The Worst Kind of Promise: Chapter 10

When we pull into the driveway, anxiety sneaks into my heart, conducting a cacophony of beats. I know that Kit said the guys were excited to see me, but now that I’m here, my feet are cold.

The house is as beautiful as always, except this time, the browning stalks I remember from my trip in November have evolved into beautiful blooms painted in pastel colors, with lush foliage covering every last bare swatch of land. It’s so hot that I’m certain I could fry an egg on the sidewalk, and the balmy air isn’t helping, either. My skin can’t decide between sweating Pennsylvania out of me or cracking from the glaring dryness. I forgot how hot California is.

Kit insisted on carrying my luggage in for me—saving me the wheezing that usually accompanies any heavy lifting I do. I told him I could at least grab a bag, but as usual, he declined. So much for not getting treated like a princess.

I’m not sure what’s waiting for me on the other side of the door. Knowing Hayes, probably just a hug. Knowing the rest of the guys, possibly a welcome banner, balloons, and a confetti popper waiting to temporarily blow my eardrums out.

Here I go. This is it. Faye’s Super Awesome Fun Time Summer starts now.

Opening the door just a smidge, I hesitantly stick my foot over the threshold, mentally preparing myself for the social stimulation I’m about to undergo. But much to my surprise, when I get all the way inside, my hearing remains intact, and my social battery doesn’t drop to red, get-me-out-of-here territory.

No one is here. No decorations. No…nothing. The whole house is empty.

Huh. Maybe they’re all doing something? I have to admit, it’s kind of nice not to be the center of attention. It’s nice to just…move all my things in without having to entertain an audience. No questions. Just complete and utter silenc—

Kit bursts into the living room like a hotheaded bull, his bulging forearms lined with bags varying in size and weight, my two suitcases gripped in each of his unnaturally large hands. Every bag hits the floor simultaneously, and the collective noise reverberates through the empty living room, making me cringe.

“Eight bags,” he grits out, catching his breath. A trip like that would’ve destroyed me, but Kit is barely even sweating. His arms are red, though. And veiny. Very veiny. Have they always been that veiny?

“I offered to carry some of them.”

He ignores me as a rumble rips through his throat. “The guys said they’d be here.”

I dance my fingers along the back of the couch, reveling in the cooled atmosphere and the lack of UV rays trying to burn my skin. The house is huge, but it seems even bigger without hulking hockey players inhabiting every square inch.

“I’m sure they’re just busy. Honestly, it’s nice not to have a welcome party,” I say, channeling relief through a deep exhale. “I don’t want to be treated any differently.”

A low-key summer sounds pretty nice. For once, my usual state of anxiety has ebbed to a hardly noticeable hum.

Kit tangles his fingers in a shock of midnight hair. “I’m sorry. I swear I told them our ETA.”

He brandishes his phone and opens up the Find My Friends app, where tiny little icons are scattered across the map, far away from the house.

“Kit, it’s fine, really. I don’t expe—”

A rambunctious clamor comes from upstairs, ear-piercing and house-rocking to the point where I’m sure the whole block heard what sounded like a mini earthquake juggling the furniture. My blood freezes, my heart does eighty in a sixty, and sweat breaks out in places I didn’t even know I could sweat.

Kit drops his phone when he snares my wrist, and he yanks me from out in the open, pulling me into his hard, warm body as we hover in the shadows. My hand is glued to his chest, where I can feel his own heart scrambling for safe passage.

“There’s someone in the house,” he whispers, and upon seeing my eyes widen, his hand comes down over my mouth, trapping my gasp.

Even though I always feel safe in Kit’s presence, whether he’s holding me or not, right now, I’m seconds away from pissing my pants. There’s an intruder. In the house. Oh my God. Do they have a gun? Are we about to die? Will anyone find our bodies?!

Fear twists my stomach as bile threatens to eject from my mouth. Kit’s strong arm cradles me, gripping so tight that I can feel his nails imprint my flesh. My spotty vision tunnels, my breath lapses, and my teeth click-clack together from the violent shakes convulsing through my body.

“Stay here.”

My brain—already under immense stress—boots up a few seconds too late before realizing what “stay here” means. Kit’s halfway to the stairs by the time my fingers claw at his arm, wrenching him backwards with a surprising amount of strength.

“Please don’t go up there,” I plead.

“I’ll be fine,” he promises, resting his calloused palm over my knuckles. His hand is rough, like sandblasted concrete, and I don’t know how to describe it, but it just feels like home. I grieve when his touch leaves me, when that familiar safety and security is stripped away.

I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Kit.

He cautiously, meticulously climbs the stairs, so quietly that I’m not even sure he’s breathing. Tendons protruding, shoulders reared back in a ready swing, I watch him walk his way to potential death.

I don’t know why I don’t just dial 911—like any sane person would do in an emergency—but instead, I plod after him, taking advantage of my brief adrenaline rush. It’s not until I overestimate the distance and bump into him that he whirls around, realizing I’ve defied his one and only order.

We’re right outside the room that’s the source of the noise. Any hint that we’re on the other side of the door, and it could ruin our leverage over the intruder. I can tell just how enraged Kit is, though—no verbalization needed.

