Fracture

7. Stella

CHAPTER 7

STELLA

“I think I want to fuck my stepbrother.”

Bless Dr. Varden, because her face doesn’t even betray the slightest hint of shock at my confession. “I see.”

“And his best friend,” I blurt out, before quickly raising my hands. “Who is also kind of my ex. I mean, I don’t want to fuck them at the same time. I mean, maybe at the same time? I don’t know, is that weird? I’ve never had a threesome before, and I mean, it sounds like it’d be fun, but that’s weird, right? It’s my brother and his best friend, why would they want to sleep with me at the same time, that’s like them sleeping together and I don’t think Levi is gay. I mean OK, not gay, Dylan isn’t gay either, he’s bi, but they’re just friends and I’m Levi’s sister for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but ever since they got out, I’ve been all tangled up, and then I looked at my brother naked, and I-”

“Stella, I want you to take a deep breath,” Dr. Varden interjects, raising her hand from her clipboard so her palm is flat and facing upwards. “In.” She breathes in and raises her hand. “And out.” She turns her hand over and lowers it as she exhales through pursed lips.

I copy her for a count of three, trying to calm the raging thoughts in my head. I can’t believe I just admitted to another person that I want to fuck Levi. This is gross. I’m sick. There’s going to be some FBI suits on my doorstep tomorrow, revoking my entrance to the bar because incest prevents me from practicing law or something.

“This isn’t normal, is it?” I ask once I’ve calmed down a little. “I mean, there’s something wrong with me.”

Dr Varden shakes her head, her blunt bob brushing against the shoulders of her artfully draped navy silk blouse. “Not at all. These feelings you describe are completely normal.”

“ Normal ?”

Dr Varden nods, her face maintaining that neutral demeanor. “Familial attraction after an extended time apart is quite common in siblings, even biological ones. That’s not to say that such relationships are advisable, much less appropriate, but it does happen.”

“Is it different because Levi’s my step-brother? Like, does that make it… OK?”

Dr Varden folds her hands in her lap, a picture of composure. “Do you think it’s OK?”

I try to swallow down the lump in my throat. “No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because… Because he’s my brother. At least, that’s how people see him, that’s how people have always seen him.”

Dr Varden mulls over my words for a few seconds, before raising her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. “Stella, when you say you want to have sex with your step-brother, what do you mean by that?”

“I-I mean, I want to… I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”

She clasps her hands on her knee. “Is it possible you’re simply looking for closeness, and it’s manifesting as a desire for sexual interactions?”

I stare at her for a moment, trying to find a way of telling this demure professional that I had a screaming orgasm while I imagined Levi spanking me and tying me to the bed so he could fuck me and punish me for being a brat. That I’d taunted my stepbrother and pushed his buttons until I could see the thread of self-control come completely undone. That I’d spent an entire night with a vibrator buried inside me to try and alleviate the desire to have Levi and Dylan in my bed, to imagine all the ways they could both fuck me.

How do you tell someone all of that without sounding like a complete freak?

“I don’t know.” I finally reply, and shrug weakly. “It’s all so twisted, and having them both so close, it makes me miss all that time we lost, and I want that back, if that makes sense?”

Dr Varden smiles warmly. “Of course it does. It’s perfectly normal to have trouble compartmentalizing feelings of intimacy with your history.”

Her words aren’t meant to hurt me, but they may as well be a slap.

“Because I’m broken, you mean?” I swallow hard, that damn lump just growing and growing with every word. “I can’t have a normal relationship with my own step-brother because I’ve never known what a normal, healthy, platonic relationship looks like?”

“You’re not broken, Stella. We’ve gone over this.” Dr Varden nudges the box of tissues closer to me, even though I’m not crying. “What happened to you hasn’t broken you, it shifted how you view the world. Trauma does that. It just requires a little shift in your behavior so you don’t engage in anything that could cause you harm.” The word again hangs on the end of that sentence like a wailing ghost. She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to.

“I don’t do that anymore,” I say, fighting the wavering in my voice. “I haven’t done that in a really long time.”

“I know, and you’ve done so well, Stella. And I don’t want you to feel shame over what happened. Engaging in risky sexual behaviours is very normal for victims of sexual assault, you know that.”

Risky sexual behavior . It’s such a sterile way to put it. It sounds almost harmless when she says it like that. It doesn’t even begin to describe what I did to myself. What I allowed men to do to me, all in the name of wanting to feel something, anything, other than the shame and sorrow that threatened to pull me down into a black hole and snuff out any light that existed within me.

