one

I stare at the man before me, breath hitching in my throat even as I cross my arms over my chest in defense. I haven’t seem him in months… a bit more than a year and there’s a small pang in my chest at that.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say immediately.

The man raises a perfectly sculpted brow and I can’t help but admire him.

I don’t know why I feel like this. I thought that after being away for such a long time I’d forget about the butterflies he riles in my stomach. But here I stand, breathlessly wondering how he would look if we—

I quickly get rid of those thoughts.

It’s wrong.

I know it’s wrong and still my body yearns for his touch.

“I’m not here to babysit you,” he assures, quickly sidestepping me and walking inside as if he owns the place.

“You’re not?” I question in disbelief, following him quietly after closing and locking the front door.

He stops briefly in the living room, looking around the mess of books scattered about, “You’re already seventeen, Morgan. I think you’re mature enough to be on your own for a few days.”

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m here on business. There are a few documents I need, reports to make, and paperwork to fill out,” he answers easily.

I trail after him like a lost puppy as he enters the study. My footsteps stop at the door while he takes a seat behind the mahogany desk and begins working, eyes scanning paper after paper while fingers type up a report.

And it irks me that he can slide right in and pretend like he’s never left.

My hands clench into fists at my sides, body trembling in inexplicable rage.

But my breath stops and heart aches when he looks at me, gaze softening.

“Why are you here?” I ask softly, childishly, “after months of barely seeing or hearing about you, you’re suddenly back like you didn’t just disappear.”

“I didn’t,” he says, eyes narrowing, stare hardening before looking away with a heavy sigh.

I want to continue arguing. I want to contradict him. I want to stop hurting, stop pretending like his leaving didn’t affect me as much as it has. He was my best friend, now he’s a stranger.

“I didn’t just ‘disappear’,” he adds, voice growing firm, “I know you have questions, but I’m back and busier than ever, and I don’t owe you an explanation. So, I wont get in your way if you don’t get in mine.”

Tears well up in my eyes but he’s no longer looking at me. It’s as if I suddenly don’t exist. He’s no longer than man I thought I knew, the one who help me at night when I suffered from panic attacks. He’s no longer the man I looked up to. He’s no longer the man… the man I thought I loved . He’s cold and mean now. His words are cutting as if he wants to push me away until I have no choice but to jump.

I don’t know why he left. I don’t know why he changed. I don’t know why my heart still stutters in my chest when I remember him, when I see him.

“I wish you never came back,” I spit, turning around and slamming the door, trying not to blush in embarrassment when my prosthetic gets caught.

I press my back against the wooden slab, trying to catch my breath and secretly hoping he would follow after me. I close my eyes tight, hoping… hoping..

1… 2… 3…

The silence is broken by the scratch of a pen on a stack of papers and the clicking of a computer. And now I know he’s not the person I knew. His eyes are harsh, filled with… with hate. And it shatters my world, because that hate is directed at me.

A small sob escapes my lips before I’m hurrying to my room as fast as I can. When the door is closed I crawl into bed and bury my flushed face in my pillow.

I always knew he would never see me as I see him. I always knew he could never feel the love I feel for him. Because it’s taboo. Because it’s wrong .

And still, nothing prepares me for the realization that he hates me, that he probably knows about my feelings and that’s why he left.

And now that he’s back, there’s only hate in those gorgeous brown eyes, in those swirling pools of chocolate and hazelnut that I fell for.

Hate and nothing more.

■●■●

A/N: As promised, the sequel to My Home Is With You. It may not be as good as the first one, but I’ll work on it regardless 😊 Hope you enjoy it.

two

I’m just starting to doze in and out of consciousness when a soft knock lands on my bedroom door that startles me to wakefulness. Without waiting for a response the door is pushed until he’s leaning against the door frame casually, nonchalantly.

I peer up at him through tired hazy eyes, trying to ignore him.

“Come eat,” he sighs.

A small noise of surprise escapes me. And as much as I want to continue being petty, food is more tempting. With a small sluggish grunt, I heave myself up and limp toward him only to trip over my clumsiness. Ian has his arms wrapped around me in an instant, his breath tickling my ear as he breathes in relief.

I feel my heart hammer painfully inside my chest as my face colors the shade of a ripe cherry starting with my ears.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice soft as he pushes me away but hands never leaving my body.

“‘m just peachy,” I nod sarcastically.

I tear myself away from him and continue my way to the kitchen where the smell of takeout permeates the rooms and halls.

His steps are slower, more deliberate, behind me as his eyes trail over my body. He’s tense, holding his breath as if he’s waiting for me to fall. His arms ache at his sides, ready to catch me. I wish it didn’t make my heart flutter. But it’s those little details that made me fall for him . I hate how he makes me feel. I hate how he can show concern one second and pretend like I don’t exist the next. It’s confusing and painful. The one person I trust is suddenly gone and is replaced by someone I don’t know anymore.

I keep my head down, bottom lip trembling with the effort not to cry.

Once in the dining room, he pulls out a chair and I obediently take a seat before he’s sliding over the takeout box that has my favorites. I open it and eagerly dig in, avoiding his gaze and any attempt at civil conversation.

But within a few minutes of blessed silence, the room is stifling with tension.

“Morgan,” he begins.

I stare at the table, eyes unfocused but filled with determination, “no.”

“No?” He snorts, “Look, I know you’re angry, Morgan, bu—”

I stand up abruptly, glaring at him daggers as I gather my food so I can eat it in my room, ” No. ”

I limp toward the hall, however, before I can take another step, he gets in my way.

I can’t help but scowl and throw his own words in his face, “What happened to, ‘I won’t get in your way if you don’t get in mine?’”

His lips part but there are no words coming out, he’s stumped and as childish as it is, I can’t help but feel triumph.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I whisper, voice soft and subdued and completely devoid of any emotion.

I brush past him, intent on going to my room.

“Morgan,” he calls, hand wrapping around my arm.

” Buenas noches ,” I stress, dislodging his hand from my person.

With a small sigh he willingly lets go, “Good night.”

three

^^ baby Morgan ^^

The next morning I find myself getting ready for school. I’m exhausted and lethargic, too numb to even think properly after barely getting sleep the night before. My body aches from twisting and turning all night and there’s a blinding headache making me dizzy.

Somehow I manage to find the energy to change my flannel pajamas. With a small hum I pair up some jeans and a simple plain long sleeved shirt. Limping awkwardly and unsteady toward the bathroom, I turn on the faucet to brush my teeth and splash my face with cold water. I muss up my dark brown hair before I look at my weary reflection, bright blue eyes staring back at me.

I limp back to my bedroom and slip on my prosthetic with a small sigh, fastening the straps and maneuvering my foot from side to side to make sure it won’t fall off.

When I deem myself as ready as can be, I hurry downstairs to the kitchen.

Just as I round the corner, I’m taken aback by him .

Ian is casually leaning against the counter with a large mug of strong black coffee in his hands. I pause and wonder how he and dad can like something so… so disgustingly bitter .

With a resigned sigh, I step inside the kitchen.

I don’t bother greeting him as I begin digging through the fridge for milk to fill a bowl of Trix.

Soon I’m munching on my breakfast quietly, too tired to function without a sugar rush.

I’m about to dig for my last spoonful of Trix when I feel his eyes on me. I pause, unable to help myself as I glance at him. Within minutes of shared and stolen glances, I force myself to look away to place my bowl in the dishwasher. His steps are light as he follows me to the living room where I search for my bag.

I gather the mess of books and stuff them into my backpack before I slip a strap over my tense shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He asks, voice thick and brows furrowed.

“School,” I answer.

“School,” he repeats.

He looks just as tired as I feel.

I nod, ready to grab the house keys.

“Is James taking you?” He asks.

“No,” I answer.

“Then I’ll drive yo-”

“No,” I interrupt quickly, “no thanks, I’m fine walking.”

“Just let me get my keys and I’ll take you,” he insists.

With a petulant pout I wait for him to slip on his shoes and grab his keys, knowing that he’ll just do as he wants.

Finally, we walk toward his car and the ever gentlemen he is, opens the passenger door for me. Gladly, I slip inside and I can’t help but admire the interior of the car, sleek with black leather.

The drive is silent for a few moments. But I intend to break it as I connect my phone to his dash and search for music. I find a favorite and press play.

I hum along, watching as trees and houses pass by in a blur of color.

The drive is, thankfully, short lived.

“Morgan.”

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble, hand on the handle and ready to leave.

The cocky jerk locks the car with a press of a button and I gawk at him.

“We need to talk,” he says simply.

“I have school right now,” I argue.

“I know,” he says, “but you need to stop being so childish.”

” I’m being childish?” I ask incredulously, “you just locked me in your car.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ian states.

“You left!” I accuse.

“I always leave,” he points out, “Why is this any different?”

“Because you left for more than a year! Because you come back waltzing about and acting like a jerk!”

“Morgan.”

“Open the door,” I demand.

“Mor—”

“I have class, please open the door.”

It comes out as a whimpered plea, breathing coming in short pants as my panic grows.

“Please,” I croak weakly.

“Morgan? Shit, shit, okay, okay deep breaths.”

My hands tremble as I struggle to open the car door, a frustrated whine escaping my throat.

In seconds, Ian has the door opened for me and immediately he pulls me out and into his arms.

I bury my face in his chest, shivering uncontrollably in his arms trying to calm my racing heart.

“It’s okay,” Ian whispers, hand running up and down my back soothingly, “you’re okay.”

“‘m sorry,” I whimper.

“It’s okay, sweetling, you’re okay.”

It takes a while to calm down, to keep the panic at bay.

“Has it been this bad since I left?” He asks softly.

A shuddering breath escapes me before I nod weakly, “but it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” he says, looking into my eyes, “have you told Matthew? Dad?”

“No,” I whisper, “don’t wanna worry them.”

“You need to tell them, they need to know.”

“No,” I shake my head, “just no.”

Ian wraps his arms around me just a bit tighter, “breathe, sweetling, you’re okay. But you need to tell them, what if you have a panic attack when you’re alone?”

“Not the first time, it’s been worse since you left,” I admit softly.

“Morgan,” he whispers, voice low and almost hurt.

“But I’m okay,” I lie, “I survived without you.”

Before he can retort, I slip away and hurry toward the building desperately trying to ignore the tremble that runs through my body with the loss of his touch. His comfort the only thing that can keep away my fears and anxiety.

It’s when I’m in homeroom that I receive a definitive text.

I’ll pick you up after school, we’re not done talking.

four

Going home after a long day at hell comes like a wave of relief.

I’m silent on the drive back home, choosing to sit in the back just to avoid a confrontation with Ian. And when the car comes to a stop in the driveway, I rush out toward the house before he even shifts the gear to park.

Upon entering, I’m immediately assaulted by the delicious smell of sizzling mozzarella wafting from the kitchen where I find my mom making a few pupusas.

His smile is wide when his warm bright eyes find mine at the entrance of the kitchen. I can’t help but to rush into his waiting arms, breathing in his sweet scent of honey and lavender and the light undertones of dad’s cologne.

“Hi,” I mumble into his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he smiles, arms wrapping around my waist, “how was your day?”

I pull back and look at my feet, discreetly tugging on the sleeve of my shirt to hide a bruise wrapped around my wrist, “fine, boring as always.”

“Boring,” he snorts in disbelief.

I smile and give a small shrug, but he knows better. It’s like a sixth sense how he just knows something’s wrong. He looks at me with a frown, slowly untying his apron and turning off the stove as he places the last pupusa on a cooling stack. He tugs my arm and leads me to the living room where we take a seat. Immediately I curl up against him, resting my head on his lap and closing my eyes as he runs his fingers through my messy hair. Just like when I was small.

“Que pasó?” He asks softly.

“Nothing,” I sigh, “Nothing happened.”

He raises a brow and gives me that look.

“Just, I don’t need a babysitter anymore,” I huff.

“Babysitter?” He asks confused.

And it’s then Ian decides to enter, knocking on the door and giving my mom a small smile.

I sit up and shuffle away, arms crossing over my chest as I tuck my legs under my weight.

I watch him give my mom a warm hug in greeting and I’m off guard when mom throws me a questioning look.

“It’s good to see you Ian, Max is in his study.”

Ian nods, his gaze lingering on me before he’s walking towards dad’s office.

“I didn’t… we didn’t,” mom assures.

“You mean.. you didn’t call him to fly back just to check on me?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“No, of course not. We trust you to survive a day without us here and you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Is that why you’re angry with him? Because you thought we-”

“I’m angry,” I interrupt, “because he left.”

“He’s in charge of the other company in CA, he always lea-”

“But he left for more than a year , mom,” I stress, “right after my birthday without a goodbye. I didn’t even know he was gone and when I finally realized he had left, I expected a call. I expected our weekly Skype sessions and annoying text messages. I didn’t expect him to just disappear.”

“Lo resientes,” he states.

“Of course I resent him, he was my best friend… and he..”

He opens his arms for me and I gladly give into his embrace, voice growing small, “I’m angry, mom, but he’s so… different now. He’s angry with me and I don’t even know why. He’s cold and mean. There’s no teasing and lighthearted smiles. Not even an explanation. I’m the only one who should be angry.”

“Baby, he doesn’t owe any of us an explanation. He’s an adult who has his own life. You don’t have a right to probe,” he sighs.

“So you’re siding with him?”

“No,” he huffs lightly, “I’m not siding with anyone because there are no sides. You grew attached to him, he was a constant that always seemed to leave and came back every few weeks. I know you care for him, he’s your brother and best friend, but you need to understand that you’re growing up and you can’t cling to him forever. There’s also the age gap. He’s his own person and he has his own life. It’s okay if you don’t understand yet.”

“I know,” I mumble, “I know he has his own life to live, but… I just wish he hadn’t turned into such a jerk, our age was never a problem.. the problem is just him now.”

My mom smothers his abrupt and uncontrollable laughter at that, “You turned him into a softy, baby. Ian was way worse when I first met him, trust me. Just remember that no matter what happens, he’ll always be your brother.”

He pats my head, ruffling my hair until it stands on end in different directions. I watch him disappear into the kitchen to heat up some salsa and take out the curtido to finish preparing lunch.

I can’t help but bite my lip and think, what if I don’t want him to be my brother?

five

The next few days in school are hell, as per usual. But everything feels 10 times worse after not seeing Ian for nearly a week after his gracious return. I still want to see him, I still yearn to see him.

With a small frown I make my way to the boy’s locker room to change for Phys Ed.

Thankfully, when I duck inside I find it quiet, empty.

I slip on a sportswear long sleeve and some loose drawstring shorts.

Unfortunately, I’m just about to put on my shoes when I hear the door being slammed open and the sound of chattering quickly echoes through the room like a cold breeze.

I freeze, my body tenses and I stop breathing.

I recognize those voices.

Swallowing with difficulty through the lump in my throat, I grab my shoes and try to hurry to the bathroom in an attempt to hide. But they’re there, smiling cruelly and waiting patiently as they block the only exit.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, trying and failing to get past.

The ring leader steps up and snatches my sneakers from my hand.

“Nice shoes you got there,” he begins.

I stare at the ground, eyes falling on my bare prosthetic as I hold my breath.

“Don’t really know why you have them, I mean, you only need one, freak .”

I flinch when he throws them toward me, barely missing my head as they sail through the air and hit a locker with a deafening BANG!

“Aw, are you scared stumpy?”

My hands curl into fists as tears burn my eyes.

“Look! I think he’s going to cry!” Another laughs.

I hold back a sniffle, refusing to give them the satisfaction of breaking me.

The star of my nightmares grabs my chin until I’m forced to look at him.

“Saw your mommy today,” he sneers.

My cheeks heat up at that.

But he’s not done yet and with a scoff adds, “I think you should all just get out of our fucking country, you and that wetback immigrant. Honestly, what kind of a freak does that? Fucking disgusting, changing to a woman just to get pregnant. Really—”

I don’t let him finish. My fear churns and turns into deep rooted anger. I can’t and don’t hold back as I punch the jackass in the face. They can hurt me, beat me, say what they want about me, but I will never stand for them offending my mother. Not after everything he went through because of people like him.

