“There’s going to be someone else after him.” He forces the words out like they’re costing him something.
I frown. “So what?”
“So I just can’t do it.” He turns back to me, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes my chest ache. “I can’t be in your life, playing the dutiful stepbrother, and watch you be with someone else.”
My stomach swoops, like I’ve missed a step.
“What are you saying, Marshall?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I know we have an agreement. That whatever happened between us in the past few days was just a distraction. But I just can’t pretend anymore.”
“Pretend what?”
“Pretend you’re the effect, Gabriel, not the cause.” His eyes lock on mine. “You are the cause.”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. The words don’t make sense.
“What are you saying?” I repeat.
Marshall takes a step closer. “I’m saying you’re not just a distraction for me, Gabriel. You’re so much more than that. Always have been.”
“Marshall—”
“All those years I’ve been avoiding you…” His voice cracks, but he pushes through it. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t like you. I avoided you because I liked you too much. And I knew I could never have you.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, and I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stand there and let his words sink into my bones.
All this time, I thought the distance between us was disinterest, at least on Marshall’s part. A natural consequence of being forced into a family neither of us chose. I thought he saw me as an obligation, someone he had to tolerate at family gatherings and holidays. Someone he couldn’t wait to get away from.
“I’ve been running from this,” Marshall adds quietly, as if he can hear what I’m thinking. “From you. From the feelings I couldn’t act on.”
My chest cracks open. Years of confusion and hurt and longing I never let myself acknowledge come flooding out, and I realize with startling clarity that I’ve been running too.
I don’t let him continue. I dart forward and press him against the door, my hands fisting in his shirt, and kiss him hard.
Marshall goes rigid with shock, his body stiff against mine, his lips unresponsive under the pressure of my mouth. For a horrible second, I think I’ve made a mistake and misread everything.
But then he makes a sound in the back of his throat, low and desperate, and his hands come up to grip my hips. His mouth opens under mine, and he pushes his tongue past my lips, kissing me back with a ferocity that makes my knees weak.
I press harder against him, erasing the space between our bodies. His back is flat against the door, my chest against his, and I can feel the rapid thud of his heart. His hands slide from my hips to my back, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I break the kiss just long enough to fish the keys from my pocket. My hands are shaking, fumbling with the metal, and Marshall uses the break to kiss along my jaw, down the side of my neck. His teeth scrape against my pulse point, and I nearly drop the keys.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
I finally get the key in the lock and turn it. The door swings open, and we stumble inside together, still kissing like our lives depend on it. It’s just like that night a few days ago in the rain, except this time we’re not drunk, and we’re not pretending this is just a distraction.
This is real.
As soon as we’re inside, I kick the door shut behind us and close the distance between us again. Marshall’s hands are in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting, and I moan into his mouth. Neither of us tries to stop.
Marshall’s hands leave my hair and move to the buttons of my shirt. His fingers work quickly, popping them open one by one, and I do the same to his. We’re kissing the entire time, our mouths breaking apart only when absolutely necessary.
I get his shirt open first and push it off his shoulders. The fabric catches on his forearms, and he has to pull back to yank his hands free. The second the shirt hits the floor, I’m running my palms up his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid muscle underneath.
He groans and grabs my shirt, pulling it open so hard that I hear a button pop and skitter across the tile. Then his hands are on my skin, sliding over my ribs, my stomach, my chest. His touch is hot and possessive, claiming every inch of me.
I kiss him again and start walking backward toward the stairs. Marshall follows, his hands never leaving my body. We’re a tangle of limbs and heat, stumbling but never breaking contact.