“I don’t think this is like that,” I say slowly. “I’m not trying to hurt myself. I don’t want to hurt them either.”

“Did you have thoughts like this of your step-brother while you were growing up?”

Another question I have no idea how to answer. Because I didn’t. Not at first. He was just a stupid teenage boy whose mom happened to marry my dad. We fought and teased and stuck together, like friends do. I had no other siblings to compare the relationship to, so I didn’t know what that felt like.

It wasn’t until my 17th birthday, when he bought me a gold necklace, with a gold S charm, that something changed. His fingertips as they brushed against my collarbone, they didn’t feel like a brother’s hands. But I’d been involved with Dylan, and Levi was my brother, at least that’s how our parents sold it to the world. And my father hated them both equally, which made everything complicated anyway.

“I-I masturbated to the thought of him the other night,” I finally admit, expecting to feel sick but finding that the admission makes my shoulders feel a little lighter. “That’s gross, right?”

“Stella, human emotions are complicated, and trauma makes them even more so.” She moves the tissue box closer again, even though I’m still not crying. “Have you talked to your stepbrother about these feelings?”

“Oh my god, no.” The thought has my cheeks burning.

“Is there any indication that he feels the same way?”

My head is going to spontaneously combust. I scrape my nails along my linen shorts, and bounce my foot against the ground. “God, I mean, I don’t know.” Yes I do. I know what the look he gave me means, I know the way he’s avoided me since that night tells me he wanted very much to spank me . “He’s been in prison a long time, so I think it’s just…”

“He left behind a girl and has come out to find an accomplished, beautiful young woman?” Dr Varden smiles at me. “Again, totally normal. You’ve met each other again as a man and a woman, not as brother and sister. Perhaps that relationship just needs to be fostered again.”

I don’t know how to say that I don’t think I want to go back to being Levi’s sister.

“And what about Dylan?” Dr Varden asks.

“What about him?”

“Are you intending to rekindle your relationship with him?” She uncrosses and crosses her legs, grasping her shiny black pen in her hand.

“I mean, he’s asked for a chance.” Now my eyes start to sting. Because the love I feel for Dylan digs into my ribs, sharp and aching, and I don’t know what to do with it.

“Are you going to give him that chance?” Dr Varden asks gently.

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I want to. But I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“For what happened that night?”

I nod, biting my lip as my vision starts to swim. “I-I still blame him. I can't help but feel that if he’d just not done that, if we’d just gone to the police instead of them… I don’t know. They ran off to play big heroes, and who stayed with me? No one.” On the words no one , the dam breaks. Tears begin to roll over my lashes, and I snatch up a tissue, pressing it to my eyes. “I want to let him in. I do. Because with him, it’s like… all the noise stops. All the chaos and the noise, it just stops .”

“He’s your calm.” Dr Varden’s voice remains soft and measured.

I nod. Dylan is my calm. Levi is my storm. And I need them both and want them both and can’t have either of them because of that.

I cry my way through the rest of my session, at the injustice of it all, at everything that was taken from me, from all of us.

When I get outside, I dial Zee’s number and ask if they have an appointment free for me. I start crying again when they say yes, and I can’t even tell them why.

“Fucking love your hair, girl.” Zee does the little zhoosh thing with their fingers so my freshly high-lighted hair bounces around my shoulders, and they sigh appreciatively. “So pretty.”

“Thanks.”

“And this tan, and the pink lip gloss? Damn girl.” They snap their fingers. “Forget being a lawyer, get an OnlyFans.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You did always say my tits were camera worthy.”

They throw their head back with a groan. “Girl, I dream of your tits and I am asexual.”

“Gee, thanks.” I chuckle, putting my gold hoop earrings back in. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know Jared Marshall was a homophobe?”

Zee purses their lips and shrugs lightly as they pack up their tools. “I mean, he wasn’t especially nice to me in high school. Called me Freak, didn’t leave me alone until Dylan got big enough to defend both of us.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Zee smiles warmly at my reflection. “Girl, you were going through it, OK? We didn’t want to burden you with anything else.”

I dip my head. “I was a bad friend.”

“No.” Zee grasps my shoulders tightly. “You were a great friend, you are a great friend. But we all knew something wasn’t right with you.”

I sniffle, not wanting that dam to burst again. “So, when did you decide to forgive Jared for what he did?”

