“Stop!” I hit his chest.
“Why? So you can feel better about yourself? I know because you’re not the first girl who’s come crying to me after he broke her heart.”
“But it’s different with us!”
He laughs, and it makes my stomach turn. “God, how could you be so dumb? Every girl says it’s different. But guess what. It’s not. Fuck, Stacey. How could you fall for his shit?”
“Okay, Chad. Let’s just calm down,” Nicole says as she places her hands on his arms.
“Calm down? Are you kidding me right now?” He glares at her. “And you knew! You knew, and you kept it from me!” Chad storms off and slams his bedroom door.
Nicole comes in and sits down, hugging me tightly and letting me cry on her shoulder.
I hate my brother. My brother hurt Wes. And Wes broke my heart.
How did things get so fucked up?
Chapter Twenty
Wesley
Almost every night, I dream. It’s been that way all my life.
Some nights, I dream of my father. They’re nightmares that have me clutching my fists and trying to yell, but the words don’t come out. I’m voiceless, and I try to run, but I’m chained to the ground. There’s no control, and I wake up in a pool of sweat.
Other times, my dreams are totally random, like the one where I’m at a store, buying milk. Then, there’s an explosion, and I’m a warrior, running out to save the day. One second, I’m Wes, and the next, I’m a fucking action hero, crushing skulls and saving lives.
But sometimes, if I’m really lucky, I have a dream that’s so real that I wake up, feeling so wrong for wanting something my mind was telling me felt so right.
Those dreams are about her.
They started in high school. I was at Chad’s house, playing hoops in the driveway, when she came home with her mother. Stacey was fourteen and had just gotten her hair highlighted for the first time. She climbed out of that Subaru with her long legs peeking out of a dress she’d bought for a swim banquet she was going to. Her makeup was done, and there was something so feminine and sexy about her that I dropped the ball and forgot where I was.
Stacey Brightmore was gorgeous.
Yes, I knew she’d manipulated Spin the Bottle that night. And I’d let her. She was cute, and I was curious. It was like blinders were lifted from my eyes, and I was seeing her for the first time. Yeah, it’s cliché as fuck, but that was when it happened.
After that, I saw her everywhere.
I could be playing baseball, and there she was in the stands. Or in my Science class, where she helped me figure out a problem I had been stuck on. I’d see her in reality and dream about her at night.
Those dreams were everything from just seeing her face to naughtiness I could never tell my best friend about.
Sometimes though, they’d be more.
We would talk, and she’d listen to my inner thoughts. My hopes and my dreams. I’d kiss her, and she’d let me touch her in a way that was against all things holy. They were so vivid that I’d wake up, thinking she was right next to me and my dream was our real life.
Those are the ones that would freak me out the most.
Then, I got drunk at my graduation party, which was held months after I graduated because my parents never got around to throwing one for me until the day before I left. I think it was more a party for themselves because they were finally rid of me. So be it. I got piss-ass drunk in celebration of getting out of that house.
Stacey came over to say good-bye. She had a curfew still and had to go. She gave me a hug, and I held on a little too long. I stole that kiss from her, and I loved it. She tasted like peach cobbler and smelled just as sweet. Her skin was soft, and her lips were lush and full. It wasn’t a short kiss. We made out for a solid two minutes.
For years, I’ve had that dream, what it felt like, on fucking repeat, never realizing it was real until she told me. That’s why it was so vivid in my head.
But none of that matters. I knew I wasn’t allowed to have her. She was my best friend’s little sister.
She was off-limits.
Fucking Chad.
“You good, man?” Matt asks, standing at his bedroom door.
“Yeah, bro. Thanks for putting me up.” I toss a blanket on the sofa and grab a pillow. “I know this is pretty inconvenient.”
“It’s fine. I still can’t believe you fucked Stacey.”
I clench the pillow. “It wasn’t like that. I just—”
“Need a place to stay for a while.” He taps on the doorframe to his room. “It’s been two weeks, and while I don’t mind having you here, I also don’t want you sleeping on a couch forever.”
I nod and relax my body. He means well; I know. Matt’s a good guy. “I know, man. I signed a contract on a condo. My place should close any day now.”
“Have you seen her?” His question catches me off guard.
“Have I seen Stacey?”
Yeah, I’ve seen her twice. The lavender streaks in her hair caught my attention as she left the lecture hall for her last final. Her eyes were red and puffy. Thank God she didn’t see me because if she tried to confront me, I don’t know if I would have been able to keep it together. I hurt her. I saw it written all over her face. I know what I did to her, and still, I know it was the right thing to do.
“No,” I lie.
Matt grimaces as he backs into his room. “Night, Wes.”
I nod to him and then fall onto the couch. It’s too short for my legs and lumpy as fuck. Serves me right though. I never had the right to do what I did. I’m a fuckup. But haven’t I always been?
I hadn’t seen her in three years, and the dreams of her persisted during my years at Berkeley. I came here with a mission to screw my way through school. The guys loved watching me hit on girls, and they kept a tally of how many I took home. I never slept with a woman I wasn’t attracted to, and I never pushed someone to do something they were uncomfortable with. It wasn’t a game to me. It was a need.
A need to prove I was wanted.
I know it’s messed up, but try living your life with a mother who ignores you and a father who harps on you every day. Validation became an addiction, and I was able to get my fill in spades.
And while I had girls in my bed who would make a priest cry, I never stopped dreaming of Stacey. She was like this siren in my mind that taunted me. I gave in because there were no consequences in dreams.
And then she walked through the door.
Heart-shaped face, full lips, and an hourglass body, she looked like a pinup model. Her shoulders were broad from years of swimming, and her waist tapered into hips that made you want to grab them. She was more beautiful than I remembered, and I instantly regretted telling Chad she could move in.
Seeing her every day was messing with my head. She was hot, and yes, I had these dreams. But she was always and would always be Chad’s little sister. There was a code. I’d like to say it was an unspoken code, but Chad had stated a million times in our lives that his sister was absolutely, unequivocally off-limits.
He said it in middle school when our friends started to notice girls—I mean, really noticing them. His first response was, “Stay away from Stacey.”