My mother’s voice rings in the back of my mind.
“You’re nothing but a whore. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to take your stepfather from me. You think just because you’re young and pretty that he’ll want you?”
The memory is so close to the surface, it feels like it was yesterday. It was one of the last times we were ever in the same room, and the last day I ever saw Rowan.
I drop my head into my hands as the panic takes hold. I can barely breathe as I drag shaky breaths into my lungs, willing my mind to wake me up from what has to be a bad dream.
Two sets of arms wrap around me, their scents surrounding me in a way that settles my soul as much as it enhances the panic.
How is it possible to be so conflicted?
“I need to go home,” I force out, my voice shaky and broken.
“This is your home now,” Rowan replies evenly, as if he didn’t just drop a bomb into the middle of the room. “Asher has arranged for your belongings to be packed up and brought here first thing in the morning.”
I whip my head to the side, glaring at the man I’ve been dating for months and failed to tell me he was my stepbrother. He has the good sense to look bashful, but that doesn’t mean I’m not mad as hell at him. Obviously, I should have recognized him, and the fact that I didn’t isn’t his fault. But what is his fault is that he knew who I was the whole time.
Not only that, but then he facilitated me having sex with my stepfather.
“How could you do this to me?” I choke out.
“How could I do what to you, Hannah? How could I love you? How could I protect you? How could I yearn for you from the moment I met you five years ago? Which part are you confused about? Because I’m more than happy to lay it all out on the line if it makes you stop trying to run.”
I stare at him for long seconds, my mind whirling with his words that don’t make sense, no matter how many times I repeat them to myself.
What the hell is he talking about?
We met one time when I was eighteen. He surprised Rowan with a visit while he was nearby for a fight.
God, I’m such a fucking moron. How did I not put the pieces together?
Has my mind been repressing Rowan for so long that not only did I forget his son’s name, but I forgot he had a son at all? That’s the only way I wouldn’t have been able to work out that Asher Cane, the MMA fighter, is the son of Rowan Cane, my ex-stepfather.
Fingers wrap around my chin and gently guide my face in the other direction until I’m staring up into startling ice blue.
I remember the first time I met him, how my body flared to life in a way it never had with boys my own age. High school was a difficult time for me, but not because of the guys. It was hard because my family put so much pressure on me to be the perfect student, to have the right friends, to never take a step that wasn’t run past them.
There was so much pressure on me, and then I met Rowan a few weeks after graduation, and he just…understood me.
He never wanted me to be something I wasn’t. He never expected me to represent the family or prove myself. He treated me with kindness in a way no one else had since my father left.
I swallow down the painful memories. It’s rare I let myself think of my dad, because all I have to remember him by are a handful of photos I hid before Mom could destroy them, and the fact that he abandoned me without ever saying goodbye. Without an explanation or a reason, he was never to be seen or heard from again.
“Sweetheart,” Rowan’s voice tugs me back to the fucked-up moment I’m currently living through. “I understand how confused you must feel right now, and Asher and I are happy to answer any questions you may have, but I need you to breathe for me first.”
It’s only now that he’s mentioned it that I realize I’m practically hyperventilating, but believe me, if you just found out you’d slept with both your stepbrother and stepfather, you’d be pretty fucking freaked out too.
He holds my eyes for long seconds, demonstrating a deep breath in and then releasing it a handful of seconds later.
I follow his lead, my body begging for air.
“Good girl,” Asher murmurs on my other side. “Just keep breathing for us.”
I press my eyes closed as heat washes over me for an entirely different reason. Have I ever felt so many conflicting emotions at once? Because I’m pretty sure I’m ten seconds away from a panic attack, and yet I’m turned on?
There is something seriously wrong with me.
“Eyes on me,” Rowan commands, his voice soft, and yet I follow it without hesitation.
