Everything is such a mess.
If Mia were here, she’d tell me the only way out is to fuck them both.
Thankfully, Emmett starts talking so I’m not left drowning in my thoughts.
“It really is okay. I meant what I said last night.” His eyes drop to my lips, then a little lower—noticing his handiwork, I’m sure.
My breath catches and I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the doorknob until my knuckles turn white.
“Okay. Well, um, I should shower.” I tilt my head toward my door.
Emmett straightens. “No, yeah, of course. I’ll, uh, let you get to it then,” he stammers before giving me a flirty grin. “Unless you think you might need some help?”
“I think I’ll manage this time. Really kind of you to offer, though.”
“One might even say charitable.” He winks, heading down the hallway and into his room.
I’m smiling as I twist the glass doorknob at the same time the screen door is yanked open again. Only this time, when I look down the stairs, I’m met with sad, deep amber eyes.
My feet are rooted into the hardwood floor and I swear time stops.
Wesley’s usual stony expression twists into something somber when his eyes fall to my shirt.
The edges of my vision blur, unable to focus on anything other than him. He looks gutted, like he’s in physical, visceral pain.
Before I can think of anything to say, he slowly nods once and storms right back out, letting the door slam behind him.
I shove myself through my bedroom door, following his lead and using my back to slam it shut. I hold my breath, worried Heath will be upset and say something about all the door slamming, but the house is eerily silent.
My back slides down the solid wood until I crash onto the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. I let my head fall into my hands and don’t attempt to hold back the sobs as they pour out of me.
What the fuck have I done?
Sundaymorningsweremyfavorite.
I loved the slow pace and the lightness of it all. Making a big breakfast and starting my day with giggles and the company of the people who have unexpectedly become a very special part of my life.
Sunday morningsweremy favorite.
Until now.
Now there’s a melancholy aura floating in the air.
After my shower, I come downstairs, giving Heath a tight-lipped smile and hoping my puffy, red eyes aren’t too noticeable.
He nods, tipping his head toward the fruit waiting to be sliced. If he has any suspicions, he doesn’t bring it up.
He’s so great about that. I know he’s not oblivious, and I’m sure he’s aware of a lot more than he lets on, but he doesn’t call attention to things without a good reason.
I’m going through the motions, slicing fruit and adding it to a bowl while Heath works on scrambling eggs and flipping bacon at the stove.
The room feels smaller the moment Emmett walks in, the tension in the air thick and unavoidable, like the way steam clings to glass.
His hair is still damp from his shower, curling at the nape of his neck, and he’s swapped his gray sweatpants for black ones. He leans against the other side of the island, flashing an easy grin that only makes everything worse.
I glue my eyes to the strawberries I’m slicing, refusing to meet his gaze. I can’t look at him. Last night happened—whether I want to admit it or not—and now we’re here.
The guilt gnaws at me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I say good morning? Pretend like nothing happened? Is there a how-to book for this situation?What to Do After Hooking Up With Your “Kind Of” Ex’s Brother.That screams New York Times Bestseller.