I’m breathing harshly, body shaking with rage as I stand in mild satisfaction when blood dribbles from the idiot’s nose.

The jerk stares at me in surprise that soon turns to rage.

I take a staggering step back when I catch his signal, two of his goons quickly grabbing my arms before I can run away.

“You feel brave don’t you, you little bitch,” he scowls, “I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget, you pathetic spastic.”

six

Everything hurts. Every step I take is a chore, nearly toppling over more than once with the agonizing pain flaring through different parts of my body.

Slowly, I raise a weak fist and knock on the door before me, wanting nothing more than to curl up and simply cry.

Salty tears sting a slash carved into my bottom lip as it trembles.

I close my eyes and lean heavily against the wall, breathing harshly and trying to stop the overwhelming panic attack that accompanies my horrid memories of nearly an hour ago.

And it takes a while, but relief washes over me when I hear familiar footsteps thud against the wooden floor just on the other side.

Soon, the door is yanked open and I can’t help but lurch forward and fall into unsuspecting arms.

“Morgan?” His voice is alert and filled with confusion and concern, arms automatically wrapping around my battered body.

I peer up at him through a swollen purple eye and whimper his name breathily, “Ian.”

His eyes widen in horror before his face contorts in anger, “Who did this?”

“Ian,” I sniffle pathetically, his name the only thing I can say.

He pulls me inside, carefully guiding me toward the couch in the living room. He’s careful when be helps me sit down, but he’s angry. He’s furious, his stubbled face is red with rage.

And still he manages to surprise me with how gentle he can be. His warm hand cupping my bruised cheek tenderly, “What happened, sweetling? How did you get here?”

I nuzzle into his touch, closing my eyes as tears mix with water dripping from my damp hair and rolls down my cheek.

“Morgan, what happened?” He demands, voice soft but urgent.

I shake my head, taking in a shuddering breath that seems to burn my lungs in protest and spikes a coughing fit that wracks my entire body.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart, easy,” he coaxes, thumb tracing my cut lip.

“Burns,” I choke.

He clenches his teeth before standing up and pacing. He runs his hand through his hair.

He knows .

He always does.

“Relax, sweetling,” he whispers, “I’ll take care of everything, okay?”

I nod, moaning pitifully as he drapes a soft blanket over my aching body.

He makes a quick call, his words blurring into nonsensical gibberish I can’t quite piece together. It doesn’t last long, at least I don’t think it does.

When he comes back, he swiftly picks me up and cradles me in his arms.

He tries hard not to jostle me, but even when he straps me into his car I can feel every searing mark left on my skin.

My head hurts. Everything hurts.

Within seconds the car roars to life. Quickly, recklessly, Ian pulls out of the parking lot and his hand slips into my own. Despite the circumstances, I cherish this moment. I can’t help but look at his profile, drink up his image through hazy eyes.

He glances toward me at a red light, hand squeezing mine just a bit tighter.

“Ian,” I cough weakly.

“You’re going to be okay, Morgan.”

I nod, trusting him, always trusting him.

seven

My head feels heavy as if it were stuffed with cotton. It hurts and all I want to do is sleep, but they keep waking me up every two hours and it’s annoying. There’s always someone shaking me awake, leaving me frustrated and utterly exhausted.

A small keen escapes my parched throat and it immediately grabs Ian’s attention. His lips open and I barely catch my name on his tongue before it’s drowned out by a louder voice.

“Morgan!”

Tiredly, I turn my head toward the door where I find my mom looking frazzled. His curly hair is stuck up in every direction, sweet brown eyes red rimmed and filled with worried tears. I want nothing more than to hug him, bury my face in his scent and comfort.

“Mom,” I croak weakly, reaching out and finding an IV stuck to my arm.

“Oh baby,” he breathes, rosy nose sniffling as he rushes toward my side.

His hand feels like heaven as he runs his fingers through my hair and peppers kisses to my warm forehead.

I lean into his touch, feeling myself succumb to my plaguing exhaustion.

“My sweet baby,” he coos, smooth voice breaking, “my precious good.”

I nuzzle against him until Ian speaks, his voice thick and weary, tired, “He has a minor concussion.”

I glance toward where he stands and find dad beside him, clenching his fists tightly at his sides and barely controlling his anger as Ian continues.

“His prosthetic was broken, I don’t think it’s even functional anymore. He… he also has a sprained wrist and pulmonary edema.”

“Pulmonary edema?” Dad repeats, chewing the words and spitting them as a question.

Mom holds my hand in his, biting his lip as he waits for an explanation as well. His leg bounces in worried impatience. I want to calm him, reassure him that I’m okay.

But Ian adds with just as much anger, “Fluid in his lungs and since he doesn’t have any heart complications, the doctors think he was most likely drowned.. or at least someone attempted to drown him. ”

I close my eyes and shrink in on myself, a small distressed whimper on my lips as I remember.

“Drown.. you mean they tried to drown Morgan?!”

Dad’s face turns into a furious cherry red, blue eyes hardening and turning deadly cold with his anger.

“He’ll be on oxygen for a while and he’ll have to stay for a few more days, just to make sure he doesn’t get an infection,” Ian says.

“Max,” mom calls, “we need to do something, this can’t… they can’t.. they almost killed him!”

“Dad,” I croak weakly.

Maximilian, my kindhearted dad, is now consumed by sheer anger.

And still he steps up and kisses my forehead sweetly, “Rest, little warrior. We’ll listen to everything that happened later, okay? For now, just rest.”

“Okay,” I mumble, watching him dig through his breast pocket to take out his phone as he walks toward the door.

He’s more than ready to make any and every call necessary.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” mom coos with his lips on my cheek for a small kiss, “you’re going to be okay.”

I manage a small nod, finding the exhaustion creeping into my consciousness and I slowly give in, slowly doze off again.

eight

I scream, failing to break away from their tight hold on my arms. I try everything to escape, desperately wriggling until they’re forced to let go. But their grip only tightens. They’re hands paint bruises on my skin as they twist my arm and force me into submission. Until I’m on my knees and begging to be let go.

That only seems to draw a satisfied chuckle from my tormentors.

“Let me go,” I demand, voice breaking weakly.

“We’ll let you go,” the ring leader assures, “but not before we’re through with you.”

My eyes grow comically wide in fear before I close them shut, waiting for the blow that knocks my breath away. The sharp flare of pain digs into my side and makes my baby blue eyes sting with unshed tears.

“No,” I croak weakly, voice hoarse, “no more.”

Someone suddenly grabs my leg and I try to buck free but they twist it until I hear my prosthetic break.

“Stop!” I scream, only to have someone yank my hair and muffle my mouth with a discarded shirt until I’m gagging on the fabric.

The straps that once held my prosthetic in place now burn my skin raw like rope-burn at the incessant pull. It hurts as broken plastic digs into my skin and creates painful paper cuts.

My breath hitches when he leans down, breath ghosting against my ear, “You think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you, you crippled spastic.”

I shake my head in denial, struggling weakly.

His smile is cruel, eyes uncaring and filled with hate, “Always had everything, did’t you? Let’s see when you have nothing, not even your dignity.”

He drags me by the hair and briefly stops by the entrance before heading into the boy’s bathroom next door. I flinch at the booming sound of a stall knocking into the wall.

Salty tears runs down my pale cheeks, bottom lip quivering in fear.

He pulls my hair before pushing my head into the toilet bowl. I close my eyes and hold my breath, struggling to break free.

In seconds I’m pulled out and I manage a small breath before he dunks my head in again, face squished against the porcelain.

This time there’s no respite. I try to hold my breath but I can’t fight the urge to breathe.

The rush of water burns my nose as I give in. I’m choking on water, vision swimming and hazy, chest aching and lungs filling with liquid.

“Pathetic,” he sneers.

I scream.

I try to scream and cry for help. I want this to end. I don’t want to hurt anymore.

Help! Somebody please help me!

“Morgan!”

I sit up, body wound tight and trembling as I sob and cry.

Ian is by my side, arms wrapping around my waist as he reaches for the red button to call for a nurse.

“Stop,” I whimper, “please, let me go.”

Like a broken record I beg them to stop, failing to realize that I’m safe. With Ian I’m always safe.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice rough from sleep yet soft and smooth against my ear, “You’re okay, sweetling.”

I shake my head, I’m still there.

I’m still stuck in the bathroom and I still can’t breathe.

The room is too small.

There’s not enough air.

Water is filling my lungs and tears are burning my throat and stinging my eyes.

I can’t breathe!

“Morgan?” Ian shouts, “Morgan!“

nine

I moan weakly, head lolling to the side as I blink awake blearily. I take a deep breath and find a flare of pain radiating inside my chest. It hurts to breathe properly and brings tears to my eyes with each draw of air I take.

“Easy, sweetheart.”

I peer at my mom through blurry vision, calling for him when he comes to view, “mom?”

“You’re okay, baby,” he assures, a weak watery smile within his tired eyes.

“What happen’d?” I ask.

“You suffered a panic attack and dislodged the oxygen mask,” he explains softly, hands running through my greasy hair, “you’ve been out for a few days, but you’re gonna be okay, the doctors say there’s no sign of infection.”

My brows furrow, “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, it’s okay.”

■●■●■

After a little over a week in the hospital, going home is the one thing I’m looking forward to. The trip almost seems short-lived, but every second feels like it’s dragging on.

I’m covered in gauze and bandaids throughout my body, but the bruises can’t be hidden. They’re a mocking mark on my skin, a stark contrast against the paleness I inherited from my dad.

With a small pained keen, I rest my head against the cool window taking deep breathes when the blurring colors of neon restaurant signs and houses make my head ache. I close my eyes and try to ignore the ghost-like reflection that seems to stare back at me with dull tired eyes. So damned tired.

“Baby?”

I peer up at my mom, eyes fluttering open and looking around confused. My surroundings barely register inside my muddled brain, still high off of pain meds that only manage to make the unbearable ache into something dull and constantly throbbing.

“We’re home, sweetheart,” he coos.

I nod, taking my time to gather myself before trying to slip out the car only to stumble.

I feel my mom steady me, his eyes filled with worry and just as tired as mine.

“I got him,” Ian calls as he appraches from his own car parked right behind our dad’s.

Dad who doesn’t say anything as he steps beside mom, deep in thought and plotting (if his face says anything).

Ian quickly, yet mindfully, sweeps me off my feet like the day I begged for help after being cornered and attacked.

Cradled in the safety of his arms, my cheeks burn red, heated with slight embarrassment that feels disconnected from me. It feels like it isn’t me, this isn’t me. Tears prick my eyes at that, and I bury my face in his chest. His arms tighten just a bit more as he holds me securely, hot breath fanning over my head as he sighs in relief.

“You’re okay, Morgan,” he whispers, “you’re okay.”

I shake my head because no, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for the longest of times and after Ian left it has only become worse.

Still, I won’t tell him that. I can’t.

But as if reading my thoughts, he continues softly, “I’m back.”

My body tenses.

“And I’m not going anywhere, not until I know you’re safe.”

I close my eyes and clutch the front of his shirt in fistfulls of fabric.

Before I know it, his steps taper off and he carefully places me on my bed, much more comfortable than the one in the hospital. He unties my shoes and slips them off, my new and uncomfortable prosthetic coming off soon after before he’s helping me lay back down and tucking me in. His gaze is tender with something I can’t quite decipher, but manages to hide his anger and rage well.

I lick my dry lips, opening my mouth to say something, anything to keep him back. And before he can think about leaving, before I even realize what I’m doing, I tug at his shirt.

He looks down at me with a small forced smile covering his concern poorly.

“Rest, my heartling, I’ll be right here,” he assures, seeming to know my deepest fear.

Losing him.

Letting him go.

He takes off his shoes, slipping into bed beside me and holding me close to his heart.

I close my eyes and let the tears that have been stinging my eyes fall as I hold onto him desperately.

A small sniff comes from the door but I don’t dare look, knowing that my mom is there trying and failing to stifle his own overwhelming sadness.

I wish I could comfort him, tell him what they’ve told me.

That I’m okay.

But the truth is, I’m not.

And I don’t know when I will be.

For now, this is enough.

ten

Turns out, throwing the first punch is never a good idea. I have a week of suspension for that, those monsters twisting everything they’ve done to me and making themselves the victims. The depression hits hard after that, because it’s simply not fair.

“Don’t worry,” my mom says, voice soft and controlled.

If anything, he’s become better at hiding his own pain. However, that only seems to hurt me more, because he loves me and he’s trying. But I feel so broken.

“It’s unfair, my sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out.”

I nod, trying to show some optimism, but it’s like I’m not really there.

I stare at the screen of my computer, blank Word document pulled up.

Aside from being suspended, I __ have to write an apology letter.

For throwing the first punch.

For defending myself and my mother. For fighting to try to stop the inevitable.

To me, at this point, they always seem to win. They truly have the upper hand.

And I hate it.

A soft knock interrupts my bitter thoughts, Ian is standing at the door with determination written on his face.

“What’s wrong?” My mom asks.

I look away from him, glancing at the wall ahead of me just to distract my racing my mind.

I barely catch snippets of what Ian says. Subconsciously I listen to his voice but my mind refuses to comprehend what he’s saying, until something snaps.

“We’re suing, there’s evidence that Morgan had already reported those little brats as bullies, there’s even a log on the number of times he had to visit the school nurse. Add that to his hospitalization and the report Max did with the police, there’s more than enough evidence to sue the school for negligence on their behalf for doing a shit job. They had no right suspending Morgan for defending himself either, which is what that was. Any potential ‘charges’ against Morgan will be written off as self-defense considering the hell he had to go through. All of this is also enough to petition the school board to expel those bastards,” Ian explains.

Those words should make me feel relieved, they should make me feel something. But I feel empty.

“No one is going to force you to write a stupid apology letter,” Ian adds more softly.

It’s only then I glance at him and give a small nod, exiting out of Word.

My mom seems to breathe easier at the news. He presses a kiss to my head and wipes away a tear I hadn’t realized had escaped.

“Thank you, Ian. Now go wash up, my precious boy, I’ll go make your favorite for dinner.”

“Okay,” I whisper, still finding it hard to find my voice.

When it’s just Ian and me, I reach to close my laptop and begin unstrapping my prosthetic. Ian takes a seat at the foot of my bed, without a word helping me slip it off.

“Bath or shower?” He asks.

I shrug, but that’s not the answer he’s waiting for.

“Talk to me, Morgan,” he begs.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, voice a bit raspy.

He immediately calls me out on my bullshit.

“I just don’t want to talk about that , anymore.”

It’s more than enough with my nightmares, reliving it almost every night. It’s torture and cruel. And talking about it won’t make it go away.

“Then what do you want to talk about?” He tries again.

I look up, into his eyes.

I hate what I see.

I know I shouldn’t, but I ask anyway, “why did you leave?”

With those four words, he closes off, “I don’t want to talk about that either, not right now.”

Regardless of how I feel, I nod.

At this point, I don’t even care anymore.

eleven

It’s been days of moping and feeling sorry for myself.

After feeling suffocated for a better part of my time home, I manage to take a deep breath and let my tensed body slowly relax under the spray of the shower. The water is like a warm blanket on my skin, washing away sweat and grime until it swirls down the drain.

I open my eyes and gaze at the wall.

I feel mentally exhausted after days of wallowing in self-pity. But for once I want to forget, I want something more, something to make me let go.

Having a moment of respite with my parents momentarily out of the house, I can’t help but bite my lip.

I barely hold back a moan as I wrap my hand around my aching erection, thoughts momentarily on the one person I love. My mind imagining what his hands on my body would feel like, his mouth on my skin and body pressed flush against mine. My breath hitches in my throat, a groan of pleasure escaping my lips.

“Ian,” I whimper breathlessly, “Ian please. ”

My breaths come out in short gasps as I near my orgasm. Other hand probing my entrance, a finger slipping inside. The burn of the stretch pushes me over the edge, cum splattering against the wall.

So deep in pleasure, breathing erratic and loud, I don’t realize my name being called. Nor do I realize when the door to the bathroom is pushed open.

It’s only when I open my hazy eyes, that I notice wide brown eyes staring back at me. It takes my mind a minute to catch up, but before I can explain or say anything, he’s gone.

