Chapter 13

Gavin

I ’ve taken three cold showers over the course of the day. Jerked off six times. I’m not proud to admit it, but the count would be higher if I hadn’t lost control the last time and maybe broken my dick.

I mean, it still functions, thank God. I’m hard again just thinking about this morning. But as I blew my load, I found myself wondering for the first time if it’s anatomically possible to pull it off.

I grab my phone. It’s well after midnight. Winnie hasn’t responded to any of my messages, though she has seen them. I pull up the group chat I have with my brothers. At one point, she was in it too, but then she was like I can’t with you guys talking about roof shingles and farts . And that was that.

Any of you heard from Win? I ask .

Jack replies immediately: She said she needs space. Leave her alone.

Prick.

Gunnar responds after a couple minutes: Don’t tell us what to do, douchebag.

That was for Jack.

Nothing from her, G.

No one else reads our exchange or chimes in. So either they’re all asleep or choking the chicken. Otherwise, they, too, would be semi-obsessively checking for any word from Win.

I smirk. Jack is probably pacing his room, checking the time on his phone obsessively, and my twin is definitely off with Deez, writing her a love song.

I can stare up at the ceiling, testing my self-control. Try to keep myself from winding up in one of those if-you-have-an-erection-that-lasts-four-hours scenarios that’ll result in an ER visit because Winnie Wainwright is walking Viagra. Or I can go for a run and try to burn off some of this pent-up energy.

Deciding on the latter, I throw on some clothes and head downstairs. I grab my water bottle from the fridge on my way to the front door.

Slipping out into the night, I begin stretching on the porch. After letting loose so many times, you’d think my body would be nice and relaxed, but nope. My neck and left arm are particularly tense.

A throat clears nearby.

The instant flood of warmth through my body at the realization of her presence hits my heart harder than my dick. But it definitely hits my dick.

I glance around and squint. There’s no moon. It’s dark as fuck out. But I can make out her silhouette, in one of the rocking chairs further down the porch.

At least I think the dark lump is Win, with her knees pulled up and her arms locked around them.

“I didn’t know you were back,” I say.

The lump moves. Definitely her. I want to go to her, but I know my lower half isn’t ready, so I move into another stretch position, one that will hide the bulge in case the sliver of moon is shining too generously upon me.

“How long have you been sitting out here?”

“A while.”

I don’t hear tears in her voice, so I don’t think she’s been crying. “You alright?”

“Mm-hmm. What are you doing up so late?”

“I’m heading out for a run to try and stop myself from masturbating to death.” I shift positions, and this time my bulge isn’t quite as hidden as before.

She bursts out laughing, the sound ringing out through the silent night, and making me grin. I love making her laugh.

“You asked,” I tell her.

“That I did.”

“Want some company? ”

“I mean, not if it’s going to end with you masturbating to death in one of Anna’s beloved rocking chairs.”

A soft breeze carries that damn intoxicating strawberry scent of hers over to me and I have to force myself to push away the new wave of thoughts in my mind that are a hell of a lot more interesting than masturbating alone in one of those rocking chairs.

Mom does love these chairs. Cruz built them for her a couple of birthdays ago. I focus on this, on my mom and brother, and push the remaining thoughts out of my head.

“I’ll control myself.”

I mean, if she wants me to…

But as I walk over, I swear I can sense the heavy mood around her. I pick up the rocking chair nearest to her and place it even closer to hers.

Now I can see her better and a hollowness to her eyes. Shit.

“Hey,” I say softly, rocking forward.

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word, and as I force myself to relax into the chair, or at least appear relaxed, she chews her lip and wrings her hands, and I can’t stand it. I wish I could drain that nervousness and all the negative feelings from her, just kind of absorb them and shoulder them myself.

Reaching over, I touch her arm, walk my fingers down to her elbow, and tug her toward me just enough to give the hint that I want her hand in mine and she can take it if she wants it.

She does, thank God, pressing her thumb into my hand, a tiny thank you gesture that feels immense .

“I’m trying to work up the courage to go over there,” she says, after a minute.

“Oh?”

I hear her exhale. “I’m super anxious about tomorrow.”

“Totally natural for you to feel that way. But we’re all going to be with you.”

“That’s part of the problem. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it and I don’t want to go inside and fall apart in front of you all. You guys see me,” she says.

I don’t know what she means with that last part because of course we do, but my heart aches for her, and I squeeze her hand a little tighter.

“So I was going to kind of do a trial run,” she continues. “Go inside by myself. See if it’s as bad as I think it’s gonna be.” She sighs. “I kind of just want to forget the sledgehammers and just bulldoze the whole damn place to dust.”

She looks so sad, and I want to tell her anything that will make the pain leave her expression. I want to promise her we’ll burn it to the ground tomorrow if that’s what she wants. She can light the match and we’ll all bring gasoline.

But no. Over the years, seeing what that fucking house and everything it represents, even now, has done to her, I know we are right in at least trying to heal her wounds rather than adding another Band-Aid to the pile.

Even if it would feel really fucking good to watch it go up in flames.

