That night, long after dinner and after Sara had gone to bed, I was staring at the ceiling in my room, thinking about how my life would have been different had my father not died. How my life would have been different had he not died right in front of my eyes. What would have happened if Wild hadn’t stopped me from running toward my father? Would the guy have shot me, too? They ended up catching the guy, and he’s currently in prison for life without parole, so I’m not worried he’ll come after me, although I do sometimes have nightmares that he’d gotten me too. Or worse, that he’d gotten Wild.
My door creaks open, and my eyes immediately snap to the noise, fully expecting Wild but still surprised when he walks through the door and closes it quietly behind him. We didn’t talk for most of the day after what happened earlier. Even Sara was confused at our lack of conversation at dinner, but I’m sure she just chalked it up to it being the anniversary and letting us feel whatever we needed.
I turn to my side just as Wild kneels next to my bed. I’m a little surprised he doesn’t climb in with me, but we haven’t done that in a few years…since Sara told us we couldn’t anymore.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hi,”I respond, unsure of what to say because I don’t know if he’s mad at me for what happened earlier.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Despite the dark, moonlight streams through my window, highlighting the concern etched on his face.
“No.”
“Good. I know we didn’t talk much today, so I just wanted to see how you were.” His hand darts out to gently move a hair out of my face, and I hope he doesn’t notice the shiver that skates through me at his touch.
“I’m okay.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“Of course. I tell you everything.”
He swallows. “I did too. Until recently.” He nods. His earlier comment flashes through my mind, and I wonder if he’ll elaborate. “Saint, I am…so crazy about you.” He shakes his head before those piercing hooded eyes slowly meet mine, and if I’m not mistaken, I see a hint of worry in them. “What I feel for you is…not how a stepbrother should feel about his stepsister.” He looks down at his hands, and I watch him close his eyes slowly before they open and lift to mine. “I’ve thought about kissing you for months. All I think about is kissing you.”
I gasp and prop myself up on my elbow. “Really?”
He nods as he scratches the back of his neck. “So as you can see, it’s probably not a good idea.”
“What…what if I told you I felt the same?”
He swallows and looks toward my bedroom door before looking back at me. “I guess that changes things a little. But…we couldn’t…tell anyone.”
“I figured.”
“What does this mean?” he asks, and I wonder if it’s more rhetorical. “Us doing this…”
“I know what it means for me.” He looks at me, wanting me to continue. “That I love you. Saying it to you doesn’t hurt.” I swallow. “Saying it to Sara hurts sometimes because it justreminds me of who’s not here. But you…saying it to you makes my heart smile.”
“Halle…”
“Sebastian,” I whisper in response, and then our faces are moving toward each other. And just before October seventh turns into the eighth, I have my first kiss.
And once again, the course of my life changed.
Present Day
I wake up the following morning to an empty bed, but like so many times before, the smell of cinnamon wafts through my apartment. I’m still naked from last night, and I don’t even bother covering up before I make my way toward my kitchen, where I know Wild is cooking French toast. He turns around before I say anything and drags his eyes all over me before a salacious smile finds his face.
“Do you want me to burn your breakfast?” He chuckles before turning back to my stove. “Go put some clothes on, Saint.”
I move to stand next to him and slide my hand under his sweatpants to squeeze one of his ass cheeks. “I’m not hungry for food.”
“Neither am I, but you should eat.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“I dreamed of the first time we kissed last night,” I tell him as I move to stand behind him. I wrap my arms around his middle and kiss his back. He’s still much taller than me, so I only come up to about the center of his back. He’s wearing a T-shirt, so I don’t get to drag my lips over all of his delicious muscles or the tattoos stretched across his skin like I usually do.
“Did you?” He chuckles. “I remember how chapped our lips were the next day and trying to hide it from Mom.”
“Kissing for five hours straight will do that, I guess.”
