But hadn’t it already changed? Wasn’t I already different than I was a week ago? Two weeks ago, I’d been in a relationship with Brittany, living a life I thought I wanted. Now I was homeless, confused, and jerking off with my stepbrother.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. When had everything gone so completely off the rails?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fumbled for it with numb fingers, the screen blurry with rain. A text from James.
James: Are you okay? You’ve been gone for an hour.
An hour? It felt like both longer and shorter than that. I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What was I supposed to say?
Another text came through before I could respond.
James: Please just let me know you’re safe.
The concern in those words made my throat tight. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t telling me to fuck off or calling me a coward. He was just worried about me.
I typed back with shaking hands.
Me: I’m fine. Just needed to clear my head.
Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Then appeared again.
James: Do you want me to come get you?
I looked around at the empty street, the rain still pounding down relentlessly. I was soaked to the bone, freezing, and probably a good twenty-minute walk from the apartment if not more. Pride told me to say no, that I could handle this on my own.
But I was tired of pride. Tired of pretending I didn’t need anyone.
Me: Yeah. I’m on Fifth and Morrison.
James: Be there in 10.
I found an awning over a closed bakery and huddled under it, trying to preserve what little body heat I had left. My mind was still racing, still trying to process everything that had happened. But underneath the panic and confusion was something else. Something that felt suspiciously like relief.
Because the secret was out. At least between James and me. I didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to hide what I was feeling. He knew. And he hadn’t run away screaming. If anything, he’d been the one trying to make me feel comfortable, to take things slow.
Headlights appeared at the end of the street, and I recognized James’s car. He pulled up to the curb, and I ran through the rain to yank open the passenger door, collapsing into the seat with a shiver.
“Jesus Christ, Kent,” James said, cranking up the heat. “You look like a drowned rat.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, teeth chattering. “I know.”
He didn’t say anything else as he pulled away from the curb, just kept one hand on the wheel while the other adjusted the vents to point the heat directly at me. I held my hands up to the warm air, trying to get feeling back into my fingers.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I could feel him glancing at me every few seconds, like he was trying to figure out what to say. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, watching the windshield wipers fight against the rain.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said, the words coming out rough. “For running out like that.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do.” I turned to look at him, taking in his profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. He looked tired, worried. “That was shitty of me. We did something and then I just... bolted.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Do you regret it?”
The question hung in the air between us. This was the moment. I could lie, could tell him it was a mistake and we should pretend it never happened. Go back to being stepbrothers who barely tolerated each other. It would be easier. Safer.
But I was done being a coward.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t regret it. And that’s what scared me.”