Zee rubs my shoulders, sighing lightly. “When he got back from Africa, he was kind of a new person. He came to me and told me that the church he’d grown up in had been a nightmare. His parents, too. I guess I forgave him because I know how badly brainwashed you can get when that’s all you hear.”

I feel a slight pang of shame. “Maybe I was too harsh on him.”

Zee shakes their head, tossing their purple dreads. “He’s not owed forgiveness just because he’s not an asshole anymore. And to be fair, Dylan didn’t just get called names, he got black eyes.”

I lift my eyes with a sigh. “So, why would you want me to go out with Jared?”

Zee suppresses a smirk, and shrugs. “I’m not ashamed to admit, I wanted to see what would happen.”

“You were testing them, weren’t you?”

Zee’s brows knit together. “Them? I mean, Dylan, yeah.” They look back down at their tools, winding the cord of a hairdryer around itself. “I think he needed a push to see that he needed to act to get you back.”

My throat runs dry. Of course Zee wasn’t pushing Levi because he’s my damn stepbrother. I’m already letting the cat out of the bag. I need these men out of my house before I lose my mind.

“Well, I don’t know if it did that. I kinda acted like a royal pain in the ass on Friday.”

Zee raises their eyebrows and laughs lightly. “Yeah, I heard about that. My cousin works for Mario, and said his new boss’s sister gave them quite a show at the staff party.”

I sink into the chair with a groan, covering my face with my hands. “I don’t even know what came over me. I made a martini with the vermouth you bought me, I’m going to blame you.”

“Oh sure, blame me for morphing into Stripper Barbie, bitch.” Zee huffs out a laugh as I sink further into the chair. “You know, you could just let Dylan take you out on a date rather than strip off in front of his employees.”

“What is wrong with me?” I drop my hands to pout at Zee’s reflection. “I’m being an ass and I don’t even know why.”

Zee grips my shoulders with their warm hands, and lowers their head next to mine, smiling warmly at me in the mirror. “My sweet girl, you have been through it. Stop overthinking, and just be with them. Stop thinking about who you were, and what was, and think about what could be. Think about how happy you could all be.” They wrap their arms around my shoulders and hug me, and I grip onto them with everything I’ve got. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“Give my man a chance, huh?” They kiss my cheek and tuck my hair behind my ear. “He’s like a big wounded puppy dog when he’s around you.”

“I know. He’s gorgeous.” I swipe away the lone tear that manages to breach my lashes, and turn my head to smile at Zee. “Why do I go to therapy when I have you?”

“Comes with the territory.” Zee holds up a hand and shrugs. “You become half-therapist, listening to everyone’s problems here.”

“I’ll bet.” We both glance over at the door as the bell tinkles and a woman with short blonde hair in black trousers and a neat cream blouse steps into the salon. Her heels clack on the marble floor, and Zee smiles warmly as they walk over to the counter.

“Hi there, what can I help you with today?”

“Hi, I’m actually looking for Stella Langford.” As she says my name, her gaze lands on me where I’m still sitting in my chair. She raises a hand in greeting and starts to approach me. “Stella! Mallory Harris, Channel Four News. Can we have a-”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Zee rounds the counter and blocks Mallory’s path, one lithe arm pointing at the door. “You get the hell out of my place, and stop harassing my client.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

I snatch up my purse and rise out of the chair. “I don't talk to reporters.” I move across the salon, and nod at Zee. “Thanks, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Stella, have you heard about Gloria Fenton’s interview?” Mallory asks as I pass her by, and I stop in my tracks. Her eyes fix on my face as I meet her gaze, and she smiles softly. “Hi Stella, I’m really sorry to ambush you like this, but I thought you deserved to know.”

“Deserved to know what?”

She gestures to the door with a sweep of her hand. “Shall we go get a coffee and talk?”

“Oh hell no,” Zee pipes up, crossing their arms over their chest. “You want to talk to her, you do it right here. I’m not leaving her alone with you vultures again.”

Mallory’s certainty slips a little, and she holds up her clasped hands. “Stella, I’m not here to hurt you or catch you out, I just wanted to talk.”

“You can talk right here,” Zee says with a jab of their finger in the direction of the plush armchairs by the door.

“We don’t trust reporters.” My voice is cooler than I intended, but I’m not going to feel bad about that. Instead, I stride over the armchair and dip my head in the direction of the other one. “Come. Sit. We can talk freely here.”