No, oh fuck no, no, no!

“Ian,” I call quickly, shutting off the water and slipping out naked and cold as water drips down my body.

His steps are loud and hurried, thudding to the panicked beating of my heart.

I rush a bit awkwardly behind him, limping slower without my prosthetic.

But no matter how much I call his name to stop him, beg for him to listen and apologize, he won’t pause.

Not until he slams the door of the study in my face and locks it

My voice cracks as my hands pound against the door, “Ian, please! Ian!”

Tears well up in my eyes and I slide down the length of the door until I’m sitting on the floor shivering and miserable. I bring my knees to my chest, soft sobs escaping my lips and tears rolling down my cheeks.

I feel so stupid!

And despite how pathetic and ashamed I feel for thinking of Ian, my brother , in that way and pleasuring myself, I stay put. I refuse to move, not until he listens to me.

But time ticks by and somehow I manage to doze off, only jerking awake when a warm blanket is wrapped around my body.

I look up dazedly, squeaking when Ian picks me up in his arms.

“You’re truly stupid,” he says simply.

I open my mouth but he stops me with a single look and continues , “You could get sick staying like that.”

“Ian, I-”

He places me by my bed, and I steady myself with his help as I stand once again. I peer up at him but I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s completely closed off.

“Change, I’ll go order some food or-”

“Ian I’m sorry, I know it’s wrong but I-”

“Stop, Morgan.”

I clamp my mouth shut. My heart aching and constricting painfully tight in my chest. Despite how hard I try, I’m still unable to hold back a small sniffle.

He doesn’t say anything else though.

Ian walks out of my room just as I let the blanket fall.

I feel defeated.

Stupid.

Just… ugh!

I’ve never been so mortified before.

Barely breathing when I head downstairs sluggishly, unable to think of anything else as we eat in awkward and tense silence across from each other.

I’m too scared to look up at him, to see the disgust and hate I’m sure will be there.

In reality, though, I’m simply too scared to see the confusion and cariño (affection) in his eyes.

twelve

“You told him,” I accuse, voice hoarse and throat sore.

My mom looks at me guiltily before nodding, “I was worried.”

“Mom!”

“You were in the hospital barely a week ago! Of course I’d ask Ian to check up on you while your father and I went out,” he says, cheeks coloring.

I look away, jaw locked in anger.

I should’ve known.

“Look,” he sighs softly, “I know you’re mad at him, but I trust him with you. Regardless of what’s happened, you’re family and he would never-”

“I’m tired,” I interrupt, wobbling where I stand.

“Morgan, baby, wait,” he calls out.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I say something I’ll regret, “it’s okay mom. I know why you did it. But I’m tired now, and I have a headache.”

He nods, brows furrowed in his signature worry, “go rest, I’ll go look for some medicine.”

I nod before trudging up to my room and flopping onto my bed. I’m too tired to change or to take off my prosthetic, so I wriggle under my blanket as so. Within moments I fall asleep, shivering despite the thick blanket keeping the non-existent cold in my room at bay.

●■●■●

“Morgan?”

“Hm?” I hum sleepily.

A soft hand touches my forehead, a soft curse escaping under the person’s breath when they realize I’m burning up.

I bury myself deeper in my blanket, muttering about how cold I feel and the pounding headache that’s just on the surface.

“Morgan, I need you to sit up,” the voice orders.

My brows furrow and I shake my head slightly, hating how it feel like my brain is wiggling inside with the movement but knowing it’s just the pressure of the pain.

“I’m sleepy,” I moan softly.

“I know that, but Matthew told me to give you this, it’s for the pain. Come on sweetling, sit up.”

I groan, failing to lift my weight with how sick I feel.

He tsks, “I knew you were going to get sick.”

I snap my eyes open and stare up at Ian who’s looking back at me in worry.

“Go away,” I frown.

“Morgan,” he sighs in mild exasperation, but before he can continue I grasp a pillow and throw it at his head even as my cheeks heat up.

He manages to dodge the unexpected pillow, eyes darkening in annoyance.

It’s enough to make me sit up with a grumble, hand outstretched to get the medicine.

“Here,” he huffs, giving me a glass of water.

I swallow the pills immediately, hoping to relieve the pain coursing through my body from this persistent fever.

“I brought some food,” he adds.

I look at the plate, but I don’t find myself hungry.

I say as much and the worry seems to increase at that.

“You need to eat.”

“I need to sleep,” I retort, ready to slip back into blissful unconsciousness.

“Morgan, I-”

“Please go away,” I whisper, peering at him through hazy eyes, “it hurts to look at you… to know you’re so close, but realizing I can never… you will never love me.”

” Morgan, I do lo-”

I shake my head, voice become more slurred as I fall asleep, “not like I love you, Ian. I’m truly stupid, because I love you… I love you so much…”

The relief of darkness overwhelms me, but at least I know I won’t hurt as much as when I’m awake.

thirteen

“Hey,” comes a soft voice.

I peer over the edge of the blanket and stare at my dad, whispering a hoarse, “hi dad.”

“How do you feel?” He asks.

I sit up with some difficulty and stare at my lap timidly as I shrug, “better.”

He hums, pausing for a moment before clearing his throat.

I can’t help but smile at that, “I’m okay, really.”

“Really?” He asks completely unconvinced.

I don’t answer.

We both know.

He takes a seat on my bed and I can’t help but curl up against him. His warmth and strength is something that has always amazed me, comforted me.

I close my eyes and suddenly, I’m six again.

” What’s wrong, little one?”

“Nothin’,” I sniffled pitifully after coming home from the park.

I tried to wipe away the snot with the back of my hand, only smearing it on my tear stained cheeks as I crossed my thin spaghetti arms over my chest.

“Little one,” he sighed softly, knowing something was wrong, but not knowing how to help.

” I’m okay,” I mumbled weakly, a frown on my pouty lips when my gaze landed on my prosthetic.

Realization struck him then, and his furry brows scrunched up in their own worry.

“Come here, Morgan,” he gestured.

I couldn’t help but run toward him, clambering awkwardly into his opened arms and crawling onto his lap.

His hand ran through my messy and wild hair, his colorful pocket cloth wiping away the tears and snot from my flushed face.

His voice was (and will always be) soothing, a deep baritone that could grow soft and loving.

“You can always tell me anything, my little soldier,” he had said.

“I know, daddy,” I mumbled, “but I’m okay now, promise.”

With a small sigh, he smiled.

His smile full of warmth crinkled his eyes until they were crescent moons filled __ with love.

A soft voice interrupted the comforting silence with the call of my dad’s name.

We both followed the familiar voice, finding my mom leaning against the doorway with his own little smile.

I find myself remembering those times, the times that he was always there when I was knocked down. And I wonder when we grew apart. I wonder when it became hard to run to my dad, to talk to him, to trust him with how I felt.

I hate to think that it was the moment I realized I fell in love with Ian.

I bury my face in his shoulder, taking in a shuddering breath.

“I remember,” he begins softly, that same voice from my memories still rich and strong filling the void, “when you were still small and would get on my lap only to fall asleep after you begged for a story.”

I close my eyes and swallow with difficulty.

I remember those times too.

“I remember when you asked me to scare away the monster under your bed,” he adds reminiscing.

“I love you, dad,” I mumble, “I know I don’t say it as often, but I do.”

He smiles, “I know. I love you too, kiddo.”

My smile is a bit weak, watery, but it’s more genuine. It’s more than I could’ve mustered a few days ago.

Progress.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. We don’t need to talk. So it’s also okay to just comfort each other in silence. Never doubt my love for you. I will always be here, worrying just as much, if not more so than your mother.”

“I know,” I choke, “Thank you.”

“Just don’t ever… don’t ever think you’re alone.”

fourteen

I glare at my feet, lips turned down in a pout that won’t go away as I frown.

“Why can’t I just go with you?” I ask.

“Because you have school,” my mom whispers, his forehead pressed against mine as our noses bump together.

“I’m home-schooled now and I did all my work,” I argue feebly, “You said you trusted me to survive alone.”

“I know baby boy, but we were gone for one night when that happened. This time around, your dad and I will be gone for one week. You know these meetings drag on, you know how boring they are,” he reminds me.

I snort softly, “I know. But why do I have to stay with him?”

“Because he’s your brother and we trust him to take care of you.”

“He’s not… I don’t… just no,” I struggle briefly, brows furrowing, “it’s only gotten worse.”

“Ya sé,” he sighs, “but he loves you.”

No he doesn’t , I think miserably, at this point, he **hates ** me.

“Baby,” my mom says, thumb smoothing the crease of my brow gently.

I look away with a sigh, “I know, mom. Just.. hurry back?”

His smile is small, sad, as he nods. His plush lips (much like mine), press a firm kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you sweetheart,” he coos.

“Love you too mom,” I flush, “but please.”

The rest goes unsaid, “we’ll try, but you’ll be with Ian. You’ll figure this out and things between you will be fixed. We’re family regardless of what happens.”

That’s the problem.

We’re family and Ian… there’s no doubt that he hates me. Not after what I did.

“Have fun,” I whisper.

It takes a while longer before he lets go, only to be replaced by my dad.

The old man looks good in his pressed suit, almost untouched by time if my mom’s memories are anything to go by.

I can’t help but offer him a smile, his arms wrapping around me in a warm tight hug, “Chin up, kiddo.”

I nod against his shoulder before letting go, “Good luck, dad.”

And they’re gone.

I stand outside until there’s no trace of them.

The only hint of their presence ever being there is the mild cologne of my dad and the scent of apple pie from my mom.

The clearing of a throat breaks me from my thoughts and suddenly I find myself in front of Ian.

“Hey,” he greets softly.

“Hi,” I whisper, reaching for my duffel bag to head inside.

But he’s faster, his veiny hand wrapping around the handles and lifting my bag swiftly and without a sweat.

I swallow thickly, eyes landing on the bulging muscles covered by a long sleeved shirt but barely restrained by the thin material.

“Come on,” he urges.

I look away and duck inside his apartment, the door closing behind us with a deafening click.

I suddenly feel small and overwhelmed.

How am I supposed to survive a week with Ian?

Why couldn’t Ian just go back to CA and attend the stupid meetings? He had no problem leaving before, why couldn’t he just go back now and never come back?

“Make yourself at home,” he says rather stiffly.

I nod and slip off my shoes, placing them neatly in the closet. Despite being a little over a year since I was last here, I still remember the place perfectly.

Ian’s warm scent embedded in the walls, the scent of promise and home.

Something that is not mine and will never be mine, not with him.

I shake my head slightly from those thoughts and walk upstairs where he places my bag on top of the bed in the room that has always had my name on it.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

He turns to face me, his eyes boring into mine and I’m reminded of the shower incident.

My face heats up at the shameful memory and he breaks the contact first, eyes landing on my bag.

“Dinner will be at seven, if you want we could-”

“I’m not hungry,” I lie, “I think I’ll skip, I’m just… just tired.”

I miss the way his face falls in disappointment, but his voice doesn’t waver, it only grows tighter, firmer, “alright.”

I’m about to take a relieved breath when his steps pause just outside the bedroom door, “Morgan.”

“Ye-Yeah?” I stammer a bit off guard.

“If you need anything, just tell me.”

“O-”

Before I finish agreeing, the door is already closed behind him.

“-kay…” I sigh miserably.

This is going to be a long week.

Just then my stomach growls in hunger.

Yeah, this is definitely going to be a long week.

I shove my bag off the side of the bed and face plant onto the soft and bouncy mattress, groaning as my tensed muscles slowly relax.

A long week indeed.

fifteen

My nose scrunches up a bit as I feel warm breath fan over my heated face, soft lips brushing against mine. The furrow to my brow is smoothed away, a soft voice whispering my name reverently. I moan tiredly, burying my face in the pillow. It’s hot, so hot.

“Ian,” I mumble breathily, ” Ian .”

I gasp awake, sitting up in bed with my heart racing just so. My body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my lips tingling. My erection strains against the confines of my jeans and I close my thighs together in embarrassment until I realize that I’m alone.

I raise my fingers to my lips, tracing them as my eyes close.

That dream… that voice.

A shiver runs down my body.

And I’m painfully aware that it was just that, a dream.

I sigh when the illusion breaks as my stomach growls, the hunger pangs a reminder of skipping out on lunch and dinner.

But it’s then that my eyes narrow in suspicion when I catch a whiff of food.

I glance toward the night table and I find my self crawling to the edge of the bed where I reach for the plate. I dig in immediately, humming and moaning at the delicious tastes exploding on my tongue. For a moment forgetting the pleasure I felt minutes ago with the welcomed distraction.

But just as I’m on my third bite, an amused voice startles me, “Glad to know you like it.”

I glance toward the door and glare at my brother who’s leaning casually against the the frame of the entrance.

“It’s good, thanks,” I mumble, shifting discreetly where I sit and trying to hide my hard on from view.

“Here, I brought you some juice,” he smiles.

I reach out, making grabby hands for the glass but refusing to move.

He raises a brow, but approaches the bed nontheless.

“What? Can’t walk now?”

I roll my eyes and exaggerate a cough, “‘m still sick.”

He looks at me, his brown eyes peering straight into mine. His expression is one of seriousness, it’s the poker face he uses for conducting business, the one that doesn’t give anything away.

And I’m suddenly feeling warmer.

My cheeks heat up and my breath hitches in my throat as I look away.

I shouldn’t have said that.

I shouldn’t have reminded him of what happened, what I did.

“We need to talk,” he whispers, voice soft but firm.

“No, I don’t think so,” I refute.

“It’s not about what you think, Morgan, it’s abou-”

“How about we forget about it?” I interrupt quickly, “Please.”

“Morgan,” he sighs.

“Please,” I beg, voice cracking and on the brink of tears.

He caves.

His hand reaches out and he cups my cheek before reluctantly agreeing, “Okay, but we will talk about this, just not… not today.”

I feel like I can breathe a easier, the grip on my heart loosening bit by bit.

“Thank you,” I smile tentatively, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.

“Eat,” he smiles back, “then come downstairs, let’s have a movie marathon.”

“Okay.”

He closes the door when he leaves and I scramble out of bed.

I place the plate on top of the covers and the glass on the nightstand before I hurry toward the bathroom.

Once in there, I close the door and press my back against it, breathing harshly as I reach for my aching cock inside my sweats.

A small choked moan rips from my throat, my eyes fluttering closed as pleasure wracks through my body.

“Fuck,” I curse softly, back arching when I finally spill.

And I wonder how I’m going to survive this week, let alone this night.

sixteen

I curl up against the arm of the sofa and throw the warm blanket over my feet as I reach for my soda. Ian plops down on the other side, the bowl of freshly popped popcorn filling the empty space between us.

The silence hangs in the air as he searches for a movie, the only sound is the clicking of the remote before he settles on an action film. It’s one of the Fast and the Furious movies.

Occasionally I reach for some popcorn, but half way through the film I start yawning. My eyes grow heavy with each minute that passes by as I snuggle deeper into the blanket now up to my shoulders.

I’ve never liked action films, they’re always so boring and repetitive and frankly, unrealistic.

Still, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else in the world.

Because I’m with Ian, and he’s here.

It’s more than I could’ve asked for a year ago when I felt so hurt and betrayed by his sudden disappearance. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still bitter and filled with resentment.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, heart slowing down compared to the nervous jitters I felt when the movie barely began.

A while later I feel a warm weight land on my arm, a soft voice smooth like rich chocolate calling to me, “Morgan.”

It almost feels like I’m dreaming, but his breath is warm and his voice urges me awake.

“Hm? What?” I mumble sleepily, eyes fluttering to look around.

The TV screen is blank, the bowl of popcorn is filled with unpopped kernels, and our glasses of soda are now half empty.

“Com’on,” Ian says, “don’t fall asleep here, at least go to bed.”

I frown slightly.

I feel too comfortable in my cocoon of blankets and throw pillows to actually move or even make an attempt.

My body feels tired, bones weary, and mind numb with too many thoughts.

“Come on, Morgan,” Ian orders, voice growing a bit firmer.

I huff, untangling myself from my safe haven and sitting up. I grimace when my spine cracks and bones pop as I stretch.

