Rattled to the core, I found myself with no place to go but home—home being the house I still shared with my dad.

The fact that I also shared it with Seth is not lost on me, but where else would I go for the night? I’m a waitress. I can’t just splash out money on a hotel room for no good reason.

“Dad?” His car wasn’t in the driveway, but I need to check, need to know that I’m all alone. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this—weak in the knees and trembling.

Kicking off those heels that Seth had loved so much, I run upstairs to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to strip off my dress alone, and while I curse the zipper I swear I can feel his hands on me again, stroking over my spine.

God fucking damn it all to hell. Out. I need him out of my head.

I turn the water on, a scalding temperature I can hardly bear, but I can still smell Seth on me. The scent of his cologne lingers on my skin from where he touched me, where he kissed me. I lift my arm to my nose and inhale. Spice and sweat and man fill my nose.

Never mind the fact that my ass is on fire. Looking over my shoulder into the mirror, I blink at the red handprints left on my pale skin.

His handprints. His mark.

It should make me scream. It kind of does, but at the same time just looking at his mark makes me wet all over again.

The realization makes me shake. Instead of climbing under the searing spray, I sit down on the edge of the tub, just letting the steam soothe me.

There’s no point in lying to myself. I want to kill him, this man who broke up my family. And at the same time, I can’t bring myself to wash him away. I wonder what Dr. Gill would say about that. Probably that it’s normal. That he was at the root of the most intense occurrence in my life, and now he’s also the man present at some kind of sexual reawakening. The latter sounds ridiculous, but again, I won’t be lying to myself.

When Dr. Gill had suggested a kink club to work out my issues, to help me learn better how to lose control, I thought she’d lost her fucking mind.

Now though? I’ve had a taste and I know I’ll never be satisfied with vanilla again. Or maybe it wasn’t the kink itself. Maybe somewhere, some part of me knew all along that it was Seth.

Aaaahh.

The juxtaposition of my emotions about him is what sent me spiraling into self-destruction in the first place. I hate him and yet, oh, I want him. I could kill him for what he did to Theo, what he did to this family and what he ultimately did to me. But I was never able to reconcile the indescribable cruelty of the man who almost killed Theo with the tenderness of the boy who’d made sure I was okay after being humiliated at a party.

Theo. Jesus, I almost forget that he’s coming home. I haven’t seen him in over two years. He’d ordered me to stay away from the prison. Frankly I’m glad. It might make me a bad sister, but I wouldn’t have been able to stomach seeing him in there. Because I know I would’ve thought about Seth once being in there too.

I suspect Theo will be different. Harder. He’d already changed after the incident with Seth. He lost his sweetness. Maybe he’d lost is innocence like I’d lost mine—I imagine that almost dying would do that to a person. He did his own spiraling, though I’d barely been aware of it, too busy looking for acceptance with my legs wide open.

Theo drank more, stayed out later, and got into trouble. But more, our relationship changed too. He was no longer gentle with me. No longer tried to soothe my hurts. Innocent teasing became insulting. The occasional argument turned into a fight.

He never hit me, but he did break a mirror with his fist once. It was scary as hell.

We stopped doing stuff together as well. He would find a million excuses not to hang out with me, but sometimes I would still catch him watching me.

And when he watched me, it wasn’t the indulgent gaze of a sibling. I couldn’t quite figure out what lay in his head, I only know it creeped me out.

I shiver, remembering that penetrating glare. Then for the umpteenth time, I think about those words Seth said to me all those years ago.

Theo will never hurt you.

Why had Seth said that? I have gone over it again and again. Turning this over and that, trying to make sense of it. I try to shake it off, but seeing him again has brought up all the old feelings.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? These feelings aren’t old. They’re never-ending, old and also as new as a shiny penny. They haven’t gone away at all.

Groaning with frustration, I turn off the water without showering, then force myself to stand, to put on my robe. My stomach growls, and I know I should eat something, but I can’t seem to stay still—I’m too restless to just sit and wait, for what I don’t even know.

I walk down to the kitchen and fetch a glass of water. Leaning back against the counter to drink, I look around, my memory taking me back. Everything’s the same as it was that night six years ago. Same table, same chair—the chair where Seth sat, Theo’s blood on his hands. Those hands. The hands that wrapped around my wrists. I will never forget them; never forget how it felt when Seth grabbed me. How my body responded to the action, to the violence in him.

I’d wanted so badly for him to touch me then, no matter how wrong it was. I’d wondered what it would feel like to have his skin pressed up against my own.

And now? Now I know.

Turns out knowing is worse.

Opening the patio door, I step out, hoping the fresh air will clear my head. Of course it doesn’t, because I’m on an uninvited trip down memory lane, and I remember being out here that night with the sense of being watched.

I know it’s ridiculous, but right now, I have the same sense.

Shivering, I rub my arm with the hand not holding the water glass, looking across the yard to the apartment over top the garage. It’s empty, has been empty since Seth left, unless you count dust and the raccoons that will never seem to leave our yard.

I can’t stop from trembling again as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’m being ridiculous, memories and old insecurities crashing over me like the incoming tide because seeing Seth opened the door.

