Page 54 of Fear the Reapers
“Where is everyone?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
It was around 9PM and the house was abnormally quiet.
“Ez and Tris are in the dungeon.” Cyrus quipped, looking bored as he swiped through his phone.
“And Stevie?” I asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“She’s in her room.” Cyrus said, looking up at me. “How’d it go with Mel?”
“Not good.” I said, loosening my tie as I leaned over the kitchen island. “We can’t keep Stevie, it's not safe for her. I’ll have the maids pack up her things in the morning. She’s going home.”
“This is her home,” Cyrus asserted, pressing his lips firmly together, “don’t you think she deserves some kind of say in this?”
“No. I don’t. I’m doing what’s best for all of us. Keeping her here will just complicate things.”
And remind me every day that I can’t have her.
“Bullshit.” He spat. “Stevie is staying. We aren’t your fucking foot soldiers. You can’t just snap your fingers and expect us to follow blindly. Tris talks to her. Even Ez has some sick fascination with her. She’s good for them and you know it.”
“Yeah.” I retorted with a sarcastic smirk, “and what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Baby brother, spare me the act, alright? Let’s not pretend that your cock doesn’t have a dog in the race. It was obvious what happened the night she tried to run away. Her scent was all over you.”
“Is that the real problem, At? Is it that she’s sleeping alone in her room right now and it drives you insane knowing you can’t do anything about it?”
“I’m engaged.”
“Yeah, and why is that?” He asked, with a sarcastic smirk. “Money? Power? Because there's no way in hell it's love.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about or what kind of sacrifices I’ve made for you assholes.” I hissed, giving him a sideways glance as I took another swig of scotch.
Everything I did was for them. They were just too fucking blind to see it.
“That’s the problem,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me, “you never tell us shit. How are we supposed to help you if you never clue us in?”
I had no response. I was done discussing my personal life and ready to forget this conversation existed.
“We aren’t kids anymore.” He said, giving up as he stood to leave. “Let us help you carry the fucking load every once in a while.”
Stevie hadn’t told my brothers about our past, and part of me was grateful for her discretion. My brothers already had their suspicions about Mel and if the truth came out, no way in hell would they ever let me go through with the arrangement. The other part of me. The bitter, angry asshole part wished she’d at least acknowledge that I wasn’t the only one who felt something. That it killed her as much as it killed me to keep my distance. That I wasn’t the only one fighting my insane jealousy.
I took another swig from my scotch bottle, savoring the burn in my chest.
I always thought I could never stomach the idea of seeing Stevie with someone else. That no one else would ever be good enough for her. Then I saw her with them. Ezra, Tristan, and Cyrus were the only fuckers on this planet who meant something to me. And seeing the effect she had on them was a humbling experience. I tried to fight it. Tried to push her the fuck out of our lives as soon as I saw the signs. But how could I want them to stay away from a girl that has enough room in her heart for all of them?
I was happy for my brothers. She was good for them. But Stevie Alexander was poisonous to me. Every time I thought of Stevie, I’d get these crazy ideas in my head. Crazy ideas that I had no business fucking thinking about. In fact, I shouldn’t be thinking at all. What I really needed was to forget. Forget Melanie and her stupid fucking vendetta. Forget my brothers and their need to butt into my personal life. And as I took another swig of my 18 year single malt scotch, I vowed to forget the girl that I loved first, but could never love again.
Chapter 33
Stevie
A loud crash boomed outside of my bedroom, shocking my body awake. I scrambled out of bed and rushed towards the freshly installed door, trying to see what all the commotion was about.
I spotted Atlas a few feet down the hallway, seated with his head between his knees and with what looked like the remnants of a glass frame scattered all around him. The normally polished and put-together man looked completely out of sorts. His grey suit was wrinkled, his hair was disheveled, and there was a half empty bottle of scotch grasped in his right hand. He took a swig and smiled bitterly to himself, unaware that I was watching him.
“Atlas?” I hesitated, approaching him with caution. “Is everything okay?”