Zee goes to the door and turns over the sign to the Closed side, latching the door and flipping off the lights in the window. Mallory nods, her corporate smile back in place as she clacks across the marble floor to sit down in the green velvet armchair opposite me.

“I trust this is all strictly off the record,” I say as she opens her mouth to speak.

“Of course.”

“I’m witness to that,” Zee says from the counter.

“And you are aware I’m a lawyer.” I fold my arms over my lap, regarding the woman opposite me with what I hope appears to be detached neutrality. Inside, I’m a tornado of butterflies as I wonder what the fuck Gloria is up to now.

Mallory smoothes her pants over her legs as she crosses one over the other. “Stella, I meant it. I’m not here to cause you any pain, or to dredge up the past.”

“Go ahead then.”

“Gloria Fenton has granted Channel Six a tell-all interview.” Mallory looks genuinely apologetic as she says it. “She’s apparently been working with some college students on her son’s case, and this interview is being touted as a big reveal on information the public didn’t know.”

Zee’s head snaps up to look over at me with alarm, and I dig my fingers into my palm to try and keep myself composed.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this. I haven’t spoken to my stepmother in years.”

Mallory leans forward, closing the distance between us a little. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell your side of the story.”

“And there it is!” Zee storms over to us, eyes full of fury. “Get out of my place. You’re not going to harass my friend after everything she went through.”

“I just want to give her a chance to-”

“Chance nothing.” Zee jabs a finger in the direction of the door. “Get the fuck out.”

Mallory turns back to me helplessly, and I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I have no interest in talking to anyone or in rehashing what happened back then.”

“But if people understood you, Stella-”

“People never understand.” I cut her off as I rise to my feet. “And they won’t understand now. Gloria can say whatever she wants, it doesn’t even matter. That woman is less than nothing to me.”

Mallory reaches into her pocket and withdraws a slim black business card. “This is my number. In case you change your mind. Call me any time, we can talk.” When I don’t take the card from her, she places it down on the low coffee table, and gives me a friendly smile. “I mean it, any time.”

“Fine.”

“I want to help you, Stella.” She gives me a quick nod, before she heads to the door, which Zee is already holding open for her. Zee’s venomous gaze pursues the reporter out into the late afternoon sunshine, and then they slam the door shut behind her.

“The fucking nerve of that woman,” Zee mutters, shaking their head. “Coming in here like that. How the fuck did she even know you were here?”

I bend down to pick up the business card, running my thumb over the matte surface. “Yeah. Unbelievable.”

Zee stops and regards me critically. “You’re not thinking of actually doing it, are you?”

I shake my head, shoving the card into my bag. “No, I have no interest in talking to the press about all that. It’s done.”

“What do you think Gloria’s up to?”

I shrug, putting my sunglasses on my head. “Who knows with her. I don’t really care. What’s she going to say that she hasn’t already said?”

“Does she know the guys are living with you?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” With a sigh, I fish my purse out of my bag. “How much do I owe you for today?”

“Girl, that shit is on the house, as you damn well know.” Zee walks up to me, their face twisted with concern, placing their hands on my upper arms and squeezing gently. “I know I talk shit, but if you did ever want to go public, tell everyone what happened, I’d be behind you. I promise. I want you to do it because you want to, not because you want to beat your evil stepmother to it.”

“I know, honey. Thank you.”

Zee wraps me in a hug, and they smell soothingly of rose and patchouli.

“I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

“I know. I know you are.” I pull back from them and smile. “If you won’t let me pay, then promise you’ll come for dinner this weekend. Maybe you can bring some calm into my chaotic household.”

“It’s a deal. I’ll be there Saturday. No vermouth this time.”

I can’t help but laugh, and place a kiss on their cheek. “See you Saturday.”

“Try not to kill my man before then!” They call after me as I head outside.

“I’ll try!” I pull down my sunglasses against the harsh glare of the sun, the warm air brushing against my skin as I make my way back to the car. I pass a florist, and spy a display of peonies, and decide to buy myself a huge bunch before getting back into my Volvo.

The scent of the flowers fills my car, and I put music on as I cruise down the street back to my house. A figure is jogging down the road ahead of me, dressed in small black shorts, wearing no shirt so their tattoos are on display. I know instantly that it’s Dylan.

I consider pulling over and seeing if he wants a ride home, but he’s working out so I might be interrupting his mile. But maybe he’s gotten hot and needs a ride? He doesn’t look like he has water with him, and it’s at least 90 today. Shit.