Ian is cleaning up silently and he looks just as tired and weary as I feel. I reach for the empty bowl of popcorn and follow him into the kitchen where we lapse in silence as we wash the dishes from dinner and movie night.

When we finish, I hover at the entrance of the little kitchen unsure of what to do while Ian dries his hands.

It’s still awkward and I still can’t quite meet his eye, but my heart is ready to burst.

I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a brief moment before allowing myself to look at him.

Ian’s eyes are on me, his expression unreadable but passive and calm.

It makes my heart ache with longing.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper before elaborating, “for movie night.”

He nods, body tense and unsure of himself. He looks like he wants to ask, to say something. But he holds back. And he does so because I know what it is, because I begged him not to mention it. Even if it’s for tonight.

He finally settles on a quiet, “You’re welcome.”

I nod a bit tersely before turning away and heading toward my room.

As soon as I’m inside, I flop onto the bed and take a deep breath.

My eyes are glued to my closed, yet unlocked, door. I hold my breath when I hear his footsteps approach.

Rationally, I know he has to walk past my room to get to the master bedroom. Irrationally, my heart panics and still yearns for something more.

His steps falter at my door though, and he stops.

I bite my lip with bated breath and wait.

“Good night, Morgan,” comes his muffled voice.

My response dies in my throat as his steps resume and disappear with a thud of a door closing.

I swear I can almost hear the sound of the lock sliding into place.

I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling, mumbling a tired, “Good night, Ian.”

seventeen

With an entire week ahead of us and nothing to do, I find myself gravitating more toward Ian. I curl up in the small armchair by the bookcase in his study as he devours paper after paper which he either signs or shreds. It’s only the first day together, but it’s dull and it’s pouring rain outside. I’m bored even as I read one of the many books he has as entertainment.

I know that I could always go to the living room and watch a movie, maybe finish that one fairy-tale series I was watching.

However, I can’t bring myself to be alone.

I crave attention and affection, even his presence is enough to end this hurt and fear inside my chest.

I place the book down on my lap and look at Ian, teeth gently gnawing on my bottom lip.

It takes a few minutes, but he finally looks up with a raised brow.

“Do know why they never had more kids?” I ask out of the blue.

Now both brows are raised in surprised, “You mean your parents?”

I nod and look at my foot, or lack thereof.

“I don’t know,” Ian whispers, “If you really wanna know, you should ask them yourself.”

“Oh.”

He shuffles a few papers, however, before he can bury his nose in them, I ask one last question, “What about you?”

He stops at this and he looks at me, gaze piercing and almost cold.

But my curiosity always gets the best of me and I refuse to back down.

“What about me?”

So, I elaborate, “Do you li-like kids? I mean, did you ever think of having one? Start your own family?”

At this Ian hesitates, sighing deeply, “I never really liked kids before. Recently, though, I’ve found myself not hating or even disliking the idea. But I don’t think I’d ever start a family with someone I don’t love.”

“So, is there someone you love?” I ask, heart hammering inside my chest.

I hold my breath and almost hope he says no.

But the pain constricting my heart only worsens when he says, “Yes.”

“Oh,” I say in a whoosh of breath.

We don’t talk after that.

I don’t probe.

He loves someone, and that someone is clearly not me.

I close the book without bothering to bookmark the page I was on and I slink out the office, tears stinging my eyes and a sniffle scrunching my nose.

He doesn’t stop me.

■●■●■

The night before my parents return from CA, there’s a party being held in the Marriott hotel. Ian is, of course, invited and I’m his plus one.

I can’t help but gawk at him.

He’s dressed sharp, hair slicked back and pressed suit defining all the right places.

The sight almost makes me salivate.

But I hold my desire inside and guard my heart with high-fenced walls.

I’ve grown cold with indifference, refusing to let my feelings dictate my thoughts any longer.

He loves someone else, and I’m resigned to that. There’s no point in feeding this unrequited love, even if it hurts like hell to admit it. It’s painful to even breathe knowing that he will never love me like I love him.

He snaps me out of my dark, depressing thoughts, “Ready?”

I nod, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, leaving it wavy and wild, “yeah, ready.”

The drive isn’t far and the valet takes the keys from Ian’s loose grip easily upon arriving.

I’m nervous, the butterflies in my stomach riled up not because of Ian, but because I know what’s inside.

Ian is well known.

He’s helped our dad’s company grow, has helped strengthen it.

He’s smart and handsome, charming and kind. Frankly, he’s a dork. But that’s not what people see, they see power and wealth.

He could rule the world like he rules by heart. And everyone will surely drag him off to talk business while I’m forced to mingle alone.

Unlike him, I’m not as well known. I’m a nobody.

I’m just the youngest Grayson, born from an “immigrant” who tricked my dad and ruined a “happy” family. At least that was the rumor that was going around the last time I attended a party consisting of powerful CEOs and the like. I won’t lie, that hurts and stings in a way that reminds me of the daily beatings I received when I attended that wretched school a few months ago.

It’s a reminder still etched onto my skin as I wrap my hand around my wrist.

I sigh, taking a deep breath before taking the plunge as I duck inside the ballroom where the party is being held. I follow shyly behind Ian, refusing to look up at anybody for fear of finding what will always be there, disgust.

So, I train my eyes on the decor of black and silver.

People are already present, wearing ridiculously expensive clothes to show off their wealth with a glass of rosé in their hands.

I’m easily distracted, quickly figuring out that this is a birthday party for someone important.

And within moments I lose sight of Ian.

I feel utterly lost and uncomfortable now that I’m alone in a sea if people that will never see me as an equal.

Nontheless, I step deeper inside the large room, eyes peering through circles of gathered acquaintances as they chat. It’s almost comical how they remind me of the cliques back in school. However, this is what makes me realize the dynamics of popularity and money.

I quickly rid my mind from those ugly thoughts and focus on finding my brother.

Yet still, there’s no sign of Ian.

I’m about to give up and maybe leave the so-called party to roam around the hotel when I finally catch sight of him.

I can’t believe it took me more time to find him, than to lose him.

I’m ready to approach him, deciding to stick to him regardless of the mind numbing conversations he’ll no doubt be dragged into.

But I see someone beside him. Occupying the space that should be mine.

She’s tall, just a few inches shorter than him. Her golden hair is braided in loose waves and loops into an elegant updo that lets a few strands of hair to frame her face. Her ruby lips are stretched into a smile, her teeth brighter than my future and cheeks colored like a rose.

I feel my blood boil.

But it’s her.

When Ian turns to look at her, a small laugh on his lips escaping from something she’s said, there’s no denying it.

I know it’s her, the person he loves.

eighteen

“Excuse me,” a soft voice interrupts.

I look up and find someone vaguely familiar peering down on me.

His eyes are a soft forest green and there’s something about them that screams familiarity. But my heart still hurts and I’m trying hard not to cry in front of people who are already ridiculing me for sitting alone in the far off corner of the room.

It’s hard to even breathe properly, my eyes already bloodshot from the stinging tears I’m desperately trying to hold back.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” He asks politely.

I look at the table cloth before me and shake my head, “I’m not the best conversationalist right now.”

He smiles, “that’s okay, I kind of just want to escape for a bit, get lost in the crowd.”

“And you think it’d be best to come to the awkward lonely outcast in the corner of the expansive room?” I ask a bit skeptically.

He snorts, “Well when you put it that way, I guess I’d stick out like a sore thumb. But it’s nice, just to take a breath from the suffocating congratulations.”

I cock my head to the side slightly confused.

“It’s my birthday,” he says as a way to explain.

My eyes grow wide in shock and I squeak out a small, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, nobody told me.”

As an after thought, I whisper “Congratulations.”

He laughs, and it’s like a soft rumble beginning from his broad chest, “Thank you.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, soft music filling the ballroom. I look to the crowd and close my eyes, taking a deep breath as the pain in my chest flares.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I hiss softly.

He looks at me, brows furrowed in concern and I feel guilty for making such a scene when it should be a happy occasion.

“Sorry,” I apologize again, “I’m bringing down the mood. You should be celebrating and having fun.”

“This party is in my honor and still I feel like a stranger. Honestly, I’m glad I finally found someone around my age.”

His eyes are full of kindness, but the concern doesn’t easily disappear.

“I’m glad I could be of service,” I mumble.

“You look tense, and I know this party sucks. Trust me, I’m aware. It’s more about making connections and stregnthing the ones we already have.”

“Your family owns a big corporation too?

“Yeah,” he sighs, “my father is the son of one of the developer of MS and as such, the company has been kept within the family.”

I stare a bit in awe at him, “that’s… wow.”

He chuckles at my awestruck appearance, “yeah. But enough of that, it’s all boring and business. You look like you could use a drink.”

I open my mouth to reject it but he’s gone before I know it.

I glance at my hands for a moment, feeling slightly self conscious but grateful for the distraction.

When he returns, he has two drinks in hand.

They’re light pink in color, a peachy cream that draws my attention immediately.

“Bellini,” he says as he hands me a glass.

I take a sip with a small grateful smile, feeling guilty because I know I shouldn’t be drinking, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he assures, taking a gulp of his own.

We’re halfway through our drinks when he starts feeling brave again, “what’s your name?”

“Morgan,” I breathe, cheeks a rosy hue, “Morgan Grayson.”

His eyes get this misty look in them, and a flash of guilt swims in those pools of green that quickly fades, “I’m Jae Allen.”

That name sounds so damned familiar that it’s nearly hurting my brain as I try to figure out why.

But he stops my train of thoughts from spiralling out of control, and k find that he’s really good at that, “Do you want to dance?”

The soft music allows the dance floor to become occupied with a few couples spinning and sweeping across the floor with ease.

I hesitate, but I don’t argue when he takes a hold of my hand in his.

One of his arms slips around my waist, as mine lands on his shoulder.

Before we can even begin, someone grabs my wrist and pulls me away from Jae. A small protest falls from my lips until I look up and find Ian glaring daggers at the younger man

Jae looks ready to fight Ian, but Ian’s anger only increases at the clear challenge. His body is teeming with fury. Despite my confusion, I reach out toward him a small noise of worry and fear stuck in my throat.

My hand lands on his cheek, voice soft as I tell him to calm down.

He’s panting slightly and I can smell the alcohol wafting off him.

His eyes, though hazy with drink, peer at me. His hold on my wrist tightens as he drags me away from from the dancefloor, from Jae, and out the ballroom.

I frown deeply, struggling to break free from his bruising grasp, “Ian, Ian let go of me.”

He drags me toward the second floor and toward a room. He pulls out the key and opens the door easily, pulling me inside despite my protests.

“Ian, what the hell?” I huff.

The door slams shut and immediately I’m pressed against it, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

I don’t move, barely breathe as he holds me tighter still.

“Ian?” I ask softly, worriedly.

“You’re mine,” he says.

His voice is muffled and it’s hard to understand, until he pulls back and kisses me on the lips. Hard.

His knee wedges between my thighs, his hands grip my hips, and his tongue slips inside my mouth as he steals my breath away.

I can’t help but moan, gasping as his hands cup my ass and he carries me to the king sized bed.

His jacket is first to go, landing on the carpeted floor with a light thud. He pulls off my shoes then, carefully slipping off my prosthetic after.

“Ian, wha-”

I don’t get to finish.

“Please,” Ian begs, voice breaking, “let me touch you.”

There’s a hint of coherency and I realize what he’s doing.

He’s asking.

Despite the alcohol in his system, he’s stopped to ask me, beg me, for consent.

“Yes.”

It’s all he needs to hear for his hands to pull down my pants and boxers, my straining cock exposed before being engulfed in his heated mouth.

My back arches at the sudden sensation, the breath punched out of my gut as he swallows around my length.

I tangle my hands in his hair, gasping and moaning helplessly until he pulls off with a pop. I whine frustrated. So close.

“Ian,” I whimper.

His lips are back on mine and I can taste myself on his tongue. It’s intoxicating.

“You’re mine,” he growls as he begins gnawing on my neck, leaving bruises and hickies in his wake.

“Ian,” I cry, “Ian, please.”

He looks at me, his smile pleased and wicked as a slick finger slips inside.

I tense.

The feeling isn’t unfamiliar, but his fingers are thicker, and fuck— he gets the angle just right.

“More,” I gasp.

He pulls out his fingers, the flash of anger still in his eyes as he likes up his cock against my little puckered hole. His cock is huge, hard and leaking pre cum as he rubs it against my entrance.

He slides in slowly.

I choke back a scream, two fingers not enough for something so big.

The stretch burns.

“Hurts,” I sob.

“Relax,” he huffs, voice rough against my ear, “this is your punishment for talking to him . You’re mine. ”

“Yours,” I cry out, dragging my nails across his back.

He pulls out slowly, before thrusting back in.

I know I should’ve fought harder.

I know this is wrong.

But it feels so right.

“It’s,” he grunts, “it’s like coming home.”

I close my eyes, breath labored with each hard thrust. I whimper and moan and beg. More.

More, harder, please .

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside yet. My hard on is trapped between our bodies, the friction driving me mad.

And on a particularly hard thrust, I see white as I orgasm entirely too soon.

But the way I clench down on his cock buried deep inside my body, pushes him over the edge just as fast.

We’re left panting, breathless and sated.

“Ian?” I croak tiredly.

He looks at me and I know it’s not over yet, not when he says, “I love you.”

nineteen

^^^Jae Allen^^^

A soft groan in my ear is what rouses me a few hours later.

My lower back hurts, my hips ache, my lips are bruised and my neck feels raw. To be honest, everything hurts. It hurts in places I didn’t even know could hurt.

I whimper a small whine of pain before burying my face in the pillow.

I’m just about to doze off again, when a muttered curse falls from someone’s lips, “fuck.”

My body tenses and that makes the pain in my body worse.

“Morgan?”

I moan pitifully as I shift, squinting up at Ian’s horror filled eyes.

The horror which reflects mine as I realize what happened, what we did.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, searching for his clothes.

I don’t move.

I barely breathe.

Once he has his trousers on, he looks back at me. His eyes are filled with horror, pain, and so much more.

“This was a mistake,” he says.

My heart clenches tightly. Of course I knew that. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it still hurts to hear him say those words.

“Why?” I ask, voice small and low.

He ignores me at first, can’t even look at me and I think that hurts worse.

Tears blur my vision as he grabs his button up and slips it on.

So, I continue and probe because I can’t deal with this, “Why? Because we’re brothers?”

At that he looks at me, eyes sharp and deadly.

I flinch, breath hitching in my throat.

“Morgan,” he sighs, reaching out to touch me.

But I back away, pressing my back against the headboard.

“It was a mistake,” he says gently, “because there’s someone else.”

My heart literally shatters and it’s an automatic response that I slip out of bed and get dressed. It’s a flurry of movement, heart hammering inside my chest as I slip on my pants, ignoring the pain all over my body.

“Morgan,” he calls, his eyes on my body.

But I don’t stop, I can’t breathe, I can’t!

“Morgan,” he repeats firmly, his hand wrapping around my wrist.

“Let me go!” I shout, voice cracking, “don’t… don’t touch me.”

Ian looks desperate, as if he wants to pull me close and hold me tight, his eyes showing his regret.

I hold my self close, away from his touch, wrapping my arms around my middle defensively, “you lied to me.”

“No,” he says, voice stern, “I didn’t, I love you, Morgan. More than anything.”

I shake my head, “You can’t love me when there’s someone else . ”

He looks helpless, “Please, Morgan, let me explain. Let me-”

“No,” I sniffle, heading for the door.

My limp is more noticeable as I try to run out of the suffocating room as fast as I can.

I can’t breathe.

There’s not enough air in my lungs.

The agony in my heart is gripping it tightly.

His cursed words burning into my mind.

With tears in my eyes, I finally reach outside, a cool breeze caressing my flushed face. I’m so shocked, so hurt, so—

“Whoa!”

I slam against someone, the force nearly toppling me down until a hand wraps around my waist and steadies me.

I look up, face red and tear stained.

“Morgan?”

“Jae,” I whimper breathlessly.

His eyes trail down my body, his brows furrowed in concern as he takes in my frazzled appearance, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, “Just need to get home.”

