It’s his eyes.
They’re hollowed now with dark circles beneath them that make him look older, harder. But it’s not exhaustion. It’s something else. Whatever he’s seen, whatever he’s done, whatever my dad has shown him—it’s changed him. The overbearing tension between us is draining the life out of the room, out of me and Cindy clears her throat beside me, trying to break the spell.
“Rook, not when Ryker’s here, please,” Cindy pleads, and the mention of my dad’s name pulls me back to reality.
Rook’s eyes slide down my frame, gradually and linger far too long on my bare legs. Then his gaze snaps up to Cindy, his jaw tightening. His head tilts slightly to the side, a subtle challenge in the narrowing of his eyes.
“Am I not allowed to look at or be near my little fucking sister now?” he asks, voice deep and laced with spite. “I mean, you brought this shitshow of a family together, right?”
Little sister.
The words hit me, echoing in my mind. Am I really? After everything? After what we—no. Is this his way of moving past it? Pretending it didn’t happen? Or is this some cruel game, meant to remind me of how wrong we are, how wrong we were and how wrong I am?
He takes his time waiting for Cindy to answer, lifting his beer to his lips. The muscles in his throat move as he takes a long swig, eyes still stuck on hers and I glance up, instinctively searching for my dad, but he’s across the room, distracted, laughing with Jack, completely unaware of what’s happening. Luckily.
“No… I…” Cindy’s voice falters, cracking under his coldness. She’s never been able to handle Rook, but he’s now something completely different and she knows it.
“It’s fine, Cindy,” I say softly, forcing a smile her way even as my insides churn.
“Mom,” Rook cuts in, his tone sharp, dismissive. “Why don’t you go and check on your husband? Let me catch up with Eb.”
A cigarette appears between his fingers, shifting his attention away from her, from me, and to the lighter he flicks open. Cindy hesitates, like she’s doesn’t want to leave us two alone, but eventually, her hands smooth down her red dress nervously as she stands and walks away, leaving us alone for the first time in two long years.
For a moment the only sound between us is the faint crackle of tobacco as he takes a deep pull, the smoke curling up his nostrils from his mouth. The sharp scent of smoke coils into the air, swirling between us as he leans back, exhaling.
The pull between us is too much to bear, the air is dense with unspoken anger, unresolved lust, and years of broken promises. My hand trembles slightly as I lean over to the coffee table to my left, gripping the champagne flute, but I hide it well, taking a long sip to steady myself.
Rook doesn’t stop watching me, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm against his beer bottle. His movements are calculated. It’s a game—one he’s always been better at playing, but I won’t fold this time. Suddenly, I catch something black moving around his hand on the back of the couch.
Before I can register what it is, he leans forward quickly, the leather of his jacket creaking softly as his elbows rest on his knees, throwing a glance over his shoulder, ensuring no one’s paying attention. When his eyes return to mine, they’re intense and they drop to my red lips.
“Merry Christmas, Bunny,” he murmurs, entirely devoid of the charm that used to make that stupid nickname tolerable, almost lovable. Now, it feels like a weapon, a reminder of everything we used to be, everything we shouldn’t have become and my stomach twists.
I hold his stare, refusing to let him see me hesitate, but the nickname pulls at old wounds, opening them just enough to sting. He used to say it because he said Ebony sounded like E-Bunny, and the name stuck, even when it annoyed me. Back then, it meant he loved me like his little sister.
My grip tightens on the glass as I feel the burn of tears threatening to rise. Memories of that Christmas night flash through my mind in vivid, painful detail—how he took my innocence, how he shattered every boundary I thought I had. My breath hitches, and I force myself to push the images down, locking them away where they belong.
“You still remember, don’t you?” He asks in a quiet murmur, being discreet around our family, his head tilting to the side. “You can’t even fucking look at me without feeling me between your legs, breaking into your virgin pussy.”
The vulgarity of his words punches the air from my lungs. I freeze, my blood boiling under my skin as his eyes drag down me again, like he owns the right to look.
“You hate yourself for it, and it’s pitiful.” He shakes his head slightly, like he’s disgusted with me, with everything.
His insult cuts deep, but I refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing how much it affects me. Raising my chin, I meet his gaze head-on, narrowing my eyes slightly, daring him to keep pushing.
“Is that really the first thing you want to say to me after two years, Rook?” I scoff and shake my head slightly. “Why am I the pathetic one when you can’t stop eye-fucking me in front of our family? What’s wrong? Still not moved on from fucking your drunk little sister?”
His eyes blaze, the intensity behind them searing into me. His body tenses from my choice of words, and for a brief second, I think I’ve gotten under his skin. I lean forward slightly, closing the distance between us just enough to drive my point home.
“You had me,” I whisper, the annoyance in my tone sharp. “But you’ll never have me like that again. It’s time to drop it.”
The silence that follows is deafening, a charged current buzzing between us and we stare at one another.
“I’ve always liked a challenge, Bunny, you know that,” he shoots back, his jaw clenching tightly, the grating of his teeth audible before he points at me and my eyes dart downward toward it.
I immediately see a small black snake curling around his tattooed fingers, and I recoil, my throat drying.
“Is… Is that a fucking snake on your hand?”
