I had had a crush on for years could be an athlete and a model in equal measure. George's voice called me back to the present and I realized I had drifted to daydreaming about Jordan's lips again. "…hungry, because I made plenty."

"I'm starving," I said. The kitchen island was stuffed with plates full of cold cuts, smoked and cottage cheeses, French toast, butter, jam, and so on. A glass pitcher of orange juice was dripping with condensation.

"You can start taking these to the porch," George suggested and I got to work. The small terrace in the backyard could fit the four of us, but it felt crowded.

Mom was sitting at the table and three empty chairs surrounded it. She had her sunglasses on, face unreadable, and she greeted me. "How are you? Hungover?"

"No," I said dryly. "I wasn't that drunk." My heart clenched as I glanced around. Jordan wasn't here, but I knew which chair he had been sitting in last night. I knew where the grass was still a little trampled and flat from wrestling with him. I knew where he slammed me against the wall of the house to kiss the soul out of me.

My stomach cramped as I set the plates down. I returned to the kitchen, my mood souring with every heartbeat, and carried the rest of what George had prepared. He followed me with the pitcher and four glasses, but only three of us sat around the table. Jordan was predictably missing.

It was a poor relief. We couldn't avoid each other for three or four weeks. Eventually, we would be in the same place at the same time. And how I would handle his proximity was a mystery. Just now, I trembled even thinking about him. Conflicting feelings battled for dominance in me as I ate my breakfast, but tasted little.

Mom was asking about college and I gave vague, generic responses about everything being alright. My gaze kept moving to the lawn where Jordan had crushed me under his weight, left me breathless, and made me hard. It was impossible not to think about it.

I picked up my glass of orange juice when movement to my left caught my attention. From the open door, Jordan stepped onto the terrace with a fresh look on his face and as little clothes as he could decently wear for breakfast. The dirty yellow sleeveless shirt he wore was enough to make me want to whimper. The long holes for his arms revealed much of his ribcage and the deep cut of his neck hid little of his pecs. The shorts were cream and shorter than his usual knee-length ones but only a little longer than the regular swimming shorts I'd seen him wear.

"Morning," he said in a deep murmur. "How's everybody?" He took a seat across from me, casually stuffing his plate as if nothing in the world was wrong. He popped food into his mouth, chewed, conversed, and even laughed.

How could he laugh at anything? My soul was torn between wanting to run away and never tempt him again and craving eternal damnation by seducing him without shame. The only thing I couldn't stand was this limbo we were stuck in. Give me Heaven or give me Hell.

I was so tense that even Mom noticed. She put a hand on my shoulder and rubbed it like it would ease some of the tension. It didn't. "Darling, are you okay?" It was a quiet question, just between the two of us. And my eyes flicked to Jordan before I could stop myself.

He was so cocky and confident this morning. He rested his right ankle on his left knee, his legs spread wide as he leaned back in his chair. He held his glass of orange juice, talking about the bathroom repairs with George, not even noticing my existence. His specialty. He lifted his other hand and ran it through his short hair, then lazily scratched the back of his neck. His lips were redder than ever. Or I imagined it. Were they a little swollen? Had I bitten him hard? I felt the air leave my body as I remembered the impact of my back against the house and Jordan's torso against mine. "I'm fine," I wheezed to Mom. "Just tired."

She sucked her teeth. "You shouldn't have been drinking."

"Mom…" But I didn't have the strength to defend my choices. I was close enough to twenty-one. What did it matter if my ID wouldn't let me buy alcohol? It was all fictional, anyway. But even my rambling thoughts came to a halt when Jordan's ears picked up my mom's words and his brown eyes flicked to mine. His gaze touched my eyes and held the contact until I broke and looked away, lips curving down. Was he being cruel on purpose?

"That's only one of the downsides, honey," she lectured. "It leaves you dehydrated and tired the next day. The quality of sleep is far worse when you are intoxicated."