More rustling reverberates from the room, less deafening than before, but still concerning enough to have Kit reaching for the handle. Treading uncharted waters, my guts tighten and squeeze in response. His other arm blocks me, and then, on the next crashing sound, he bursts through the door like the Kool-Aid Man.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was ready to encounter a psycho with a chainsaw or a crazed Reapers fan, but what we find instead is a thousand times more terrifying.

A lamp on the floor amongst sloven debris, the main culprit of the noise most likely the toppled chair on the ground. It looks like the place has been ransacked. And I would think that if it wasn’t for the two perpetrators at the scene.

My brother, Hayes, and his girlfriend, Aeris. One of whom is completely naked—that whom unfortunately being the person I’m related to.

My gaze pirouettes around the room, taking in the traumatizing sight of Hayes’ wrists tied to the headboard and a blindfold over his eyes. Aeris, who I’ve grown to love like a sister, stands in a black corset, thong, thigh garter, and heels, wielding a shoe in her hand and huffing like she just ran a mile.

Oh my God.

I can’t decide whether I’m about to scream or puke. Scruke? Pream?

My haunted shriek permeates the air, and I fall to my knees, rubbing my fists so deeply into my eye sockets that I’m determined to scrub away everything I just saw. I shouldn’t have complained so much. A welcome party would’ve been fine. A murderer would’ve been fine. Anything would’ve been better than witnessing my brother with his…thing…out like it’s fucking Nude-A-Palooza.

Beside me—I think, I’m still vision impaired—Kit cackles maniacally, and I hear the shutter of his iPhone camera go off.

“Faye!” I hear Aeris squeal.

“Faye?!” Hayes bellows at the same pitch.

Still refusing to open my eyes, I lengthen to a wobbly stance, slurping in centering breaths. Please be clothed. Please be clothed. Please be clothed.

This is my worst nightmare, and that’s surpassing the nightmare I had about my Furby becoming sentient and hunting me down to make a fashionable scarf out of my intestines. At least I was asleep for that.

I send one last prayer to the man upstairs, and then I peel my eyes open, even though every cell in my body is warning me not to. Aeris hasn’t bothered to change, but Hayes has at least been given a pillow to cover his privates.

She runs toward me and envelops me in a bear hug, unfazed by the fact that she’s missing a few crucial elements to her outfit. The sharp skeleton of her corset digs into all my fleshy parts, and she’s got some surprisingly strong arms. Arms that are giving my spine a chiropractor treatment.

“Aeris,” I wheeze, feeling my face turn blue and my brain lose oxygen.

“Sorry!” she rushes out, immediately letting me go, her enormous breasts swaying from the movement. They’re big. A lot bigger than mine. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t checking my brother’s girlfriend out. She’s gorgeous, sue me.

Aeris and my brother have been dating since September. Ironically, just like with Kit and me, it started with a secret. Or I guess a lie is a more appropriate word. Hayes made a questionable, alcohol-fueled decision one night, and he believed the only way he could better his image was to get into a relationship to show Reapers’ fans that he wasn’t the sleazeball everyone thought he was. Except his dumb ass didn’t tell Aeris their relationship was fake. But then, after a bunch of groveling and some pricey purchases, he earned her forgiveness. Now they’re living happily ever after together on the road to marriage. I think. I hope. I’d love to have Aeris as a sister-in-law.

They’re sickeningly perfect for each other. Complete opposites, but perfect.

“Why is the place a mess?” Kit pipes up, poking at a fallen vase with the toe of his shoe.

Aeris shakes the flip-flop in her hand menacingly, growling a little. “I saw a fucking spider! In the bedroom! And then I kept trying to chase it, but the little bugger got away from me. I swear they’re getting smarter.”

A full belly laugh soars out of Kit. “Hayes, anything to add?”

Hayes strains against the silk restraints, addressing the invisible people in front of him since the blindfold has yet to be removed. “Is my dick still out?”

“Your dick is not still out,” Kit confirms.

“Oh, that’s good. Not because I’m self-conscious or anything. It’s just…there’s a time and a place.”

I make an exaggerated gagging noise, though I’m not sure how much of it is exaggerated. “Please don’t talk about your dick in front of me.”

“Oh, Faye. How was the drive?” Hayes asks nonchalantly, trying to wiggle his way underneath some of the sheets without flashing everyone in the room.

I shield my eyes with my hand—for his sake and mine. “It was fine. You know, super boring. Just your average road trip.”

Not your average road trip. In fact, the most sexually frustrating road trip I’ve ever been on.

I can’t make it seem like I was excited to spend time alone with Kit, though. One crumb revealing my true feelings, and Hayes will sniff the truth out like a bloodhound. The leftover adrenaline from the maybe-intruder situation has let a hornet’s nest of nerves loose in my body.

Am I standing too close to Kit? Do I look too happy? Hayes can’t even see me right now, and I’m worried he’s telepathically reading my mind.

Aeris finally unties my brother’s wrists as she teeters on one heeled foot. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” she says.