But the sense is strong enough that I turn and go back inside. Placing my empty glass in the dishwasher, I leave the kitchen and head back upstairs.

I pass my room, then Theo’s old room. I should probably put some sheets on that bed—something tells me that as soon as he gets out, he’ll be staying with us for a while.

I’m too keyed up to do it right now. So I continue on, stopping in the threshold of the other spare room. The one Seth had stayed in before moving into the rooms over the garage.

Seth’s things are stored inside the closet.

I nudge the closet door open with my foot. Dusty boxes of his stuff are piled up. My dad had washed his hands of dealing with it. Dinah didn’t have the heart to take it with her when she left us. And I hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.

Well, I hadn’t wanted to then. But right now, I’m not sure that anything could stop me.

Slowly, I open up the first box.

A black t-shirt sits on top. I pull it out and smell it. It’s lost Seth’s scent, and now age and dust and cardboard tickle my nose. I set it aside and continue to dig. There’s another shirt, and as I pick it up I realize there’s something wrapped up inside. I take it out, unwrapping the fabric to find a stack of photos.

Slowly I flip through them and my stomach clenches when I realize they are all of me. And yet… I don’t recognize any of them. These are not photos I remember being taken. I didn’t pose for any of them. One is of me sitting in the back yard in the grass reading a book. It must’ve been in the spring. Another, I’m playing cards with my dad and laughing. I continue flipping. There must be over fifty pictures here. I’m shocked and a bit unsettled.

A loud crash comes from downstairs, and a scream catches in my throat, wheezing out into the stale air. I jump and the pictures fall from my hands. I hurry to pick them up and shove them back into the box, somehow feeling guilty.

“Dad?” I scurry to the top of the stairs. I’d been glad that Dad wasn’t home, because I hadn’t wanted him to look at me with those laser eyes and demand to know what had upset me. But right now? I’m feeling just unsettled enough to welcome the company.

I wait and listen, my heart pounding in my chest. Then I see a flash outside and I realize it’s lightning, and what I just heard had been thunder. Sighing out a slightly hysterical laugh, I rub at my chest, trying to soothe my racing heart.

I’m not a damsel. I can handle a little storm.

The next clap shakes the house, and I instinctively grab for the railing. But then I hear something else, almost masked by the boom. I’ve lived in this house my whole life, and I know its sounds. I know when someone is on the stairs, I know when someone crosses the living room because of the squeak in the hardwood floor.

And I know when someone has come in through the back door. It’s not Dad. I would have heard the garage door.

My phone is in my bag downstairs. Do I hide, or do I try to get my phone?

Pulse accelerating until I feel nauseous, I begin to slide down the stairs as quietly as possible, careful not to step on the one creaking spot on the fourth stair. When I reach the foyer I look around for my purse. I’m sure I left it on the side table, but it’s not there. There’s a landline in the kitchen, if I can just make it there without noise.

I hear footsteps in the hallway in front of me, and my heart pounds so loud that I’m sure the intruder can hear it. My breath begins to come in pants. I know there’s someone here. Who? Why? Surely it’s not Seth?

Even after all he’s done, I can’t imagine him trying to scare me like this. Or maybe… maybe I’m letting my heart—and my hormones—fool me.

I feel like I’m about to explode. I can hardly breathe, but focus on controlling that, like Tristan taught me.

I’m strong. I’m fit. I’m mean. I think I can hold my own, at least long enough to get away.

That doesn’t help me when I’m petrified with fear.

Jesus, all that training and I’m too shit scared to use it.

I think again of Seth, of the violence I know he’s capable of, and my stomach sinks. Those photos… and why is he back in Galveston? Did he follow me home? Has he always been watching me, waiting for this moment? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s busy running an empire. Not to mention that’s just crazy.

It must be a neighbor. A stray cat. Something.

This doesn’t help my terrified heart.

A figure appears in front of me, and I can’t help it, I scream. While I scream, I stare, my body rigid, but the figure isn’t advancing on me. Still, I flatten myself against a wall, eyes pinned to the intruder.

It takes me a minute, but I work through the adrenaline, see that the shape is familiar. I squint and see pale skin in the flash of lightning. Wrinkles around puffy but familiar eyes. Eyes I definitely know. But much harder.

Crude tattoos on sinewy arms. Oh my God. It’s Theo.

“Bless your heart, Theo, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Why didn’t you announce yourself?”

He pins me with the stare from his deep blue eyes. Once those eyes were innocent, but right now they’re utterly blank, and the lack of expression has a chill crawling up my spine.

“Hey, pretty girl.” His arms open for me, for an embrace, but somehow it doesn’t feel welcoming.

This man, leering at me, isn’t my brother, at least not how I expected him. So I stay still, my breath again beginning to rasp in and out of my lungs.

Theo closes the distance and wraps me in his arms anyway. He stinks, the way I imagine prison smells, stale and offensive and reeking of fear.

And still he draws me tighter, tighter until I’m having a hard time breathing. I work my palms between us, manage to shove him away. I expect him to pout, a Theo-like response to not getting his way.

Instead, there’s just that leer. It makes every cell in my body cold.

“Now, what kind of hello is that for your big brother?”