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Dad. The hospital. Emma. Home. Emma—shit. He jerked his head to the sleeping woman, panic filling his veins with ice.
There’s no way.
He grabbed his sweatpants off the floor and slipped them on as he looked anywhere but at her. His lamp was in pieces in the corner. What the hell had they done?
She groaned and rubbed her face, turning around.
His heart stopped, stuck in his throat. “Fuck.”
“Shhhh. Don’t yell.” She winced.
He’d fucked his sister. Jesus Christ. Bile rose. He stumbled to the bathroom just in time to empty his guts.
He flushed and brushed his teeth, needing to get rid of the rancid aftertaste. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he froze. Shame and guilt crashed over him. He smelled like her.
What would Dad think of me now? How could I have been so fucking stupid? I’m disgusting.
“You okay?” Emma appeared in the doorway, her hands stretched out with a glass of water and two pain pills.
He accepted them and guzzled down the water. She’d slipped on one of his T-shirts, but her legs were bare. His cock twitched in his pants.
There is something wrong with me.
She offered him a smile and then grabbed his mouthwash, swishing some in her mouth before spitting it back out.
Emma reached her arms around him. He tensed.
Emma turned her confused gaze to him, running her hand over his cheek. “Want to go back to bed?”
With her? Was she crazy?
“What . . . I mean . . . what happened last night?”
Her nose scrunched, and it was fucking adorable, which only made things worse. “Which part?”
“Why were we . . .” He moved his hand back and forth between them. “Naked. Did we . . .?”
“You don’t remember any of it?” She looked almost sad.
“I remember you stopping by and bringing out the tequila.”
She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. The motion tugged at his heart, but he stayed where he was, every muscle rigid with tension.
She smoothed the hair out of her face. “Last night is fuzzy, but I remember we had sex.”
“Fuck!”
She flinched at his outburst before her eyes grew glassy. “I thought . . .”
“Look, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen.” Link pushed past her to the kitchen. Coffee. He needed caffeine and some toast before he dealt with this.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” Emma followed him. This was her grief talking. It made sense she’d seek comfort from him. It’s not like she’d actually want him otherwise.
He shook his head, anger rising at himself. “I fucked my sister. I’d say that’s pretty messed up.”
She stepped back as if he’d physically hit her. “We’re not blood-related, Link. There isn’t anything wrong with what we did.”
He snapped. “Nothing wrong? Papa died yesterday, and what do I do? I fuck his daughter!”
