Two
Maddox
So, that just happened.
And even though I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, that Kris isn’t one to just roll over and take shit, I’m still pissed about it. I’m still angry that she forced the issue. Didn’t just let it lay. Let me keep being a gigantic dickbag without confronting me about the fact that I’ve been treating her like shit for years now without an explanation.
Because what am I supposed to say?
Why am I being a raging dickbag, you ask? Well, you’re never going to believe it, but I want to fuck you. I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since we were fifteen.
I know, crazy right?
Right.
Because what just happened is so much better.
Jesus.
I just yelled in her face, poked her with my dick and told her she was the problem when clearly it’s me. I’m the problem here.
The really fucked up part is I don’t know how to not be a problem. I’ve felt this way about her for so long that I don’t know how to stop. I don’t think I can stop.
I had my first wet dream about her when we were thirteen. I felt like an asshole about it for weeks. I convinced myself it was normal. That Kris was a girl, so of course I was going to have those kinds of thoughts about her from time to time. That didn’t mean we couldn’t still be friends. Best friends even.
So, I forgot about it. Walled if off. Pretended that I didn’t think about getting her naked. Kissing her. Kissing her while I was getting her naked. On the surface, I was her best friend. We talked and texted and slept over at each other’s houses.
Under the surface I was a mess. I thought about her constantly and my thoughts were decidedly unfriendly. I tried separating myself from her. I applied myself in school. Made grades a priority. Went out for football and made starting offensive line. Joined student government and ran for class president. Let the wave of popularity that followed carry me away from her. Put space between us. But I still wanted her. Needed her. I couldn’t let go of her completely, so I kept pretending. Holding on to the delusion that everything was fine. That she was still my best friend.
Basically, I was a dissociative mess.
But I was dealing with it.
Then my dad told me he was in love with her mom. That they were getting married and that Kris and her mom were going to move in with us.
Isn’t that great, Mad? It’ll be like you and Kris are on one long, never-ending sleepover.
No, Dad.
Not. Great.
Matter of fact, it’s a motherfucking disaster.
Because I needed that space. I needed to hear her slam through the front door like she owns the place. I needed to hear her shout out, it’s just me! on her way past the living room and up the stairs to my room. I needed those fifteen seconds to get my dissociative ass in gear so I could be her best friend when she barged through the door unannounced and flopped down on my bed uninvited, instead of who I really am.
The guy who yells at her.
The guy who blames her.
The guy who can’t stop thinking about her.
The guy I am now.
McAllister family dinners are semi-formal affairs. We’re expected to put on a clean shirt. Wash our hands. Comb our hair. Not come downstairs with raging hard-ons. I hit the shower, cranking on the cold water full blast and stand under the icy spray until my lips are blue and my dick crawls in on its self so far I start to worry that I might never see it again.
When I slide into my chair, I do everything I can to ignore my father’s disapproving glare while I load my plate with double-scoops of everything on the table in front of me. I don’t even know what it is and I don’t care. I just need to power through the next thirty minutes so can go back upstairs and jerk off.
A lot.
I flick a glance in her direction. She’s sitting across from me, staring at her own plate, pushing food across it like her life depends on it. She looks up at me, her sharp, green gaze touching mine for a brief moment before jerking back to her plate. Her cheeks instantly flush. Her brow furrows. She’s thinking about what just happened and she’s confused about it. How it made her feel.
The good news is that my dick isn’t broken.
The bad news is that knowing that she’s thinking about it causes my dick to stiffen, so hard and fast I swear to Christ it just thumped its head on the underside of the dining room table.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
The question, delivered by my dad, comes from the head of the table. For a second, I think Kris told them what happened. That I practically jumped her. Stuck my dick in her belly-button. Basically told her I want to fuck her.
“I have a lot to say,” I tell him, looking him in the eye. “So you’re gonna have to be more specific about what.” If that’s what this is about, if Kris told them what happened upstairs, then so be it. Kris might be my step-sister now but she was my… everything else, long before my dad decided to marry her mother and I’ll be damned if I’m going to apologize to him for it.
If anyone is owed an apology, it’s Kris. As soon as we’re alone, I’ll apologize to her for behaving like a giant bag of dicks for the past three years, but I’m not apologizing to my dad because how I feel about Kris is none of his fucking business.
“Burt Saunders stopped by the office this afternoon.” My dad stabs his chicken breast like he’s trying to kill it. “Said he saw you coming out of the recruitment office on Main.”
Shit.
One of the million things I hate about growing up in a small town—everyone knows everyone’s goddamned business. Not that I expected to keep it a secret for much longer but I’m not prepared to have this conversation. I’d rather talk about how I’ve been letching out on my step-sister for the past fucking forever.
Before I can get my mouth open, Kris saves me.
“You finally remembered, huh?” When I look at her, she’s looking right at me. Smiling at me like she used to. Like I haven’t been an asshole to her since she and her mom moved in. “I thought I was going to have to drag you down there and get you registered myself.” She shifts in her seat, aiming her gaze at her plate. Now she’s skewering green beans like she’s getting paid by the pound. “For the draft,” she says, right before shoving a forkful of veggies into her mouth.
“The draft?” This from her mother, perched on her seat at the other end of the table. I never really understood how a woman like Anne Cavanagh gave birth to someone like Kris. She’s careful. Quiet. Pale blonde hair. Pale blue eyes. Delicate, bird-like bone structure. Wears matching sweater-sets. Never a hair out of place.
In short, the exact opposite of her daughter.
“Yeah,” Kris says around a mouthful of green beans. “They called last month. Said Mad hadn’t registered yet.” She cuts a piece of chicken and stuffs it into her mouth alongside her half-chewed green beans, flipping her gaze up from her plate to let it land squarely on mine. Chewing and swallowing enough to clear her mouth, she shrugs. “I’ve been pestering him about it ever since. Guess it finally paid off.”
“Thanks.” I mean it. I’ve been an asshole to her for years now and she still saved me. Kris looks away, gives me a non-committal shrug and keeps chewing.
I look at my dad. He’s watching us both. Finally he aims his gaze at his plate. “You told them you were leaving for USC in the fall?” He says it to his scalloped potatoes. Taking my cue from Kris, I stuff food in my mouth and nod while I chew, like a non-verbal lie is so much better than a verbal. Because the truth is I didn’t tell the recruiter about my college plans. I’ve been there several times over the last six months and I’ve never mentioned it. What I did was enlist. Call USC and refuse the scholarship. I leave for basic training three days after graduation. When my father finds out, he’ll disown me. I don’t give a shit about that. Not really.
I guess I’m lucky Burt Saunders only saw me there once.
“Hey,” I aim it across the table and Kris picks up her head and looks at me. “You wanna watch a movie tonight?” It’s something we used to do together all the time. Raid my parent's pantry for junk food. Sprawl out on either her bed or mine. Turn off all the lights and veg out together. We haven’t done it in ages. Not since she moved in. “Come on, Kriskross, it’ll be like old times.” I haven’t called her Kriskross in years. When I say it now, she blushes again. Gnaws on her bottom lips so hard I’m afraid she’s going to bite a hole through it.
She can’t say no. Not with our parents watching. They know things changed between Kris and me when they got married and they’ve been freaked out about it ever since. A movie night would be a sign that we’re finally moving past the awkwardness and resentment that their marriage caused between us and they’d finally be able to stop feeling guilty about it.
So, basically everyone at the table is holding their breath, waiting for Kris to answer me like the fate of civilization hangs in the balance.
Kris lets go of her lip and tips her gaze toward her half-empty plate.
“Sure. Sounds fun.”