I gritted my teeth. I hadn't been intoxicated. I had been liberated. For one incredible moment, I hadn't given a damn. Truly. I had surrendered myself to him and let him do whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted it. And their arrival had interrupted us.

George was the first to leave the table, saying the kitchen wouldn't clean itself, and Mom followed with something looking almost like an eye-roll while taking her sunglasses off.

Staying alone at the table with Jordan when he looked fresh as a daisy and sexy as all hell was a bad idea. I cleared my throat and squirmed.

Jordan raised his eyebrows at me. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." The word was as clipped as if he were my sworn enemy. I scraped the terrace floor as I pushed my chair back and got up. "Gotta go." And I left.

I left him every time we crossed paths that day. I left him at the terrace over breakfast, in the living room after lunch, and at the pier when he walked after me, interrupting me before I even swam. I left him again in the living room after dinner when he turned on his gaming console, looking over his shoulder and meeting my eyes with a question on his lips. I didn't wait to hear it.

My ears were buzzing when I locked my door that night. What was I doing? I didn't know. I didn't know where I was headed. On one hand, I had my answer. Jordan liked me. The guy I had been drooling over for years actually liked me. The knowledge made all the other pieces of the puzzle fall into place. He didn't want to undress around me in the locker room because it was risky. He had been avoiding me all these years we'd spent living together because the only result from being close could have been heartbreak and pain. He had been turning our dinners into dates because we were all alone and could do anything at all, without witnesses, without threats. It bruised my heart that I hadn't realized this sooner. It was killing me that it had taken a drunken fight to turn me on and make me admit it. I hated how long it had taken me to say the words when the answer he gave was beyond my wildest dreams.

And now, I was torn to the other end, too. I lay in my bed, light off, eyes wide open. I stared at the ceiling and the shades of the night that filled my room. Slowly, I admitted to myself that we were doomed. Mom and George had doomed us when they had introduced us to each other. Sure, without them we never would have met, but with them, we could never take what we wanted.

It wasn't going to happen. Jordan had been right to push me away and hurt me in all the ways he had hurt me. I'd believed he had been simply careless, but he had been very deliberate in how he had cracked my heart over and over as the years had passed.

It was my turn.

So, when he knocked on my door and whispered, "Asher? Got a minute?" I pretended I was asleep. Even through the door, I could hear him taking a deep breath, holding it, and releasing it in frustration with me.

Sure, my heart throbbed at doing this to him, but what were my choices?

It was a sleepless night. I was haunted again. The guilt of my choice for this night was somewhat different. I ached for what I had to do to him. I ached with longing to be as selfish and as self-centered as I had always been in my fantasies. But I knew, even as I tried to silence those thoughts, that I couldn't let us be anything more than what we were.

The reality was far different from my fantasies. The forbidden fruit had always seemed the sweetest in my imagination, but there had always been the certainty of safety in my imagination. I had always known in my bones that I wouldn't have him. And knowing that, I had made myself comfortable in fantasizing about him. I had never felt like there were any threats. No risks, no ruined relations, and no heartbroken parents.

With one blazing, devastating kiss, Jordan had shattered the walls of my imagination and made it all real. And with all the promises of sweetness and heat, the threats and risks revealed themselves.

The next day, I carried my breakfast upstairs to eat in my room. Only when I brought it to the kitchen did I see him. He slowed down on his way through the kitchen as if he would speak to me, but Mom followed him in, and Jordan simply left his plate on the counter and walked away.

"Darling, you don't seem alright," Mom said. "If something's bothering you, you know you can talk to me."

Not about this. Never about this. "I know, Mom," I said. "I'm fine. I promise."

"Are you sure?" she pressed on while Jordan's footsteps thudded up the stairs. "You seem a little distant. Were you sunbathing yesterday? For how long?"

"I wasn't," I sighed. "I just walked around."