“Hey,” he coos, his voice soothing and calm.

But no matter how soft his voice, I can’t calm down. I can’t stop my racing heat and the panic welling inside.

“I need to go,” I choke, nearly hyperventilating.

“Okay, that’s fine, I’ll drive you home,” he agrees, voice brokering no room for debate.

A car rounds the corner just then and the valet steps out.

Jae opens the passenger door for me before stepping inside the driver’s seat.

As soon as I’m inside the car, I curl up in the seat and press up against the closed door trying to make myself small.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks again, the car speeding out of the lot.

I hold back the new wave of tears threatening to choke me again.

With a shuddering breath, I say, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

twenty

The fact that my parents were aware that Ian had someone comes like a blow to the gut. Ian had told them a few weeks before their departure, something about wanting to introduce them to someone. They didn’t tell me and finding out now feels like a betrayal.

It hurts to think that they knew all along, and didn’t think to tell me. Had I known, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have slept with him. I would’ve fought, I would’ve made myself let go of the torch I carry for him. But it’s too late and my heart was shattered.

But what I hate most, is the fact that I still love him regardless.

“Baby?”

I don’t answer, instead I lay still and wait and hope my mom walks away, hope he takes the hint.

“I know you’re angry,” he sighs softly.

No, you don’t know how angry, how hurt and used I feel.

“Baby, please talk to me.”

My shoulders shake, my body trembles with the force of my silent sobs.

I refuse to talk.

“Morgan…” And it’s the way my mom’s voice cracks around my name that finally makes me look.

I sit up slowly, sluggishly, and bury my face in his chest as he wraps his arms around my lithe body, “Oh sweetheart,” he coos.

I snuffle against him, letting the tears stain my cheeks once more.

Because I’m weak.

“Sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, about him,” comes my muffled voice, cracking just so towards the end.

“Alright,” he agrees, giving me a look soon after, “How are you feeling?”

I shrug, closing my eyes tightly before taking a deep breath.

It’s been seven weeks since that terrible ( passionate ) night.

And every day has felt worse than the last.

“How’s the nausea?” He asks.

“Still there, just on the surface,” I grimace.

The nausea started almost two weeks ago, but I’ve kept it secret until two days ago. All this overwhelming depression has made me sick to my stomach, but nothing I do can alleviate my heartache.

“Come on,” he urges gently, “get out of bed and come eat.”

I don’t want to, the queasiness returning tenfold. But he’s worried and stressed for my well being. Ever since I was hospitalized it’s as if he’s afraid he’ll lose me. And I hate it. So, I heave myself up and with a huff I follow him to the kitchen.

We’re barely half way there when I’m struck with a wave of dizziness.

And whoa, that’s new.

The world is suddenly tilting and spinning and the nausea is back full force.

Everything is suddenly too much.

And I collapse, the floor approaching me dangerously close and really fast before everything goes dark.

twenty one

There are hushed whispers just outside the door, but the whirring of familiar machines makes it heard to hear— to decipher what they say.

Slowly, I open my eyes. They flutter with the harsh lighting of the room and it makes my headache worse. I breathe deeply, exhaling sharply through my nose as I try again.

Once my eyes adjust to the lighting, I find myself in a familiar room… at least as familiar as can be. Immediately I realize I’m in the hospital, again. A small huff of annoyance escapes my throat. It seems I can never stay out of trouble for long.

“I don’t understand,” someone says more clearly, voice strained and on the verge of tears.

I tilt my head, peering at the slightly opened door where three obscured figures are gathered.

I furrow my brow in confusion.

“He came here a year ago, I offered him the uh… surgery for.. well you know. I agreed to do it as a gift, so long as he got your permission.”

“We never gave him our permission to do something so reckless!”

And that’s my dad’s voice, full of anger and frustration.

It makes me shrink back.

I finally recognize the feminine voice as my godmother’s, “That’s odd, because I have all the documents in our files signed and dated. All of them giving your consent and permission to go through with the procedure.”

“He never… He didn’t even tell us, tell me , this was what he wanted,” my mom sniffles, hesitating before asking what’s really on his mind, “it explains a lot… but why is this a problem now? He had the surgery a year ago right, so… so why?”

“Matthias,” a sigh, then, “he’s pregnant.”

It’s like all the air is knocked out of my lungs with those few words. Tears well up in my eyes, breath hitching.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m pregnant.

Oh fuck!

“What?!” My dad’s voice is booming, exceedingly loud with his anger which only grows with each ticking second.

I’m almost afraid he’ll get an infarto (heart attack).

A small noise of worry is drawn from my mom’s lips, clearly thinking the same.

“Max, please,” he tries to appease.

“He’s pregnant,” my dad hisses, and I can just catch a hint of his red face, “He… how could he be so incredibly irresponsible? Why in all of hell didn’t he tell us he wanted the stupid surgery? Or at the very least tell us he got it? Without our permission, might I add.”

I whimper in distress, he’s mad— really mad.

I’ve never seen him so angry.

Fuck.

The small sound seems to capture my mom’s attention and he’s peering inside the room with glistening eyes.

Guilt crashes over me.

“I know you’re angry,” he whispers back to my dad, “but right now it’s not helping. What’s done is done, and he needs us more than anything. Please let me talk to him.”

He’s reluctant, but my dad readily gives in when he sees the pleading look my mom throws his way.

My godmother, Penelope, leads him to her office just as my mom steps inside the room.

I look at him with watery eyes, cheeks flush and breathing slightly erratic. His steps are slow and careful, as if he’s approaching a wounded animal.

The tears roll down and wet the pillow cushioning my head.

He doesn’t say anything, simply takes a seat on the bed beside me.

I sit up with some difficulty and try to ignore the painful tug of the IV stuck in my arm.

As soon as he’s within arms reach, I slump into his awaiting embrace and cry. My sobs wrack my entire body, tears spilling freely.

And he lets me cry until it hurts to breathe, until I just can’t anymore.

His fingers run through my messy hair, his coos soothing me until the only thing breaking the silence are my pitiful sniffles.

“Better?” He asks at last.

“No,” I murmur.

He snorts softly at that, “I figured.”

I bury my face in his shoulder, feeling small and pathetic.

“Hey, none of that. Don’t you wallow in self pity.”

” Perdon ,” I shudder.

” Yo sé ,” my mom whispers.

We stay like that for nearly an hour, my head resting on his lap.

The feeling of his hands in my hair, his warmth, is enough to ease the panic.

“I’m pregnant,” I breathe at last.

“Yes,” he nods, “seems like you are. What are you going to do?”

I bite my lip, a trembling hand coming to rest on my belly, “I don’t know.”

“Well,” he begins, “do you want to keep the baby? Or do you want an… Morgan, you know you have options.”

I frown, “I… I want this baby, they’re… they’re mine.”

He smiles at that, ” Muy bien .”

And we leave it at that.

I swallow hard, but a small smile of my own threatens to take over, “I’m… pregnant .“

twenty two

The silence is strained and filled with tension as my dad sits beside the bed. He’s still stewing in his anger and I can’t blame him. That doesn’t mean I know how to handle it.

The tension gets so thick it could be cut through with a knife. It’s almost suffocating.

And I’m on edge until, he finally speaks, “You want to tell me what happened? Why you thought this was a good idea? Why you never once thought to confide in Matthias or me? Or should I just take a wild guess?”

My voice grows high and small as I apologize.

“For what exactly?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

I gulp, “everything?”

“So, you’re admitting the baby is something to apologize for? A mistake? An accident”

I stare wide eyed at how blunt his words are and my hand immediately comes down to protectively cover my belly.

Thinking about it like that makes my blood boil. I don’t know Ian’s thoughts, but I know my own. And as much as it hurt, that night with Ian was not a mistake. Not for me. Thus, my baby will never be a mistake or an accident. My baby is mine. Simple.

And he must realize the anger rolling over my tensed body because he raises a brow expectantly.

“I’m sorry, for lying and tricking you. I’m sorry for believing I was alone, for never… never telling you what I was going through. That was my only mistake. But my baby isn’t one.”

“Then why?”

I hesitate.

It’s now or never, right?

“I-I knew I liked boys, but I also knew I wouldn’t have kids that were my own if I were ever in a relationship. I really thought about it. I thought about what it would be like to have something like what you share with mom. And I liked what I saw, what I envisioned. I wanted that. I wanted the chance to have my own family, like you. So, I asked my godmother for the surgery. She agreed to do it as a gift of sorts, so long as I got your permission.”

“And about that?”

“I lied to mom,” I ‘fess up, “told him it was for a school trip. He was reluctant when I told him it would be about a three day ‘trip’. But I managed to convince him.”

If possible he’s even angrier than before.

“Do you even know how he feels right now? You lied to him, used and tricked him!”

“I know! I’m sorry about that too!”

“What about the father?” He demands, looking at my hand where it rests.

I look down as well and blow out a deep breath, “can we not talk about that?”

“After everything you still want to keep secrets?”

“It’s not a secret,” I deny, “just… I love him. But I don’t think he loves me, not really.”

“So he was one of those dicks that used the ‘I love you’ card to get you into bed?”

“No! He told me he loved me afterwards, but he lied to me in a really ugly and fucked up way.”

“Language, Morgan.”

I blush at that, I’ve never been one to curse in front of my parents and it kind of slipped, but I continue nonetheless, “it’s just hard to believe he ever really loved me.”

“He deserves to know, regardless of how much of a jackass he is.”

“I’m scared of what will happen if he does know.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he decides to take my baby away?” I wonder.

“And what if we decide to press charges for statutory rape?” My dad counters.

“What?” I squeak panicky.

“I’m old, Morgan, not stupid. If you have even an inkling that he could be capable of taking your child away, then be must be older than you and stable enough to take care of a child. Do I have to remind you that you’re barely 17? Or should your mother?”

My heart starts racing and I start hyperventilating.

No.

Ian hurt me, but I would never, could never , do that to him. Deep down I know Ian would never even consider taking our baby from me, but… I can’t.

“Hey, whoa, okay Morgan, breathe sweetheart.”

“You can’t,” I choke out, “You can’t, please tell me you won’t. Oh my god, please .”

“Easy, Morgan. You have to breathe, com’on.”

“Dad! You can’t ,” I stress through my tears.

“Okay!” He relents when he realizes how serious and very real my panic attack is.

But it doesn’t help, I whine pitifully as his name dies in my throat. I want to call out to him, ask for him. I want Ian despite how much he hurt me. But now the fear is there, the fear of losing him completely and I can’t. They can’t.

“You can’t hurt him,” I whimper.

“Despite how much he hurt you?”

“Please,” I beg.

My dad gives me a tight hug and I melt into it.

He’s like a pillar that holds me up

“You need to relax, stressing like this isn’t good for you or the baby.”

A beat later, “And I won’t, so long as he stops hurting you. But I stand by my word, Morgan. Tell him and if things go from bad to worse, there’s always that option.”

“I couldn’t do that to him,” I mumble, completely drained.

“But I could, and I could do so much worse.”

“But you won’t, right?”

He agrees with a sigh, “but I won’t, not unless you tell me to.”

I look at him briefly and I wonder what he would do when he realizes Ian is the father of my baby. When he realizes both his sons are dirty and corrupt.

twenty three

^^daddy Ian^^

The nausea hits hard.

It makes me scramble out of bed and toward the bathroom where I heave over the toilet bowl. I grip the rim and hold on tight until my knuckles turn white. The bile burns my throat as I expel it and my body aches as it tenses.

Tears sting my eyes and slip free from tightly closed eyes without my consent. It feels like I can’t breathe.

Downstairs, the door is pulled open.

A few words are exchanged before footsteps approach my room.

“Morgan?”

I can’t hear through the sound of my retching, it feels like everything is muffled and I’m left weak, utterly drained. I close my eyes and rest my head on my arm, breathing deeply. The scent of my puke wafts toward my nose and another bout of nausea strikes.

Warm hands are on my lower back in an instant, rubbing soothing circles and whispering soft encouraging words that I can’t quite put together. Everything is a blurry mess.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

The toilet is flushed and the smell is gone. I don’t feeling like choking but the pain left throughout my body is a reminder of my bouts of sickness.

I can’t help but lean into the warm body behind mine, whimpering pathetically at how weak I feel. Morning sickness always leaves me feeling so drained and exhausted. A headache soon following after and lasting throughout the day.

“Are you okay?”

My brows furrow at the sound. The voice sounds so familiar but it’s hard to put it into place. And it’s harder still to offer an answer.

A large hand is running through my messy hear, breathing soft and reassuring in my ear. Tiredly, I open my eyes and look at the person holding me.

“Ian,” I whisper, breath hitching in my throat.

“How are you feeling?”

A lump forms in my sore throat and tears well up in my eyes.

I stand up on wobbly legs and slip away from his grasp, holding myself tightly and as far away from him as the small bathroom allows.

“What are you doing here?” I rasp.

“I want to talk,” he says, eyes filled with agony.

“I don’t want to talk, you made everything pretty clear last time we saw each other.”

He cringes at that, “I know and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I scoff.

It’s been two fucking months and he thinks… he thinks he can just come back and say sorry and—

Fuck.

I reach for the wall and hold on as I’m struck with a sense of dizziness, dark spots clouding my vision.

“Shit,” Ian curses softly, arm wrapping around my waist.

I sit down on the closed lid of the toilet bowl with his help as he fills a cup with water. I refuse to take it, no matter how much I need it.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he says.

“What are you really doing here?” I ask, glaring at him before having to close my eyes as the room spins.

“I want to talk,” he repeats, voice softer, “I want to tell you how fucking sorry I am for everything… I..”

He hesitates.

“What?” I ask, opening my eyes to stare at him.

“I broke off my engagement,” he answers, sitting heavily on the rim of the tub.

“Why?” I ask, voice small.

He laughs, a sound completely devoid of emotion, “Because I never loved her, not like I love you.”

My heart swells at that but the hurt is still there and I can’t look him in the eye.

“I know I messed up,” he begins, “I know, Morgan. And I hate myself for it, but please don’t push me away.”

“Like you pushed me?” I accuse, unable to keep the bitterness from slipping into my voice.

“You have to understand that anything we had would’ve been wrong . You were raised to believe we’re brothers and falling in love with one another is taboo. You should know this.”

“I do,” I frown, tears rolling down my pale cheeks, “I know and I still love you.”

His thumb brushes away my tears and I can’t help but lean into his touch, “I tried, Morgan. I tried so hard to put some distance between us. I thought that it was the best thing to do but I was wrong, so fucking wrong, baby. I was weak and I hurt you and fuck…”

Before he can continue I intervene and with my heart in my throat I say, “Ian, I’m pregnant.”

He stops breathing, an array of emotions flickering through his wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I hiccup, “I’m sorry, I forgot and that night.. I’m pregnant.”

He looks at my belly before his eyes lock on mine.

“And it hurt to hear you say it was a mistake. It hurt to hear you say you were engaged, to know that you cheated on someone with me. It hurt so fucking much, Ian. Finding out that I’m carrying our baby, fuck I know I messed up too, but this is my baby, Ian. And time and time again you’ve hurt me and pushed me away. It took you two and a half months to come back this time. I can’t,” I whisper brokenly, “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keeping having hope every time you come only for you to disappear again. I can’t. I have a baby here, a baby that needs me. I don’t know if I can let you back in, I don’t know if I can love you when there’s something so much more here.”

He swallows thickly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, tears glistening in his eyes and it’s hard to know if they’re happy tears or not, “I know I messed up, I’m owning up to that. You’re right. You’re so right. And it’s okay if you can’t see yourself with me anymore. It’s okay to worry about yourself and our baby, just… don’t push me away, not from their life. Let me fix this, let me work through everything and win you back. I’m not asking for forgiveness because I can’t begin to forgive myself. I’m just asking for a second chance, a chance to prove to you that I’ll be there for you and that I have no intent of ever letting either of you go. Just a chance to take things slow, to start over and to get to know each other as something other than brothers.”

It takes me a while to answer.

The tears prevent me from speaking. I’m still scared. I’m terrified of raising our baby on my own, I’m terrified of letting him in only for him to disappear. But I’m weak. I always have been.

