Asshole move? Maybe. But when the metal of my mail slot creaks and two driver's licenses come through, I'm sure that I made the right decision.
I snap photos and text them to my neighbor with a message:Just in case
Her reply pings almost instantly:Everything okay? Those guys are hot as fuck.
I text back:Fine. Just being careful
I return their licenses and unlock the door. Toby's rushing up the stairs with a box. It feels right to let them in. Instincts win this round—no brussels sprout betrayal.
"I grabbed your things from the car. Maybe something will jog your memory."
The box is insanely tempting, but I want more from them. "You knew about the amnesia before tracking me here."
It's not lost on me that their eyes dart to my surroundings like they’re afraid the place will collapse on them. Fair. I've wondered the same, just can't afford more.
“It hasn’t been easy tracking you down. If not for a picture on the internet, we might have lost you forever.” Toby seems ready to come clean.
"Really?"
"Reverse image search," he clarifies.
"And how did that lead you to the auction?" Not only did Laz not reveal who was being auctioned ahead of time, but I only joined at the last minute. No time for them to get here.
"It led to Peach Bottom Valley. We spotted you at the grocery store…" Toby hangs his head. "We followed you from there."
“So you won me and decided that instead of returning my items to me, you’d jog my memory with a good pounding?”
Toby stammers.
I have too many questions to wait for him to answer. "Were we lovers before I went missing?"
"We wanted to be." Toby meets my gaze.
Interesting. "Are either of you married?"
"No." They answer over each other.
I keep my cards close to my chest. “Then what was the complication?”
Toby waits for Dylan to nod before answering, “You're our stepsister.”
The accuracy of my memories is reassuring. "Answer this…"
"Anything." Dylan answers eagerly.
"I'm getting fragments of memories, happy mostly. But in one, I'm furious. I slam the door and tell you to stay out of my life. Yet here you stand. What sparked that?"
"We..." Toby halts.
Dylan jumps in. "Violated your privacy by reading your diary."
"Why would you do that?" The bigger question is what did they read, but I'm not ready to face whatever caused the shame and anger.
Dylan takes a deep breath. “At first, it was just a peek, a big brother messing with his little sister. Thought I’d find something stupid like a celebrity crush I could razz you about.”
Toby pulls a sunset-colored diary from the box and flips through the pages while Dylan continues, “But when I saw that you had feelings for us, I couldn’t stop.”
I wrote about them? That would explain the shame and anger.