Before I can second-guess myself too much, I pull over ahead of him, and watch him approach in the rear view mirror. He’s dripping with sweat when he stops by the car, shoulders heaving as he leans into the wound-down window.

“Hey guera ,” he pants, running a hand over his sweat-soaked face.

“Hi.” The nick-name guera - blondie - makes my insides do a little flip. “Did you want a ride? It’s so hot today.”

“I’ll get your car all sweaty.” Beads of sweat drip down his shoulders, and I hope to god he didn’t just see me swallow hard.

“I don’t care. I’d rather a sweaty car than have you get heat stroke.”

“Ah, you’re sweet.” He opens the car door, retrieving the huge bouquet of peonies before flopping down into the seat. “These are pretty, gift from someone?”

I grunt as I pull back out onto the street. “A gift from me to me. I don’t think anyone’s ever bought me flowers in my life.”

“I did.”

I glance over at him, at this huge tattooed man clutching a bouquet of pretty pink flowers, and he smiles at me.

“Remember? For your birthday? When you turned 16, you said you wanted nothing but flowers, because no one had ever bought you flowers before.”

My heart sinks. Because of course he had. He’d bought me seven bunches of roses in all different colors, and my room had smelled so good. I’d been so happy. But then that night, because it was my sixteenth, my father told me it was time to do something extra special.

I clench my eyes shut and suck in a breath.

“Stella?” Dylan’s hand is on my shoulder as I force my eyes back onto the road. “Hey, you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I brush the back of my hand over my eyes. “I’m fine, just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

He reaches over and lays a hand on my thigh, and the touch is so warm and welcoming. Instantly, the sick feeling dissipates, and I just want to wrap him around me and dull all the noise in my head.

“Anything I can do?” He asks in a low voice.

I can’t help but giggle. “Anything you can do? And what would that entail?”

“I don’t know, a massage, a foot rub.” He squeezes my thigh, running his hand to the edge of my shorts and back down to my knee. “I could join you in the hot tub.”

I groan and put a hand to my forehead. “I blame the martinis, OK?”

“Hey, you want to strip off a bikini while I’m in there with you, I’m good with that.” He leans over and brushes his lips against my shoulder. “That drove me crazy, just so you know.”

Shivers erupt down my spine as his breath skates over my skin. “I was being an idiot. I can’t believe I… Did that.” I laugh lightly as he runs his fingers down my arm. “Keep doing that and I’ll crash.”

“Just get us home.” His voice is full of desire, his meaning more than obvious. He squeezes my thigh again, his fingers straying just a little higher, under the hem of my shorts, and butterflies erupt in my bloodstream.

I want to tell him we shouldn’t, but in that moment I can’t find the words. Because I want him. I want to feel him and kiss him, I want to taste him and give him my body, finally, after all these years of waiting and wanting. I drive faster than I should to get us down my street, and the tires screech as I turn into the drive.

The peonies are forgotten as Dylan dives across at me, grabbing my face in his hands, his lips descending on my neck.

“Fuck, I need you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Say yes. Please, say yes.”

His body is still heated from his run and probably from being aroused as fuck now. I’m still strapped into my seatbelt and can barely move, though I’m trying to pull him down to me and turn towards him. He’s pleading with me with everything he’s got, and I want to give him everything. He just spent 10 years in prison, he deserves to be looked after, right?

“Dylan, just let me-” I reach down and try to free myself from the seatbelt as his hand moves over my breast. “Oh fuck. Dylan, wait, just let me-”

He unclips me and pulls me across and on top of him. His hands rake up my back and into my hair, tensing and flexing as he pulls me against him.

“Jesus fuck, Stella.”

“Dylan, wait.” I push against his chest, and he slumps with an exasperated sigh, his forehead leaning against my chest.

“Do you not want this? Do you not want me?”

“I-I mean…” I don’t know how to answer him. How do I tell him what I told Dr. Varden today? How do I admit to him what I want without hurting him, without losing him, without watching him walk away because of how sick I am? To him, I’m sweet Stella, the girl of his dreams. When really, I’m disgusting and depraved and broken.

He tips his head back and looks up at me, his beautiful dark eyes filled with pain. “I never expected you to wait for me.” He lifts a hand to my cheek, cupping my face in his tattooed fingers. “Really. I never did. I hoped you’d still want me, and I understand if you don’t.”

“It’s not that.” I shake my head, clasping on to his hand and leaning into his touch. “I still love you, papi .”