“Okay,” I breathe, “okay, we can start slow.. we can start over and get to know each other, as friends.”

Perhaps it’s not what either of us wants, but it’s enough to bring a brilliant smile to his face.

“That’d be good,” he mumbles, arms wrapping around me in a warm embrace, “thank you.”

And I can’t stop from hugging him back, “You’re not mad?”

“I should be, shouldn’t I?” He grins, “But I can’t find it in myself to be, you’re carrying our baby.”

twenty four

I flinch at the sudden sound of shouting. Ian left my room nearly half an hour ago with a look of intent and determination in his eyes. I heave myself up from bed and limp toward the door, following the sound to my dad’s study. My heart stops when I hear them talk.

“I’m the baby’s father,” Ian says.

I hear dad laugh, a chuckle full of amusement that dies when Ian doesn’t join in.

“You’re joking… right?,” my dad asks, voice growling as anger begins to set in.

“I’m not. The baby Morgan carries is mine.”

“You’re… you’re serious?” A pause, “Do you know how wrong that is? How wrong it is to involve yourself sexually with your own brother?”

“But that’s just it,” Ian sighs, voice growing soft and tired, “all those years ago, when you said you weren’t even sure if I was your son… you said it didn’t matter. But it mattered to me, especially when I started falling for Morgan.”

“Don’t you dare,” dad threatens.

“Please,” Ian begs, “Please just listen to me.”

It takes a few minutes of silence before I can picture my dad agree with a nod.

“The year I disappeared, I left because I knew Morgan was falling for me too. I wanted to put space between us because I did know, I always knew , it was wrong . I was conflicted, I certainly wasn’t a pedophile (in case that’s your concern) and at first I didn’t even feel the same way, I never saw that little toddler trotting about and falling over as the person I’d fall in love with. It was so morally wrong, thinking of each other as brothers and having these festering feelings of… of devouring him. It was wrong . I tried everything, I even put up a farce of an engagement, but I couldn’t. I fell for him so hard. These past few months have been hell and frustrating and it was only after I had already hurt Morgan that I found out the truth. I found out that I’m not really your son. I never was, Max. You said it didn’t matter then, but it matters now. I should be sad and angry and pissed, hell you should be too. We were both lied to by my mother. The truth is though, I can’t help but feel relief at the discovery. Relief that my love for Morgan isn’t so taboo, relief that our child will be born healthy.”

I bite my lip, a hand coming up to clamp over my mouth to stop myself from intervening.

It’s then that my mother speaks up and I didn’t even know he was there, “Thank you for telling us Ian. Morgan does love you, he loves you so much, but that doesn’t change the fact that you hurt him. That doesn’t change the fact that you violated our trust.”

“I understand,” Ian mumbles.

“I don’t know what Morgan wants, I don’t know how he feels. I certainly can’t speak for him, but I think it’d be best if you give your fa- Max and I some time.”

“I understand,” he repeats solemnly, voice growing smaller and breaking.

It feels like I can’t breathe.

Does this mean they’ll disown him? Because he’s not their son? Because he told them the truth, about the baby? Does this mean he’ll-

“Morgan,” he whispers, eyes a bit red rimmed.

“Ian,” I say breathless, arms aching to give him a hug, to soothe the hurt he feels written so clear on his face.

But he steps forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, “I won’t come around that often, not until everything’s fixed between your parents and me. I don’t think I’ll be in the office for some time either, but I’ll text you and call you if you want me to. Don’t ever hesitate to contact me.”

His hand rests on my belly as he leans down one more time to kiss my cheek before leaving, not even giving me time to say goodbye.

I feel my heart break and when I turn back my parents are there, waiting silently but oddly enough, no judgement.

“Mom,” I call, voice wavering.

But it’s my dad that answers, “Go to your room, Morgan.”

“Dad I-”

“Not now,” he says, voice tired,, “Now go to your room and add a month to your grounding.”

I look at the ground and with a small nod and a sniffle I relent, “Okay.”

I trudge back to my room and flop onto my bed where I cry just a bit inconsolably.

It isn’t until later at night that my mom appears, quietly stepping inside my room with a warm mug of atol de elote . He takes a seat beside me and hands me the cup, and although any other time I’d be gulping it like no tomorrow, I don’t particularly feel hungry or thirsty.

His voice is soft as he says, “Your dad is still a bit shocked, sweetheart, please understand him, understand us . Give us time to figure it out, to assimilate everything. Just know that he’ll be alright and he’ll forgive Ian sooner or later. I promise we’ll work everything out.”

“And Ian?” I sniffle, “What about him?”

He holds me close to his chest, kissing the top of my head soundly, “He loves you, but he hurt you. Whatever happens between you and him will strictly stay between the two of you. This is your choice and this is your baby, your responsibility and proof of something beautiful. In that matter, we will not intervene.”

When he finally leaves I’m left exhausted.

My phone vibrates atop of my bedside table and when I reach for it, tears spring to my eyes.

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Sunday, August 17, 2036

Just wanted to say good night. Sleep well and don’t cry anymore. I love you, Bambi, both of you ❤ [11:43]

twenty five

The yellow light embedded in the corner of my phone goes off and I stares blearily at it before reaching for it. I clutch it in my hand and open the text, heart hammering inside my chest when I see who it’s from. A sense of relief washes over me as I read it and read it again.

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

Good morning, bambi. I don’t know if your parents took your phone away as punishment, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay [8:03]

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 2036

G. morning, Bubba. Dad didn’t take my phone away but I can’t go out… I can’t do much of anything [8:04]

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

I figured as much and I know you’re upset, but it’ll be okay. They need time, I think we do too. How are you feeling btw? How’s the nausea? [8:06]

I tilt my head to the side wondering what he means by “we do too”. Deep down, though, I know he wants me to have some space, to clear my head and think about what I really want. The thing about Ian that will never change, is his insecurity. He, like my parents, always wanted what was best for me and I think he believes he’s not it. But he’s wrong, so wrong.

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 2036

‘m okay. Nausea’s kind of always there, but I’m not throwing up anymore… I’m actually a bit tired [8:08]

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

You didn’t sleep, did you ? [8:08]

My cheeks heat up, how would he know?

A second text arrives.

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

I didn’t either, couldn’t close my eyes without immediately thinking of you, picturing you curled up in bed crying and upset [8:09]

I frown at my phone. I may or may not have cried a little… or a lot if the puffiness of my eyes is anything to go by, but the last thing I want is for Ian to feel guilty.

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

I’m sorry [8:09]

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 2036

Don’t apologize, there’s nothing to apologize for. I miss you so much, Bubba, so please eat and take care of yourself. I know how you get when you’re upset or stressed 😟 [8:10]

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

I’ll try, but you too. You need to eat and sleep and rest. You need to be healthy and strong for our baby [8:13]

My heart flutters at that and I look down at my flat tummy, barely filling out and becoming pudgy. It still brings a small smile to my face, knowing that I carry something amazing inside me. Something, some one , that’s half Ian and half me. I bite my lip and type a short reply.

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 2036

I really miss you, Bubba 😔 [8:14]

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 2036

I miss you too, sweetling.

I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to go back to the office, I don’t think I will for a long long time. But I’ll be here, for you and our baby even if Max and Matthias never agree. I’ll always be here… I love you, my stumpy [8:14]

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 2036

Why are you saying that? They love you, you’re his son regardless. He said that before, right? Why can’t we just… why is this so difficult? |

I stare at my message but I delete it, rewrite it and erase it again, many times before huffing in frustration. There’s nothing I say or do that will change how either side feels or thinks. It’s so frustrating and stressful and I just want Ian here, with me in his home because he belongs here regardless.

I stare at my phone unable to come up with a good response and it leaves me feeling hopeless. What if things never get better? What if my parents will never let me see him again?

A knock on my door brings me out of my clouded thoughts and I look up to find my mom peering inside.

“Good morning,” he greets softly.

“Morning,” I grumble.

He takes a careful seat on the bed beside my feet and briefly glances at my phone.

“Ian?” He asks.

I nod, “he’s not good.”

“Whenever he’s stressed he always tends to bury himself in work until he forgets about himself,” he agrees.

I nod, because I’ve spent many nights in the study watching him mutter to himself as he worked himself to exhaustion. Something he got from our- my dad.

“He says he’s not going back to the office. Did.. did dad fire him?”

My mom sighs, his expression changing and I’m suddenly filled with anger, “that’s not fair!”

“It’s not about being fair,” he begins, trying to placate me, “but no, he didn’t do anything. He’s in his office working, well actually thinking about all this. I think Ian fired himself or well… suspended himself. He’s coming back, you know that right?”

“When?” I ask, “when will I actually be able to see him? When will dad let me go out so I can just go and see him?”

“When he’s ready to realize that his 17 year old son is in love with the man he raised. It’s complicated, you know that.”

“I do,” I choke, imploring, “but I want to see him.”

“After the lies and the hurt?”

“I get it, I get why he did that. I wasn’t the only one hurt, though. I know it must’ve hurt a lot more to lie to me, to distance himself and pretend he didn’t care.”

“Then you know how much he cares, and if he cares he’ll wait for as long as it takes for your dad to come around. Ian has matured and grown since I’ve met him. But even when he was being a little brat, he always had a default- he always cared too much and he always respected your father. So, I know for a fact that he will continue to respect Max and his decision. You just have to have faith that everything will right itself.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, “it’s still not fair.”

“No one said it was fair, to either of you.”

I look up at him reluctantly before sighing and changing the topic to something that’s been nagging me, “why didn’t you have more kids?”

“Because you were enough,” he answers smoothly, “Now hurry and wash up, I’m making pancakes.”

There’s something in the way he answers that makes me think there’s more to it than that, but at the mere mention of pancakes drenched in syrupy goodness my grumbling belly revolts and churns in protest. I rush to the bathroom with a hand clamped over my mouth before I find myself heaving into the toilet bowl until I’m exhausted.

“Okay, maybe some toast and ginger tea,” my mom says, rubbing my back soothingly.

The warm touch makes me notice how different it is from Ian’s comforting one and it makes me miss him all that much more.

“Toast sounds nice,” I rasp weakly.

“On it,” he smiles.

He kisses my brow before hurrying to fix up food bland enough for my stomach to handle.

After a few minutes to gather my bearings, I drag myself up, brush my teeth, and limp toward my bed.

I grab my phone and finally answer, simple but hopeful.

From: Morgan

To: Bubba

Monday, August 18, 203 6

I love you too, Bubba and I know we’ll see each **** other soon. I have to believe that.

Ps. I prefer Bambi over stumpy, you know that 😝 [8:38]

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Monday, August 18, 203 6

I know that. But **** you’ll always be my stumpy, my bambi, my love. You’re mine, Morgan, both of you are. ❤🦌

twenty six

Three months and I still haven’t seen Ian. Sure, we talk and text, but even I know it’s not enough. Not for him or for me.

I’m almost five months along and I’m becoming restless and tired.

I want to see him.

I want to see Ian.

It’s then that the door bell rings and my mom wipes his hands on his apron as he hurries to open the door. I peer over the edge of the couch where I’m curled up. My eyes widen, a small noise of surprise escaping my lips as I see who’s standing in the doorway with a small smile. Dark friendly eyes seeking mine over my mom’s shoulder.

Jae.

Wait… Jae?

“Sorry to intrude,” he apologizes profusely.

“It’s fine,” my mom assures, as he leads Jae deeper into our home.

I sit up straighter as can be, letting the warm throw blanket cover my swollen belly and hide it from sight.

“Something to drink?”

“No thank you,” Jae declines politely.

My mom nods, slowly making his way back to the kitchen. I watch him disappear around the corner and I almost panic.

Why is Jae here?

What the heck am I supposed to do?

“Uhh… hey,” he smiles a bit timidly as he takes a proffered.

“Hi,” I respond, voice tight with confusion seeping through.

We’ve texted after our brief [rather embarrassing] encounter during his birthday party when baby Grayson was conceived.

However, our texts have never been too deep or probing.

A few simple “good mornings”, “how are yous”, and “what are you doings”. The most I know about him is that he’s incredibly funny and kind. We even share a few things in common, but other than that, I don’t know much about him.

Like why he’s here for example.

“How are you?” He wonders.

“I um, I’m good. You?”

“Good,” he grins.

His simple smile makes me relax, makes me more comfortable in his presence.

We talk.

About anything and everything.

Random and silly.

We joke.

We play music and sing along to P!ATD.

And then… “hey, kids.”

I groan, “mom!”

“Oh, hush,” he smiles, “do me a favor and go to the store. It’s an emergency, I need some tomatoes. Oh and some eggs and a gallon of milk as well. Take Mr. Handsome with you to help.”

My cheeks flush at that, but it looks like I’m not the only one being embarrassed.

“I have my car out front, we can take it an-”

“Do you mind if we walk?” I interrupt shyly.

“I.. No, not at all.”

“Awesome, I’ll go get a sweater and we can get going,” I say.

“Great, while you do that, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

“It’s down that hall, second door to the left,” my mom calls out, as he scribbles out the actual list of groceries we’ll need to pick up.

While Jae disappears, I quickly stand up and go in search of a hoodie that manages to hide my baby bump quite well. I pat it a bit endearingly, rubbing my belly soothingly as the little tyke kicks my bladder.

When I finally reach downstairs, a bit winded, I look at my mom a bit questioningly.

“What?” He asks.

“Groceries?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “thought it’d be good for you to stretch your leg.”

“I… why now? I’ve been grounded for three months and you’re suddenly letting me out?”

“You were only grounded for a month and a half, the rest was self-imposed and you know it,” he chuckles.

“But Ian-”

He sighs, pressing a kiss to my head as I pout, feeling tears well up in my eyes, “He’s trying to give us the space to figure things out. And I know you think you’re an adult because you’re having a baby, but you’re not. You’re still my responsibility, my little one.”

“Ian won’t hurt me.. not again,” I whisper.

“I know. But you have to understand that once trust is broken, it’s really hard to gain it back. And he’s keeping his promise, he’s keeping his distance and I respect him for it. Just wait a bit more, please.”

I don’t have time to answer, to retort, or argue because Jae is back.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” my mom smiles, an unnoticeable twitch in his eye, “just giving Morgan a list, sorry if it expanded a bit.”

I let my mom hug me before leaving, but the promise of fresh air after being cooped up makes me jittery and I leave without bothering to say goodbye.

Half way to the store, Jae tries to strike up a conversation.

“Walking, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve been a bit grounded and I haven’t gotten the opportunity to go out much,” I sigh, shoving my hands in the packets of my hoodie and splaying my hands over the warm mound of my belly.

“You got grounded? Was it that bad?”

“Kind of, yeah… it was pretty bad,” I admit.

He puts his hands up in mock fear before I elbow his side, “I didn’t kill anyone. I just kind of lied in a bad way. I became a disappointment.”

His little teasing smile falls at that and he stops in his tracks, “I’m sure you’re not a disappointment. Your parents love you.”

“I guess,” I shrug, “but… It’s hard to gain their trust back, I’m learning that now. Once trust is broken… It’s really broken.”

“Again, that doesn’t mean you’re a disappointment. I’m sure that soon everything will be alright between you. They’re starting to trust you again, right? I mean they finally let you out,” he points out.

“Only because I have a babysitter,” I retort bitterly.

And I’m kind of tired of listening to false reassurances so I speed up, taking the park as a detour just to drag out the small trip to the store.

We drown in silence as we walk and my eyes stray to the little kids running through the park on more than one occasion, a little nudge from the inside reminding me of my own little wriggling trouble maker.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans and I slip it out to reveal a text message.

From: Bubba

To: Morgan

Friday, November 21, 2036

Hey, bambi. Look up [2:09]

Confused, but too curious for my own good, I glance up.

And my heart nearly stops inside my chest when I see him.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, I’m rushing into his opened arms, whispering a breathless, ” Ian, ” against his broad chest.

“Hey there my little stumpy,” he coos.

I can’t even be mad at him for that stupid nickname, I can only feel the relief of having him in front of me and in my arms.

Still repeating his name like a prayer, ” Ian .“

twenty seven

My entire focus is on Ian, on the feel of his arms around my body and the feel of his breath against my skin. His scent, his being, is the only thing I need. His warmth burying into my pores and making me melt in his hands lile putty.