I spare a puzzled glance at Kit. “What?”

With full mobility now, Hayes sheds his blindfold, subsequently massaging the redness out of his wrists. “Kit told me you guys were coming back tomorrow,” he clarifies, sitting up under the safety of the covers.

Kit’s teeth scrape together. “I said Friday. Today. June fourteenth.”

Aeris bends down to retrieve my brother’s pants—shudder—and tosses them in his direction. In one smooth motion, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and yanks them up to his hips, all while situated away from us.

“You said Saturday.”

“No, I said Friday.”

Hayes reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He turns it on, scrolling a bit before showing both of us his screen, which has their group chat displayed across the front.

KIT: Coming back Saturday.

“Ooh,” I say, turning to Kit and giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder. “That does say Saturday, buddy.”

Kit scoffs. “I meant Friday. I’ve been sleep deprived for two days, okay?”

Hayes chuckles as Aeris disappears into the adjoining bathroom to change. “Uh-huh. Right. Definitely not because you can’t tell the days of the week apart,” he mocks. “I don’t blame you. They all end in ‘day.’”

I don’t know if it’s the bloodshot eyes or the one protruding forehead vein, but Kit looks feral.

“If your girl wasn’t in the other room, I’d give you a suitcase wedgie.”

“I see those anger management classes I bought for you haven’t been working out.”

Kit makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a sneer, wheeling me away from my obnoxious brother. “I’m going to help you get settled so I don’t end up strangling your brother,” he whispers to me.

“I’d honestly help you.”

I don’t expect that to garner such a genuine laugh from him, but it does, and the melodious sound parades through my ears, ephemeral in nature but lasting in effect, like a brand on my heart.

Once Kit schleps all my bags upstairs, I get to work unpacking, occasionally fighting guilt when I see my very colorful, very girly clothing smushed beside Kit’s very dull, very plain clothing. It’s like a giant glitter bomb has gone off in his bedroom. I feel terrible for exiling him to the couch, but he insisted on giving me space.

After my comically extensive line of skincare has been put away, he comes to check in on me, doing that dreaded thing where he leans against the doorframe. This is one of my romance books come to life. Except Kit Langley is more attractive than any woman-written book boyfriend in existence. A Brazilian heartthrob. He doesn’t even need to flex for me to see every muscle through his clothing—from the defined washboard of his abdominals to the way the bulk of his chest stretches his shirt thin-tight. Broad shoulders that impede my line of sight, biceps big enough to crush my head, a robust back that’s been handcrafted from stone, a tapered waist that brags the largest appendage hanging between his thighs.

I know I shouldn’t be looking…down there. But when he was hard at the hotel, I got a clear outline of everything. His dick is like a goddamn third hockey stick, probably as thick and long as my forearm. So huge that I’m pretty sure I’d need to use an entire bottle of lube, or he’d have to break my legs over my shoulders—

“You done unpacking?” Kit asks, snapping me from my reverie.

I nod, tight-lipped, my stomach tumbling in a gold-winning gymnastics floor routine. I can feel the muscles in my face working, holding a smile, but with the curious look Kit’s throwing my way, it doesn’t seem to be very convincing.

“The rest of the guys just got here. I think Aeris is cooking dinner,” he relays.

“Aeris can cook?”

Kit shrugs. “I have no idea, but she wanted to have a special family dinner since this is your first night here.”

I think he expects me to jump for joy at the sound of food, but my unremitting anxiety’s been sponging up my hunger for the past hour. I pinch my lower lip between my teeth.

“If this is all too much, I can just tell them to cool it.”

Sometimes even the best environments can be overstimulating for me, and I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’m preoccupied with a lot on my mind.

“It’s not that,” I sigh, fingering the thin, silver chain around my throat. “A lot’s just happened these past few days. A lot of change. I don’t deal well with change, which is ironic because nothing in my life has been very permanent. Boyfriends, parents. I’ve always had to adapt to change, but it’s like pulling teeth for me. And now I’m here, on a vacation where I should be relaxing, when all I can think about is how I’m keeping this secret from my brother. It was easier when he wasn’t physically around.”

Kit sits down next to me. “You think he’ll be mad?”

I want to laugh. I almost do, but my brain doesn’t quite get the signal. “I don’t know. I’m just…ashamed more than anything. I haven’t reached out for help. I haven’t told anyone. Nobody except for you, Kit,” I confess, tears clumping on my lashes. “My dad wasn’t around to care. And I just…I felt like my brother wouldn’t understand. I think that he’d try to, but deep down, nobody could understand unless they’ve experienced the same thing. I don’t trust therapists. I don’t want people knowing this happened to me.”

“But you told me.”

“I did.”

“Do you regret it?”

The static between us crackles, traveling from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers, which I yearn to transmit into Kit’s mouth, to fill him with the same surface-of-the-sun warmth that circulates through me. But then I glance at the ajar door, remind myself I can’t go there, and that newborn flame gutters.

“I—”

“Dinner!” a voice calls from downstairs, capturing our attention.

I do my best to blink away the tears, glad that I hadn’t entered the sniffling stage yet. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”