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She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and I swear I spot a shimmer of doubt, but she kisses my cheek. “All I want is for you to be happy, safe, and taken care of.”
“I know, Mama.” Calling her the name I used when I was little might be to distract her from searching my face for the truth, and it works.
Her answering smile is so big, her eyes crinkle. “I love you.”
She always has. Even when she hated the world for my dads leaving, she loved me. Trauma is a bitch, though, and my brain is my biggest enemy. No matter how hard I reassure myself that she loves me, I can’t stop fearing that, one day, she’ll decide to leave me as well.
“I love you too.” My spine pricks with awareness just before a throat clears.
“Uh, Gwen?” Austin asks, sounding a little uncertain.
We turn. He’s alone, the other two brothers mysteriously out of sight. My stomach tightens. I hope Dylan didn’t get sick; he was stumbling around on stage and Brady was pissed.
“I, uh... I just wanted to say that we’re happy to have you in the family.” His smile is genuine, but his eyes are more thana little glazed. He’s drunk too, only instead of turning mean like Brady, he’s nice.
Mom gives him a hug that he returns with a shocking amount of openness, almost like he’s been aching for motherly love.
“Thank you, Austin.” Mom sniffs and blinks back tears. “That means so much to me.” She glances back at me, taking in the stiffness of my muscles. “You and Quinn should dance.”
“I don’t think we need to?—”
“Okay.” Austin grabs my hand and drags me onto the floor before I can finish my sentence. He leads me to the middle of the dancers and turns, doing something with his hand that brings me into position. With practiced ease, he clasps my hand in one of his and rests the other low on my back. Fresh rain, earthy and crisp, wraps around me, and I breathe it in. He smells like my favorite days curled up on the couch with a good book.
Austin steps forward.
I immediately move back. “Whoa.”
He grins. “Prepare to be dazzled, dear sister.”
I bite my cheek and hate that I never learned any of these dances. I’m going to make a fool of myself. My gaze falls to my feet as I try to count and figure out what he’s doing.
“I’ve got you.”
My eyes lift to meet his. Bad decision. Those sky-blue eyes, so light and beautiful, zero in on my face. Flames lick up my neck and color my cheeks, and he hums, though I’m not sure he realizes he’s done so.
“When did you take up ballroom dancing?”
He carries us around the floor with an ease I envy, and it’s easy to follow along, almost like he’s in control of my body, and if he let go, I’d float away. “Recently, actually. I got a little bored with all the culinary classes, so I signed up for lessons on a whim. Why? Are you impressed?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I laugh. “I’m mildly impressed, sure.”
He leans in close enough that I can taste his breath. Minty, not a hint of booze. He must’ve brushed his teeth after, trying to hide what they’d done. “Liar,” he murmurs.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep better, Chef.”
The name hits him hard. His eyes dilate and they stray to my lips, as if begging me to say it again. I purse them to keep from doing it just to see what he’d do.
“Fuck.”
“Language,” I chastise, looking away.
Suddenly, he tugs me a little closer. Not close enough to be indecent but much closer than he should, given that we’re now brother and sister.
Stepbrother and sister.
“Right, I forgot about you,” he whispers near my ear. “Quinn, the good girl.”
My breath catches in my throat. Hearing him say that does things to me that aren’t right. Heat swoops through my body and my core aches. I try to step away, to make an escape before I embarrass myself by saying something, or worse, keening like a needy omega. His hold on me tightens.
