Carolyn steps out of Dad’s arms. Her dark-brown eyebrows raised on her forehead. “Well?”
“Do I have to do it?” I say. “I’m sure Ryder can take care of?—”
“He’s busy and can’t do it. You’re not doing anything and can at least help a little around here.” Carolyn sighs and turns back to the pan over the stove.
Dad eyes me with a look I know all too well. He’s seconds away from snapping, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end. At least he hasn’t mentioned Justin. Yet.
Sighing, I leave the kitchen, then go out the back door. The fall air hits me like an arctic blast, raising goosebumps on my arms. I should have put on a heavier jacket before coming out here. I rush down the balcony steps and head to the pool house.
I ease the door open and slip inside. Because it’s not attached to the house, it doesn’t have heating or cooling, but Ryder always kept a space heater here during the colderweather. He hasn’t stayed here in years, so I’m not sure where it is so I can plug it in and start it for him.
When I was younger, I didn’t understand why he chose to stay here instead of the main house, but after years of observing him and his interactions with my father, I realized Dad purposely separated my stepbrother from the rest of us. Ryder would creep inside late in the evening to stuff his face as quickly as possible with the dinner the rest of us had earlier. Rarely did he ever linger inside the house, and when he did, my father would drag him into his office.
I can only assume what my dad did to him. It’s one of the many reasons why I wanted to get closer to Ryder, because I didn’t want him to feel alone. I wanted him to know he had someone in his corner and that he wasn’t the only one my father tried to control. It’s why I would sometimes leave snacks and a can of soda outside his bedroom door, hoping he’d know that I cared about him.
I draw the blackout curtains away from the window to light up the room. I glance around the space that was transformed into a typical boy’s bedroom. Ryder’s bed is tucked against the far wall. Clothes are strewn over the floor, and a guitar and amp sit in the corner. Band posters line the walls, giving life to the room. Some bands I know, others I don’t.
I grab the empty laundry basket near the bathroom and chuck all the dirty clothes inside it. Even though they’re dirty, they still faintly smell like Ryder—amber and cypress, with undertones of stale cigarettes and leather. It’s not a scent most people would enjoy, but it still brings a smile to my face as longing fills my chest. It’s messed up how much I love Ryder’s smell.
Shaking away the confusing emotions, I bend at the waist as I reach for a black T-shirt. The movement presses the butt plug against a sensitive spot inside me, and my clit throbs. I wigglemy hips to move the toy again as I stifle the groan creeping up my throat.
I cringe at myself. How stupid am I for getting turned on while inside my brother’s room? It’s weird behavior.
I straighten to my full height and jump at the dull thud as an object falls from the twisted shirt in my hands. Taking a step back, I look at the ground, then tilt my head. A black-on-black skull mask’s empty eye sockets look back at me. It’s similar to the masks I’ve seen in TikTok thirst traps.
I snatch the mask from the floor and examine it. My thumb absently strokes the skull’s black duct-tape teeth, as though touching them brings some semblance of peace.
Liquid heat pools low in my belly as I imagine Ryder wearing it while shirtless. Guilt squeezes my chest, and the image of him fades.
Jesus, Maddy. He’s your brother. Calm the fuck down.
Wood groans.
My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around. My hand and the mask fly to my chest. Ryder leans against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest and his piercing gaze on my face. I don’t know how I didn’t hear him come in.
I take a calming breath and curl my fingers tighter into the mask. “You scared me.”
Ryder’s blank expression doesn’t change. He just stares at me, not even blinking.
What is he thinking?
As frightened as I am, excitement rushes through my veins.
He’s looking at me. I’m not a ghost.
Time seems to slow, and it stretches uncomfortably from the silence. I shift my weight and look away from him. He doesn’t need to say a word for me to know I fucked up by being in his room. The more time passes, the more nervous I get. Ipeek at him, finding him still watching me with the same blank expression.
“Your mom wanted me to get your dirty clothes and sheets. I promise I wasn’t going through anything,” I say, then hesitantly add, “I’m happy you’re staying here.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from admitting how much I’ve missed him. He may loathe me, but I can’t find it in my heart to hate him. Not after all the stolen moments we had throughout the years.
Ryder slowly blinks and eases his head to the side. Dark-brown tendrils of hair fall over his eyes, blocking my view of them.
My hands tremble. If Ryder notices this detail, he doesn’t give away that he knows. I lower my gaze to the skull mask, pretending to find it more interesting than my hot-as-sin brother who’s watching me like a predator hunting its prey.
“I should go.” My voice comes out shaky and weak.Where’s the girl who sent a selfie with her middle finger held up?
I rush toward the door, which he’s still very much leaning against with no intention of moving. I stop in front of him and struggle to swallow around the nervous lump in my throat. My gaze remains on his broad chest, as I’m too afraid to look any higher and find hatred in his eyes. Tattoos creep from the neckline of his black V-neck shirt and twist around his throat, creating demon faces and puffs of smoke.
