Now whenever there’s football games, my gaze always seeks him from the sidelines while I’m waving my pompoms.
I never told anyone I had a crush on him, not wanting to be labelled weird for being into a man that was probably a decade my senior.
And thank God I never did. Because right now, I turn to Michaela in shock and whisper, “Yourbrotheris Coach Thane?”
Chapter Two
THANE
It’sher.
The one I can’t stop thinking about.
The pretty little blonde cheerleader with brown eyes, a sunshine smile, and a toned body perfect enough to make every red-blooded male weep. The one who looks like an angel.
Usually in my dreams, she’s wearing her cheerleading uniform and giving me a come hither-smile while waving her pompoms.
But right now, she’s in a loose top that falls off one shoulder and reveals the string of a hot pink triangle bikini, jeans shorts that are cut so high I’d wager the bottoms of her ass cheeks are exposed, and lilac flipflops that expose her white painted toes.
She’s gorgeous.
And standing on my door step.
How is that possible?
My brows knit in confusion. Is she a mirage or really here with Michaela?
“Yeah,” my sister’s voice is tinged with self-deprecation. “He’s my brother. Sorry I never said anything before.”
“Oh,” the pretty little blonde cheerleader echoes, cheeks turning pink.
I pinch myself discreetly and wince at the pain. Okay. Definitely not a mirage.
She’s really here.
“Thane,” Michaela greets me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and takes a tentative step forward like I’m a wounded animal she needs to be cautious around. It hurts more than I’d like to admit. “Thanks for taking us in. We’d have nowhere else to go if I wasn’t for you.”
My throat tightens with discomfort. This is my younger sister. The one I raised, for lack of a better word, when I was twenty-three and her thirteen years old. I can’t believe she feels the need to thank me for taking her in. She might as well have driven a stake through my chest. Michaela is my flesh and blood. Despite the lack of our sibling relationship, have I given her the impression that I wouldn’t help her in distress?
I scowl.
I’m a man of few words, prefer to speak with my actions, and I’ve never regretted that more than right now.
Even though she chose to move out and sever whatever was left of our familial bond, I should have tried harder to check in, called and texted her weekly so she knew I was still here.
I suppose part of me thought I was doing the right thing by giving her distance. She found my presence overbearing. I went from being her older brother to her legal guardian in the blink of an eye after our parents’ death and I’ll admit…I was controlling. Giving her a curfew. Forcing her to do all her homework before she could hang out with her friends. Not allowing her to date. I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt this pressure to fill our dad’s shoes and ensure her safety. I couldn’t lose Michaela theway I lost them and I let that fear rule me, and perhaps create a suffocating environment that led her to flee the minute she turned eighteen.
The icing on her birthday cake hadn’t even dried and she was out the door.
Now seeing her standing on our porch steps three years later, I’m struck with this odd sense of nervousness. I don’t know how to be around her. Even when we randomly run into each other on campus, my gut churns. Sometimes, I’ll wave awkwardly. Other times, she pretends like she doesn’t see me and continues on her merry way.
My shoulders sag. “Of course, Michaela. You’re family.”
Michaela pales even further at my words.
Was that the wrong thing to say?
Fuck.
