The steps are slippery, and I hold the railing as I walk up. Though, I still somehow manage to slightly slip, hitting my knee on the concrete edge. The large hand that wraps around my forearm is a familiar one, with two shiny metal rings.
“You got a fuckin’ towel or somethin’?” Tate drawls at me.
“Yeah, in my bag,” I tell him. He holds my arm, not letting go as he grabs my bag and drags me behind some old-looking building to sit at a worn-down table. He has me sit on the top as he blots my knee with the towel. It’s hardly bleeding, but he acts like I’ve just been told I need an amputation to survive.
“Tate, I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I know,” he grumbles, holding the towel on my knee and not looking at my face.
“Are we going to talk about this?” I question him.
“About what?” he asks, still not looking up at me.
“Tate,” I sigh his name, and he stands to his full height, dropping the towel.
He looks at me like he either wants to bend me over this table and fuck me or like he wants to rip his hair out.
“I can’t. I can’t fuckin’ do this with you. No, we aren’t gonna talk about it, because there’s nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about,” he blurts.
“It didn’t feel like nothing when you were sneaking into my room every night last week, or the way you look at me,” I reply, feeling frustrated.
I hate the way he’s acting, like there’s nothing between us, like I’m imagining it all.
“It was a mistake. I overstepped. It won’t happen again. You’re my stepsister and that’s it. I care about you, but not in any other way besides that,” he says.
“Why are you denying this? It’s not like you even care what Kurt thinks,” I snark, not knowing why I’m arguing with him. I agree that nothing can happen, but I still want him, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“No, darlin’ I don’t. But you sure as fuck do, so unless that changes, you need to stay the fuck away from me, do you understand?” he asks.
I repress a whine, the underlying feelings of rejection bubbling up to the surface. It takes everything in me to shove it down. We’re both lying to each other and ourselves by saying we’re on the same page. I take some solace in knowing that he isn’t unaffected by me; he is attracted to me, but he knows we can’t be together. That reasoning is the only thing that holds me together and prevents me from making a blubbering fool of myself.
As if I need proof that Tate is attracted to me in order to calm my brain down, I cross my arms over my chest, and I can’t help but smirk when he looks down at my breasts. He groans in frustration.
“Find another ride, I’m leavin’,” he announces before he storms off.
I sit at the table for a long time until I hear my name being yelled. I sigh with defeat and walk back to the group, wondering to myself if Tate gave in, would I as well? The scary thing is… I think I already know the answer.
The party goes on without Tate. Sometimes it feels like no one notices him. I mean I definitely do, but he won’t let me in. I don’t think Tate lets anyone in, and it makes my heart ache.
Shelby has a chocolate cake set out on the picnic table, and she cuts me a slice before sliding it over to me. She's nearly perched on my brother’s lap, and I can admit that I kind of like them together. Leon needs someone who will call him out on his bullshit, and Shelby needs someone who can reign in her crazy moments.
Shelby scoops up a piece of cake and puts it in my brother's mouth before leaning in and giving him a kiss. I don’t think I’ve seen Leon this happy in a really long time.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Leon jokes, grabbing his own fork and shoveling cake into his mouth.
“Har-Har. Can’t I enjoy seeing my brother happy?” I reply back, and he covers a smile with a fork full of cake.
I expect him to go on a full-on tirade of how I need to leave and find a pack, the same old shit, but he doesn’t and it makes my smile even wilder.
“I am happy, ain’t I?” he says, grabbing Shelby by the hips and peppering kisses all along her neck and tickling her sides.
“Stop!” she shouts while still laughing, clutching at his shoulders. He finally relents and smiles at her before kissing her again. She pinches his side, and he winces.
“Fuck. You’re stronger than you look, you know that, sugar?” he says to her, and she beams.
“That’s right, so you better stay in line,” she jests, pointing at him.
“I haven’t been on the receiving end of Shelby’s violence, but I can absolutely attest to the fact you don’t want to get on her bad side,” I tell my brother. I’ll never forget that time she kicked that girl's ass in the middle of the square. Three guys had to pull Shelby off the woman before she killed her.