“Winnie, you deserve all the love and happiness in the entire world. I can’t erase the past, but–” I’m making myself cringe – “This sounds so damn cliché, I know, but I can promise you, that I’ll be right by your side, now and always, as long as you want me there. Want us there. I know every single one of my brothers feels the same.”

Jealousy still simmers in me over her thing with Max, but I swallow it down. Winnie’s needs will always matter more to me than anything else. “You’re running the show here, Pooh Bear.”

I don’t just mean in the reno, but now’s not the time to bring up the other stuff. Though I do want her to know none of us are going to push her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

She sniffles, freeing her hand from mine to swipe at her eyes. “I don’t want to go in for the first time with all of you. But I’m not certain anymore that I want to do it all by myself, either.”

“Is one of us a good number? I’ll come with you, if that’s what you want,” I offer. Yeah, I’m not gonna push but I’m never going to make this woman beg, or even ask twice, for anything she wants, ever.

“Yes, oh my God, please, yes. Do you mind?”

The light is back in her eyes, and the sight of it ratchets up my heart rate.

“Do I mind? Winnie Wainwright, do you still not understand?” I get up. “I’d walk a mile over shards of glass if you needed me to.”

“I’ll try to never need that,” she promises with a laugh. She pulls her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and turns on the flashlight. Then she stands. She grabs my hand, which I hadn’t even realized I’d fisted, and it unfurls in her palm. She intertwines her fingers with mine .

Winnie’s grip on my hand tightens with every step we take as we walk across the street. I can feel her unease growing as the moment stretches longer and longer, but she never takes her eyes off the house.

“Shouldn’t the lawn be a jungle, all grown up and weedy?”

She’s visibly confused, with a cute little eyebrow wrinkle. It was that way the last time she saw it, probably. That’s how her dad tended to keep it.

“Pops has been mowing it, trimming the hedges.”

“Your parents are… something else.” Her voice grows thick with unshed tears. “I should pay Popsy something, I should–”

She breaks off and her breath is ragged as she turns her face away from me. She tries to rip her fingers from mine, as well, but I tighten my fist just enough to let her know I want her hand to stay.

“I am going to fall apart in there,” she chokes out.

“Do you want me to stay on the porch? Give you some privacy?”

“No!” she cries. “No. I want you with me. And I think I need you to go first, too.”

“Of course.”

I lead her inside, the musty, stagnant air enveloping us instantly, and we cough together. The worn floorboards groan. Every surface is coated in a layer of fine, powdery dust and decay, and hints of long abandoned lives cling to every corner with the spider webs. Cracked windows allow shards of feeble moonlight to pierce the darkness, casting long, ghostly shapes across the floor. It’s fucking grim .

I glance at Winnie and my heart wrenches. Her eyes are once again hollow. In the dim light, shadows play tricks in the corners of my eyes, but the shadows in her eyes are very much real.

“Win,” I say softly.

Her gaze flies to mine, but I’m not sure she’s seeing me fully. A single tear runs down her cheek.

“He’s right, though,” she says, with a sad, bitter laugh. “How you look at me doesn’t matter, because the curb appeal doesn’t mean crap if the house is a teardown.”

She can hear him, her piece-of-shit deadbeat dad. I know she can. As though his raised voice and sharp words linger in the walls. Peeling out of the wallpaper. Tormenting her everywhere she looks.

“Winnie, no,” I start, pulling her close to me for a hug, but she shakes her head and pulls her hands from mine.

“None of you deserve this–”

“You’re right. Not a damn one of us does. You’re too good for each and every one of us.”

“Gav! That’s not what I mean and you know it. None of you deserve to have to put up with my baggage, or the emotional scars left behind by my father. You’ll never be able to heal them. They’re a fucking part of me.” She crosses her arms over her chest and turns away from me again but this time she walks too far away for me to reach for her hand to reel her back to me without chasing her.

“They were lies, Win,” I tell her, though I don’t really know the specifics. What I do know breaks my heart. I once heard Pops call Win’s father a verbally abusive bastard and Pops would not say that lightly. But all Winnie would ever say was that her dad yelled a lot. We made her swear he never touched her. Had he laid a hand on her, we would’ve–

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, and I stop to listen. “I hate feeling this way. But his lies became my truth. They’re not just shackles you all can help me break free from. I’ll take everything he ever said to me with me wherever I go.” Her voice rises. “They’re a part of me,” she finishes on a hollow sob, void of tears. “He’s dead and gone, and no matter what we do with this place, that is my inheritance. It’s pathetic. I know.”

“Win–”

“Please,” she whispers. “Please don’t try right now.”

She doesn’t turn back to me and I ache to pull her into my arms and take her to my old bedroom. Not even to my bed, necessarily, but to sit together in the same place where, as kids, we’d whispered and laughed together. Where we sat side by side, reading from her favorite of the books on my shelf.

My best friend, my Pooh Bear. I wish I could give Winnie all the comfort she deserves. But even if I could, she’s not in a place to accept it and that tears me up like nothing fucking else.