"Very well," Mom said, raising her hands in surrender. "Just remember, I'm here if you need me." She closed the distance between us and wrapped me in her arms. It was the sort of embrace that reverted me to a child. Her fingers ran through my hair, her scent threw me back to my boyhood, and the warmth of her body against mine was all the comfort and safety I had ever known. But you would hate me if you knew, I thought. You would hate me if you ever suspected that the boy you forced to be my brother was the only person I had ever wanted. If you knew how badly I wanted him naked and dirty and sweaty, you wouldn't think of me as your son. I broke free of her embrace and murmured that I loved her, then turned on my heels and walked away.

George entered the house and spoke to Mom in a low voice. She was not as gentle in her tone when she replied: "It had to happen. His puberty was smooth sailing, but sooner or later, they get moody."

I ignored her words and passed Jordan's door, wondering what he was up to, then banished those images from my head. Instead, I entered my room and shut the door before I became aware of movement to my right.

"Fuck," I snapped as I jumped and grabbed my chest. "You scared me shitless. What do you want?"

Jordan clenched his teeth and balled his fists. "What do you think?"

I snorted contemptuously. Was he really doing this to me now? My resolve hardened even as temptation battered against the walls I had built around my heart. "If you want to tell me we can never make the same mistake again, I'm way ahead of you."

The hurt that showed on his face morphed into annoyance. "You are?" It was a low, angry growl.

"Yeah," I said, stepping back from him and turning on my heels so I didn't have to face him so fully. "We were drunk. Shit happens."

"Shit happens?" he demanded in a barely controlled voice. He kept it low while our parents moved through the house. "Are you fucking kidding me? I poured my heart out, you little…"

"Little what?" I snapped in a harsh whisper.

He chewed on the words and swallowed them instead of name-calling. "Nothing's changed, Asher," he said.

Those were probably the hardest words I could have heard. It took all my strength to stay calm and cool. "Everything has changed, Jordan."

"Bullshit." He stepped toward me and I moved a step back. I would soon run out of space. The desk and the wall were behind me now that I turned to face him. But he continued talking. "Why does it matter that they"re here? They were still out there that night even if we didn't realize they were about to show up. We were still stuck in the same mess, with them or without them in the house."

"But they almost caught us," I hissed.

"Almost." He breathed, his chest rising and falling sharply. "We were careless and they surprised us."

George had called him, but Jordan had left his phone in his room all day and missed it. We had been lucky, but nothing else.

"It felt right, Ash," he said in a tight voice. "And you wanted it. Don't pretend you didn't."

Could he doubt it? Ever? I had been in love with him since the day I had entered that goddamn diner. Of course I fucking wanted it. But was it smart? "And what's the end goal?" I asked sourly. "We will either break up before anyone finds out or we'll have to tell them." I gestured at the door, encompassing the entire world in that gesture. "Or be caught," I added in an even lower voice.

My big stepbrother frowned. "Is that all you think about? The way it ends?"

"What else?" I rasped. "What's the point of anything?"

He folded his lips, tension knotting his muscles. "I'm not entering a philosophical debate with you," he said. "I'm here to tell you to stop overreacting. Stop leaving the room when I walk in. And stop acting like we don't know each other. Nothing bad happened."

"And nothing bad will happen," I informed him as my heart gave a painful cry, tearing through the center. "We can't."

His face was stone-cold as he stepped back from me. He gave a deep nod, his mouth twisting with disappointment and disgust. Yeah, I was weak. But this was no mere fantasy. Actual lives were at risk. Real relationships were in the way of a pipe dream we had shared for less than ten minutes.

Jordan turned away from me and I refused to look at his broad, muscular back. Even if I knew I had made the only right choice there was, it didn't soothe the longing that spurted from my bleeding heart. It didn't tame the wild lust I had for him or the hatred for this life that I clutched so close to my chest.

But what else was there?

The choices were all wrong. This way, at least, nobody else had to suffer. And the two of us? We deserved it. For the selfishness and the thoughtless actions of the other night, we deserved this.