He makes my heart stutter to a halting stop, skipping a beat and making my blood rush. He makes me red, makes me crave him and yearn for him.

And it makes our baby known as they wriggle about inside me, stealing my breath away.

And I would continue to stare helplessly lost in Ian’s eyes, if it wasn’t for the clear of someone’s throat.

I look behind me a bit sheepishly, having completely forgotten about Jae. Jae who watches our interaction silently, almost judgmentally as he narrows his eyes in suspicion.

Ian’s arm, wrapped casually around my waist only tightens its hold.

“It’s almost like you haven’t seen each other in years,” Jae muses, voice harsh and devoid of emotion.

“It’s none of your concern, Allen ,” Ian sneers.

The air grows thick with tension and it makes me uncomfortable, the baby even sensing my distress as it nudges against my palm.

“I’m just saying, since you’re brothers you’d think you see each other. Or at least know about one another, considering Morgan has been grounded for weeks now. Honestly, what kind of brother are you?”

Ian’s blood boils, his jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. I slip my hand into his discreetly, squeezing it just enough to reassure him that everything’s okay and he shouldn’t let words get to him.

“Or is it because of you that he got grounded? I mean, at the party you were really out of it an-”

Ian snaps.

He grasps the front of Jae’s shirt, twisting it as he brings him closer and nearly growls.

My heart rate spikes at that and I try to wiggle in between them.

“Get out the way Morgan,” Jae scowls, fist clenched tight.

“What happens between my family, stays within my family,” Ian glares.

“Well clearly your family is falling apart. What? You thought the news of Maximilian firing you was going to stay a secret?”

“If I were you, I’d mind my business. You can say what you want about me,” Ian says, voice harsh, “but I’m warning you now, stay away from Morgan. He doesn’t need someone like you in his life.”

“As if you’re any bett-”

Ian’s patience wears thin and I place myself between them, giving Ian a glare that speaks volumes and makes him let go of Jae.

Jae stumbles back and brushes nonexistent dust off his clothes once freed.

“Some kind of brother you are,” Jae continues under his breath.

I shoot him a glare he doesn’t pay attention to, but soon I’m focusing on Ian and wanting to hug him, to feel him and his warmth. It’s almost painful.

“I got the things Matthias wanted,” Ian huffs, tugging my hand to make me follow.

Jae grumbles behind us but trails after us anyway.

Both clearly hating the other but keeping their hands to themselves, for now at least.

And when we stop by his car in the parking lot of the playground, I raise a brow, “how did you know…?”

Ian simply smiles and hands me the lightest bags to carry while Jae begrudgingly takes the heaviest.

“You’re not coming?” I ask.

“No,” he answers, voice becoming softer so only I can hear, “but I least I got to see you.”

I bite my lip and nods, sniffling slightly and chalking it up to the weather and nonexistent allergies.

While Jae struggles, Ian steals a kiss from my lips as he presses his hand against my belly. Immediately receiving a particularly strong kick.

“Oof,” I huff and frown when our baby continues kicking, as if they recognize their daddy’s touch.

It makes a lump form in my throat that I have to swallow back.

Finally settled, Jae clears his throat grabbing our attention and forcing me to step away from Ian.

And despite the light of Ian’s eyes dimming as Jae stands beside me, he grins and says, “Take care of yourself, Stumpy.”

I roll my eyes, but with a small smile retort, “You too old man.”

The unnoticed “I love you” behind every word we say.

twenty eight

I’m silent on the way back home, Jae’s steps echoing behind mine.

With a loud sigh, I hear the rustling of bags before a hand is on my shoulder just outside the house.

I’m face to face with Jae.

“Are you mad?” He asks.

I shrug, making to turn around.

He’s having none of that.

Both his hands are wrapped lightly around my biceps as he pulls me in.

I tense when his lips brush against mine.

His lips are soft, plush.

But not at all like Ian’s.

I pull away first, face scrunched up as I glare at his feet.

He stands there nervously, “I’m sorry I-”

“No, it’s fine just… I think I need time to think about what I want.”

“If it’s Ian, he really shouldn’t have a say on whether we should have a relationship or not. Isn’t it our decision? You can judge for yourself if I’m such a bad person, right?”

My jaw clenches.

The thing is, Ian does have a right. After all, I am carrying his baby.

I love him… right?

Everytime I think of him, my heart starts to race, my palms get sweaty, and I stop breathing.

I’m hiding the proof right under my hoodie.

I love him.

But Jae looks so hopeful and I don’t understand why me… why is he suddenly interested in me?

Jae’s eyes fall to the ground, shoulders slumping.

Guilt is suddenly lodged in my heart.

“I… I can assure you that I can judge for myself if you’re a bad person,” I begin.

And that glimmer of hope returns to his eyes and fuck… I already messed up.

“But I need time,” I say in a rush, “I need to think, I don’t… I’m not sure I’m ready for whatever this is.”

“It’s fine,” he smiles, “I can wait. For you, I’ll wait.”

He leans his head against mine and steals another kiss that doesn’t sit well with me.

I almost feel revolted, and the baby kicking isn’t helping.

He pulls away and opens the door for me.

I barely drop the bags in the kitchen, not even greeting mom, before I’m rushing toward the bathroom with s hand over my mouth.

I haven’t had morning sickness for nearly a month, but suddenly it’s back 10 times worse.

I land on my knees and clutch at the bowl until my knuckles turn white, cold sweat running down my back as I heave.

“Easy there,” my mom coos, his hands rubbing my back gently a few minutes later.

It takes a while, until my sweat soaked hair is clinging to my forehead, bur when I’m done puking my guts out, I lean into his touch.

He flushes the toilet and holds me for a second longer.

“He left, said he needed to do something,” he whispers.

“Mm,” I hum tiredly.

His fingers run through my messy hair and Ian enters my mind.

“You told him?” I rasp.

“Hm?”

“That I was going out, to get the groceries?”

“I told who?” He asks innocently.

“Ian!” I huff, struggling to look at him, “You told Ian.”

He gives me a small smile and that’s all I need.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” he grins, standing up and handing me a cup of water.

“What… But why? How? What?”

“I prefer Ian a thousand times more than your so-called friend, Jae.”

I splutter, watching as he leaves without another word or explanation.

As if he didn’t just say what he said.

What?

I quickly brush my teeth after struggling to get up and follow him to the kitchen.

“So-called? What do you mean so-called?”

He’s in the middle of making tortillas when he raises a brow.

That knowing look makes my cheeks flush and burn red.

I take a seat at the counter.

“Nothing will come of it,” I say.

“Why?” He wonders.

I glance at my belly and pat it affectionately.

“Do you like him? Want him like that?”

“No!” I mutter, “I don’t what anything like that with Jae.”

“Why not?”

And I know he’s putting aside his personal feelings by asking this.

I appreciate it, but it doesn’t make it any less hard to be honest with him.

He’s waiting though, and if I don’t fess up, we risk burning the tortillas.

“Because I don’t like him like that,” I answer.

“And why’s that?”

Why is he so nosy?

He knows that answer already.

But he’s raising his brow expectantly again.

“You already know,” I mumble.

“Do I?”

Oh for the love of-

“Because I love Ian!” I hiss, blushing in embarrassment.

He chuckles, loving to torture me like that.

I bury my heated face in my hands, just thinking of Ian makes the butterflies in my belly rile up.

Or is it our little trouble maker?

“I know you love him,” mom says.

I peek through my fingers, watching his back as he flips the tortillas effortlessly with his hand while avoiding the scorching heat.

“But it seemed like you were troubled,” he shrugs.

“I… I think Jae likes me,” I whisper.

He snorts, “You think? That display was very affirming if I do say so.”

“You saw that!?”

“Of course,” he nods, “and you looked so uncomfortable, so confused.”

“He’s been… nice,” I confess, “I consider him a friend, despite Ian warning me that Jae is anything but.”

“I’m not gonna get involved like that. But it’s clear who you love and I know you know, baby. But you need to tell that young man. You can’t lead him on and hurt him like that. Whether Ian says he’s a douche or whether the face he’s shown you is kindness, you need to tell him your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore. It clearly belongs to Ian.”

I nod, staring briefly at the floor.

“You called him right?” Just to confirm.

“Of course, I did.”

“You really don’t like Jae?”

“I think Ian has made you and can make you happy. I know Ian, I don’t know Jae. And neither do you.”

“Jae is nice, but I love Ian… so much, mom. Seeing him, it was like being able to breathe again. Just feeling his warmth as he hugged me.”

It’s embarrassing because I choke up. Tears brimming in my eyes as I sniffle. Stupid hormones.

He pauses in his cooking and hugs me tightly.

“I know it’s hard. But like I’m coming around, so will your dad.”

I nod, “gracias mamí.”

“De nada, mi amor,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I watch him go back to his cooking, wiping away the dampness on my cheeks.

My heart still aches, but seeing Ian was everything I could’ve asked for.

And I think I’m tired of this.

I think I’m going to confront my dad.

I want to see Ian again.

I want to see him more.

I want to feel him and his warmth.

I want things to be better .

I love Ian, and I’ll be damned if there’s another day that I can’t see him.

twenty nine

I shuffle my feet as I stand right outside the feather-light wooden door. My hands are sweating and my legs are quivering, my breathing just a bit shallow.

I’m nervous as hell.

However, I try to steel my nerves and take a deep breath before rapping my knuckles against the door. I don’t wait for an answer and simply crack it open, stepping inside timidly, feeling as small as I am.

My dad is sitting at his desk, hair dusted gray shining in the dim lighting. The papers in his hands are immediately placed down and I feel his undivided attention on me.

We haven’t spoken in weeks. It’s been hard to meet eye to eye, but I’m so tired.

Biting my lip, and with a bit of a struggle, I take a seat in front of him. My clammy hands fold atop of the desk as I look at the grains, hoping to gather my strength.

He doesn’t speak.

He simply waits and it’s so nerve-wracking.

Finally, I say the first thing on my mind, “I’m sorry.”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, “what for?”

“For being difficult, for lying to you and mom. For everything? I messed up and I ruined our family, I just want us to be okay.”

“What do you mean by okay?”

“I mean us talking again. I-I mean Ian coming over, all of us being a family. I-” I can’t finish.

What sucks is that he doesn’t say anything. The pause drags on and soon he’s return to work. It feels like a missed opportunity.

“Dad?”

A frown sets onto my dad’s face, “I trusted that man. I trusted you . I know it’s been hard, it’s been a low blow to all of us. Your deception and his recklessness. As always I wish you would’ve come to me. If not me then maybe your mother.”

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” I sniffle.

“And above all that I want you to learn from this and grow from it.”

My heart hammers inside my chest. Because despite everything he’s still being so understanding and it hurts because I hurt him, I hurt mom and their trust. I hurt our family.

“I’m trying,” I whisper, “I’m trying to grow up. I messed up, but I’m taking responsibility for my-my reckless mistakes. Ian has respected your decisions thus far and so have I. I know it’s hard, I realize that nothing we do can make things like they were before. But this is about me, him, and our baby because I’m still pregnant and your gonna be a granda and I love him okay? I love Ian and I wanna see him, but I don’t want to lose my dad.”

I’m left slightly breathless by the end of it all, heart racing.

He takes a moment, but I can see the way his resolution begins to crumble. Hope fills my chest.

But then that mask is up and all I see is a poker face.

“I’m trying to understand and it still baffles me when I think how you could’ve possibly fallen in love with Ian. For your age, you have a level of maturity I wish you never had. I wish you would’ve enjoyed being a kid, enjoyed your childhood just a little bit longer. I’ll love that little baby you carry and I’ll always love you, kiddo.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” I argue feebly.

“I hope not, because that baby is your responsibility, so I hope you don’t expect me and Matthias to raise them.”

Something hot settles in the pit of my stomach as I hiss, “no, of course not. They’re my baby. All I want is for us to be a family again. But again your avoiding the topic. You’re- you’re so difficult!”

Frustrated, I stand from my seat prepared to leave. I can’t face him anymore. He’s so infuriating and my emotions are getting the best of me.

“You’re mature for your age, true, but that doesn’t mean you’re grown up or by any means a responsible adult. There are things you have yet to experience, things you still need to learn and you will. With time, you will. But I’m not sure you know what love is, really understand that loving someone is more than having a baby with them. It’s about sacrifice and trust. But you’re about to become a parent and I want you to learn how to become a good one, so that baby doesn’t make the same mistakes you did. That I did as your father. It’s not just you anymore, and you can’t keep believing everything will go your way. So, just think on that for a bit.”

Tears well up in my eyes, from rage and just overall hatred of this stupid situation. I’m so frustrated and tired and achy and all I want is Ian and mom and dad just finally being happy again!

I hate being this emotional, I hate this.

I sniff and try to hide the tears but they fall anyway.

I get it, I do! But my feelings are too big right now and I feel distraught. I’ve been in the same four walls for weeks now and I can’t do this right now.

I head to my room and grab my phone and a bag.

With the back of my hand, I wipe away the salty tears.

I fill my bag with stretched out t-shirts and sweats. I need to cool off. I need time.

I’m leaving.

All I want is to see Ian.

He’ll make it better. He’ll make this hurt and ache go away.

Another sniff and I sneak out the back when the lights are out.

thirty

The door opens easily and I can’t help but breathe in relief as I slump into unsuspecting arms.

On instinct they wrap around me and pull me closer, tighter.

“Morgan?” Ian asks, voice raspy from sleep.

“Hi,” I mumble.

He quickly pulls back, completely awake as his eyes roam over me.

“Do-Do you mind if I come inside?” I ask timidly, my legs and foot absolutely killing me.

“Not at all,” he says, pushing the door open and ushering me inside.

I beeline for the couch and sink into the cushions, moaning when I finally have a bit of support for my aching back. My bag discarded by my feet.

Ian frowns, kneeling before me and I can’t help but offer him a small shy smile as I splay my thighs so he can get closer.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

“Wanted to see you,” I answer.

“I wanted to see you too, baby, but it’s late. How did you get here?”

My face heats up, his eyes narrowing as he pokes my side to get me to spill.

I swat him away before admitting, “I uh.. I walked here…”

I can see the shift immediately, see how anger boils in his blood.

“You walked?”

“Well… yeah,” I shrug.

“Fucking hell Morgan, that’s nearly a two-hour walk!”

I shrink back in my seat as his voice raises.

“Not to mention that it’s 2 whatevet in the morning, something could’ve happened to you! Why didn’t you tell your parents to drop you off or-”

He stops.

“They don’t know do they?”

I bite my lip before slowly shaking my head.

He lowers his voice, “Morgan, what were you thinking?”

“I talked with dad and just… I understand, I do, but it’s so overwhelming and I was hurt and now I’m being childish but I wanted to see you!”

Ian’s harsh features soften, “I wanted to see you too, but running away doesn’t solve anything.”

“I-I know,” I whimper, bottom lip wobbling, “but I’m not running away, not really. Just for a few days, can I stay? Please, please Ian, I promise to be good-”

I choke at that.

“It’s okay baby, hush don’t cry,” He opens his arms and I gladly fall into his embrace, burying my face in his neck as I try to stop the tears.

“You should’ve called me or even called a taxi if you needed,” Ian scolds, voice soft.

“Didn’t want to wake them up.”

He clucks his tongue, “it’s okay, you’re here and safe, that’s all that matters.”

I nod, a small yawn falling from my lips.

He chuckles throatily, the sound coming from his chest before he carefully helps me stand and takes the strap of my bag.

With my hand in his, I follow him to the master bedroom, bypassing the room that was (is) mine.

I sit on the bed with a groan of pain, and with an embarrassed flush, let him take off my shoes and prosthetic.

“You okay?” He asks in concern.

I nod, wincing when I press the heel of my hand into my lower back.

And there’s that frown of worry again.

Soon his hands replace mine and he gives me the best massage I could ask for, turning into complete putty in his hands as my eyes flutter shut.

“Better?”

“Ooh, yes,” I moan.