He sucks in a breath at my words, at the nickname I gave him all those years ago. I lift my eyes to his, feeling a tear fall down my cheek.

“I do. I still love you. But I need to take this slow. I’m sorry. But… I’m not her anymore. I’m broken, and I - I don’t want to break you too.”

He strokes my hair with his other hand as I continue to hold on to him for dear life. “I’ll wait as long as I need to, guera .”

“You know, I like guera better than baby, or sweetheart,” I tell him shyly, kissing his thumb.

“Then you’re my guera .” He gathers me against his chest, wrapping his huge arms around me. “My girl. Mi vida. Mi Ciela. ” My life. My heaven.

I exhale heavily. I’m a horrible, selfish bitch. I’m keeping him here with me even though I know I can never give him what he wants because I can’t bear the thought of him not being in my life. Sooner or later he’ll find out, he’ll realize, or I’ll finally be big enough to admit to him that I can never be faithful to him, and he’ll walk away from me. I’ll lose the first man I ever loved. One of my best friends. The only person who makes all the noise in my head go quiet.

I wrap myself around him, hating myself for how broken I am. I can’t even let myself be happy.

“I’m going to treat you so good, Stella.” He kisses my collarbone, my neck, my shoulder. “Just you wait. All this pain, it’ll be gone before you know it.”

My heart leaps into my throat as the sound of a motorbike engine roars behind my car. Reality comes crashing down on me, and I just want to tell Dylan what’s happening, what’s going on in my head. Instead, I climb out of his lap, and pick the peonies and my bag up from the floor.

“We should go in,” I say quietly.

“I mean it, Stella.” Dylan reaches over and brushes a hand over my thigh. “As long as I have to wait, I’ll wait.”

“I know.” I jump as someone knocks on the window, and I turn to meet Levi’s grinning face. He eyes us through the window, taking in Dylan’s half-naked body, and raises an eyebrow.

“Am I interrupting?” He yells.

With a roll of my eyes and a sigh, I push open the door. “We were just talking.” I hope my flushed face doesn’t betray me, and I hope to god Dylan’s bulging erection has calmed down.

But the way Dylan hurries across the yard to the house and calls, “Going to shower!” Over his shoulder, I doubt it.

Levi eyes me questioningly. “ Did I interrupt something?”

“No, we were just… We were just talking. He was out jogging and I picked him up.”

Levi nods, then reaches out and strokes his fingers through my hair, pushing it back over my shoulder. “You look pretty. Did you get your hair done?”

“Yeah, I went to Zee’s.” I struggle to keep my breathing even as his fingers brush down my arm. “They always do a great job.”

“It’d be pretty hard to make you look anything but perfect.”

I clutch on to the bouquet of peonies like they’re armor, and gaze into Levi’s bright blue eyes, wondering what the fuck to do and who the fuck I am. Minutes ago, I was grinding on Dylan’s lap and telling him I love him, and now I’m resisting the urge to wrap my arms around Levi’s neck and devour his full lips with mine.

“I’m not perfect, and you all should stop acting like I am.” I don’t intend for my words to be so cutting or for my tone to be so cold, but the self-loathing leeches into every bone in my body, and before I look back into Levi’s eyes, I turn on my heel and head into the house.

“Stella, wait up!” Levi is right on my tail, following me inside. He catches me in the kitchen and spins me around to face him. “What’s going on? Did you and Dylan have a fight?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?” He leans closer to me, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at me. “Baby girl, if you don’t tell me what’s going on-”

“What? You’ll spank it out of me?”

His eyebrows shoot up for a second, and he exhales sharply. “I didn’t mean to… Look, I know things are… Weird, but…” He breaks off, his eyes dropping to the floor and I can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. “We’re all figuring shit out, and trying to find our way here.”

“Things aren’t weird, Levi. They’re a fucking mess.” Words I shouldn’t say are threatening to bubble out of me. All the feelings I had when he had me cornered on the porch, the thrill I felt seeing him come undone and to know I was tearing all his restraint away from him. “You and me, we’re damaged. And if we don’t fucking stop, Dylan is going to get hurt.”

Levi releases me instantly and takes a step back. He runs a hand over his head, and nods emphatically. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll find my own place, OK? I’ll be out of here within the week.”

“Good.”

He leaves the kitchen quickly, and I watch his retreating back with a heavy heart. I turn and watch the sun sitting on the horizon, casting orange light across the yard, and I wonder if this feeling will ever go away.