He smiles, rolling his eyes before guiding me to a laying position. I wriggle in his bed, finding it hard to get comfortable. The sharp pain is now a dull throb, but when I’m on my back it worsens and I can’t breath. I turn to my side, but the weight is there and we’re just not comfortable.

Ian takes a pillow and carefully puts it under my growing belly and between my thighs, the support feels great.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“You’re welcome, sweetling, go to sleep. You both need it.”

I feel his warm hand cupping my swollen belly, baby turning before settling down.

I smile, finally happy to be surrounded by the scent of the man I love, by his warmth.

●■●■●

I lay awake, wondering what roused me from slumber when I hear it.

“I know it’s late,” Ian begins, “but Morgan is here.”

I can only assume he’s on the phone with my mom, maybe dad. I’m not sure.

“Yeah he’s safe, just a bit tired. He walked here,” Ian continues.

“I love him,” Ian adds, “I love him and our baby and I think any affairs between me and him should stay between me and him. I understand he’s your son, but he’s not a little boy anymore. He can think and feel for himself. And while he’s growing up, you’re making him feel crappy.”

A pause.

“I know it wasn’t your intention, dad,” Ian sighs.

I sit up and that stupid lump in my throat is back.

Dad? As in dad , dad?

“I know I broke your trust, I know everything is fucked up now, but I’m trying. So is he, I was hoping you would see that.”

I slip put of bed and follow his voice only to find him in the kitchen. He looks different, tired, older and rugged.

His hair is a birds nest and he’s wearing nothing but gray sweats.

I hold my breath.

“I’m not leaving him, not again, not ever,” he sighs as he scrubs his face, “so please, let’s talk about this. As adults. You, Matt, Morgan, and me. If not for me, then for Morgan and the baby, your grandchild.”

I stare and finally breathe when a small twitch of a smile forms on Ian’s lips, “We’ll be waiting for you… and Max, thank you.”

thirty one

I wander back to the bedroom and stumble towards the bed. It takes Ian a bit to follow, but I want patiently on my side. Warmth and contentment spreading through my chest.

As soon as the bed dips with Ian’s weight, I turn to snuggle against him with minor difficulty. He hums softly, his hand spraying on my belly and rubbing soothing circles.

I reach out and cup his stubbled cheek in my hand, “are you okay?”

He nods, “yeah, I’m okay. You?”

“Same,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him.

His warm hand sneaks under my shirt and I can’t help but gasp, feeling sensitive where he touches. He raises a brow and I flush.

“Is that-”

I shut him up with a kiss. I don’t want to talk right now, not really. I want to be with him.

He seems to understand because the kissing doesn’t stop, becomes deeper and more fervent.

“Are you sure?” He asks when we finally part for some much needed air.

I nod breathlessly, “yeah, yes.”

He smiles before helping me undress. And once I’m naked and bare on the big bed, I can’t help but get shy. His eyes roam over my body, darkening with lust and making me shiver in anticipation, making me want to hide. I’m big and swollen and just… not me.

I guess I said that out loud because he coos, “you’re beautiful, so gorgeous, Morgan.”

I gasp when his face disappears, my baby bump obscuring my view as Ian’s warm mouth swallows me whole. His long messy hair tickles the underside of my belly with each suck, each lick, each stroke. It’s too much and I’m too close.

It’s been too long.

Five months, five long and excruciating months.

“Ian,” I warn weakly, “I’m gonna… gonna c-”

I don’t even finish before he hums around my hard cock and pushes me over the edge. He sucks me through it until I’m oversensitive and spent.

When he pulls up, his face is flushed and lips are swollen, shiny with spit and cum.

“You okay?”

“Ye-Yeah,” I nod boneless.

He grins, “good, because we’re just getting started.”

It should be impossible, but I get excited again.

“Don’t do that baby boy,” he scolds, tugging my lip from my harsh gnawing, “I’ll take care of you.”

True to his word, Ian does.

He opens me up with patience, refusing to hurt me, before slowly gliding his cock inside of me. The stretch still burns, but he feels so good. Like he belongs.

“So good, baby boy,” he praises.

“I-Ian,” I whimper helplessly.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

He moves slowly, swiveling his hips as his hands grasp my hips firmly. I gasp and moan, melting into putty in his hands.

His face near inches away from mine and his lips crash against my lips when we orgasm, swallowing my scream of pleasure until we’re panting and sweaty.

He brushes away my hair, smiling at me lovingly.

“I love you,” I mumble tiredly.

“I love you too,” he whispers, slowly sliding out and cleaning us up.

He helps me onto my side and tucks the pillow beneath my huge belly again. I run my hand over the soft fleshy mound, feeling for the baby’s soft kicks.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Ian asks, his eyes following my every move.

“No,” I assure, smiling sleepily at him, “You didn’t hurt us.”

He slips into bed, arm thrown over my belly before pressing closer to my back.

“You are so beautiful,” he reassures, “you’re so amazing and I truly love you.”

“I love you too, Ian.”

I don’t see how he buries his face in my neck, how tears glisten in his eyes with pure happiness, but I feel it.

It makes me tear up too.

Though in all fairness, since becoming pregnant I’ve been nothing but a crybaby.

He doesn’t say anything as I sniffle, simply holds me tight, pulls me close.

thirty two

The smell of sizzling eggs cooking in the early morning is what wakes me up. I groan as I try to open my eyes, wondering what Ian is up to. Except… Ian’s right behind me, snoring softly against the nape of my neck with his arm wrapped around my waist.

I frown.

What?

I carefully slip under Ian’s heavy weight and search for one of his large shirts before putting on some boxers as an after thought. I struggle with the added weight of our baby, but I manage without Ian waking up.

I don’t bother with my prosthetic, too difficult to lean down and strap it on myself, so I limp out the room, occasionally wincing from the ache in my back.

I turn the corner and I’m faced with mom and dad.

Dad is sitting at the head of the table with his tablet in hand and his bushy brows scrunched up.

Mom is in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs alongside with bacon bits. He’s so versatile in the kitchen and I wish I could be like that.

“Good morning,” he greets first.

I waddle toward him, hiding behind him when dad looks up.

He’s angry, I just know it. It doesn’t matter what I heard last night, I just know I added to the list of reasons why I’m a disappointment.

“Morning,” I mumble softly.

“Hungry?”

I’d like to refuse, simply on principle, but my stomach growls loudly and the baby gives a sharp kick.

I frown as I rub the spot soothingly, my cheeks pinking when I look up at my mom, “Yes, we’re uh, we’re hungry.”

He snorts, “I could tell.”

It’s then, in the middle of our little banter, that Ian shows up adorably disoriented.

“What’s going on?” He asks grumpily.

“Breakfast is done, Max already set up the table so go have a seat. Coffee is ready.”

Ian looks confused before recollection hits and he nods.

Reluctantly, we go toward the table, dad raising an expectant brow.

Ian’s focus is on me, first and foremost, as he pulls out a chair for me and helps me sit down.

I turn bright red at the reminder of last night when I sit down, Ian tries to hold in his own embarrassment as he takes the seat across from Max.

It’s almost hilarious, our display, that is.

Dad in a professional suit and tie, while Ian and I are barely in our boxers.

Well, isn’t this mortifying.

Soon enough, breakfast is served and we pile food on our plates like starving hyenas.

I stick the fork full of scrambled eggs into my mouth when dad begins talking.

“I took the liberty to go to your study and I have to say I’m quite impressed. You’re still working despite having resigned and the annotations done are quite accurate and incredible.”

Ian nods, not feeling much like talking but still feeling pride swell in his chest.

But… why exactly are they here? What did they actually discuss last night? There’s only so much I could gather.

“I’m sorry,” Max, dad, begins.

I face him with wide doe eyes, but I can see his guilt bright as day.

“I did and said things that hurt you-”

“Not anything that wasn’t the truth,” I interrupt.

“Regardless, I hurt you… both of you and this family fell apart ‘cause of it.”

“No, it fell apart because of our own choices,” Ian states, “and I’m never stop apologizing for what happened.”

My lower lip trembles.

Mom stands then and comes to my side where he wraps his arms around me, “Morgan, take a deep breath and relax, all this emotional stress isn’t good for you or the baby.”

I manage a weak nod, understanding what he says but unable to stop the sob that escapes my lips.

“Oh honey,” he shushes.

I bury my face in his chest and bawl. Apologizing profusely, for everything, for worrying them and even running away.

“I’m sorry we made you feel this way. We should’ve taken the time to sit down and have this conversation weeks ago, but I wanted everyone to have some space to think . Clearly I was wrong because you’re all as stubborn as ever,” at that he glares at dad, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to me, but I wouldn’t have gone anywhere if you had simply opened up to me as well. I love you, you’re my baby boy and all I ever wanted was your happiness. Above all else, I’m sorry you felt the need to run away.”

Ian tugs at my (his) shirt next and I wipe my tears on the back of my hand before slumping in my chair and falling against him, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me in.

He presses a kiss to my ear before saying, “I’m sorry, Morgan. I promise, no more running away, no more fighting. We really want to make this work.”

I don’t see my dad’s nod in agreement, but I do feel Ian’s sigh of relief.

Maybe things are finally going to be ok.

No more distance, no more tears.

thirty three

I hold Ian’s hand tightly as we stare at the screen with bated breath. Immediately the baby’s heartbeat floods the medical room as a grainy picture appears of our baby in the center sucking their thumb.

Ian’s eyes grow misty and wide in wonder, denying that a tear or two ever escaped.

He’s awestruck.

Mesmerized.

And looking at him so enamored with our unborn baby makes my heart skip a beat. He almost looks innocent, childish with giddiness and genuine happiness.

But that happiness gives way to anger a few days later.

I’m in the living room with Jae talking about everything and anything.

He still doesn’t know about my baby and I tend to keep it that way for as long as possible by hiding behind large hoodies that are frankly beginning to feel too tight.

Jae has become a close friend, someone I’m beginning to trust. It’s easy to talk to him. And I want to tell him, to admit that I’m pregnant just to share my happiness with him, with someone other than family. But I’ve never had friends before, and the idea of losing Jae doesn’t sit well with me, not when he’s been there for me when Ian couldn’t.

I love Ian, but I want someone else I can trust, I want someone I can call a friend.

Jae is that.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But the minute Ian walks through the threshold, I see his anger. His displeasure at seeing Jae in our living room.

“Allen,” he greets stiffly.

“Grayson,” Jae nods just as terse.

Ian bends down and kisses the top of my head affectionately. And I can see how he hurts, how he aches to touch me.

“Isn’t that a little weird?” Jae comments, “I mean, displaying such affection to your brother .”

My cheeks heat up in embarrassment while Ian glares at Jae.

I intervene before either can start anything, “he’s my brother and he’s been away for some time, it’s only natural to want affection from family.”

“Away for some time… is that what being fired is called?”

Ian’s glare intensifies, “I took a leave of absence for personal reasons, but I guess it can’t be helped when children pretending to be adults run their mouth instead of minding their own business.”

“What? Are you implying I’m immature? Aren’t you the one that-”

“That’s enough,” I cut in, “stop. Right now you’re both being immature.”

They stare at me in surprise.

“Jae, I think… I think maybe you should go,” I say.

Jae looks even more surprised. As if he can’t believe I’m choosing Ian over him.

He seems resigned as he sighs, standing from his perch.

He approaches me and gives me a tight hug, and I’m terrified that he’ll feel my baby bump, feel the baby wiggle and turn.

If he does, he doesn’t comment.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, voice hopeful yet hesitant.

I nod, “later.”

With that, he leaves satisfied.

But Ian isn’t.

As soon as the door closes behind Jae his gaze falls on me.

“Don’t,” he says.

“What? Don’t?”

“Don’t see him anymore,” he elaborates, “don’t get so close to him, don’t trust him.”

I stare at him flabbergasted, “what do you mean don’t? He’s my friend.”

“No he’s not-”

“Yes he is,” I argue, “Jae is my friend, I trust him and I don’t need your permission to see him.”

“This is about your safety!”

And I hate how his voice rises a little, ” My safety? I am safe. Always . I’m home, I rarely leave and he comes over and chats because you’re always too busy with work, because I’m bored and tired and I just want someone to call friend.”

He stops when he catches sight of the tears of anger glistening in my eyes. He takes a deep breath and exhales, “Anyone, absolutely anyone, can be your friend. Anyone but him.”

“Why?” I ask, blinking away the sting in my eyes, “What do you have against him? He hasn’t done anything and if… I don’t… I don’t like him like that . If that’s what worries you… I just… I’m tired of being by myself.”

He sighs and opens his arms for me.

Immediately I melt in his embrace.

“I know you must feel lonely,” he mumbles, “And yes seeing you with him makes my blood boil. But it’s more than just petty jealousy. You know me, Morgan and I just don’t trust him and I never will. So please, Morgan, believe me when I say he’s not the type of person you want to trust. He’s not the kind of person you’d want to call a friend.”

I bite my lip.

Ian sounds serious, genuine.

“Why? Can’t you just tell me… why? ”

His arms around me only tighten, “No, not right now. Right now you should focus on our baby, on yourself.”

And I can’t help but stare at our joined hands on my belly, six months, quickly nearing seven.

“Trust me?”

“Yes,” I nod, “You know I do.”

“I love you,” he whispers, “and I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper, cupping his face in my hands tenderly, “I love you.”

thirty four

Jae comes over unexpectedly nearly a month later, his knocking sounding almost urgent. I open it without a thought and we’re face to face. He’s slightly out of breath with a rose in his hand, outstretched toward me. I haven’t seen him in weeks, keeping my distance as Ian told me, but I stare at the flower in surprise and my fingers reach out. I barely graze the soft petals when he steps closer, until his lips brush against mine.

I reel back, running on instinct as I push him away and wipe the kiss from my lips, exclaiming in shock, “what the hell!”

Jae looks a bit sheepish with a small smile and a nonchalant shrug as if he didn’t just steal a kiss without my consent. I find nothing amusing with what he just did. He notices.

“Sorry, I just thought I’d…” he pauses, gathers his thoughts and confesses, “I like you, Morgan. I’ve gotten to know you and it’s more than simple like. I’m falling for you, crushing so hard on you and I think I lov-”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly, stopping him before he can finish saying what I fear most, “I’m sorry, I can’t reciprocate your feelings.”

He looks at me puzzled, “I thought you felt something for me, all those days, all those nights texting and talking…”

“I did, I do! I feel something for you, but it’s not… It’s not love. I like you, Jae, as a friend. As a person.”

“Ian,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s because of him, right? He’s always saying shit about m, without even knowing me,” Jae explains, “it’s because of him that you’re suddenly pushing me away.”

“He doesn’t have anything to do with this. He’s not me, he can’t chose for me-”

“You’ve ignored me, though. You’ve pushed me away and your saying… it because of that sonofabi-”

“It’s because I’m pregnant,” I say immediately, hand cupping the underside of my belly and outlining the prominent bulge.

His eyes fall on my belly, lips parting in surprise.

“Because I’m pregnant and I love the father of my baby,” I admit, “I can’t reciprocate your feelings because I love-”

“Morgan?”

I tense at the sound of my name, Ian stepping behind me, arm wrapping around my waist as his chin rests on my shoulder.

I can feel how he tenses, how his hold tightens around me.

“You… you love him,” Jae realizes, disgust coloring his tone, “you’re in love with your own brother.”

I’m at a loss for words. I can see the repulsion in his eyes. But the following words make my blood boil in anger.

“Your carrying his bastard?”

He can mess with me, reproach me, but I’ll never let him talk about my baby like that.

I’m about to go off on him when Ian lets me go and steps in front of me.

“Back off,” he glares.

“Or what?” Jae taunts, stepping closer, the rose falling from his grasp.

“You think I’m afraid of you? Of a coward who hits and bullies other people? Who uses those around him and nearly kills someone.”

My body tenses and the anger gives way to a wave of fear, a shiver crawling up my spine.

“What the fuck are you going on about?”

“You think we didn’t review the security tapes? You think we didn’t see you? See how you hurt Morgan, landed that kick? That punch? He nearly died because of you and your posse.”

Jae turns to look at me. He wants to say something, argue, defend himself. But words fail him.

“You?” I ask, voice small.

The person I trusted, the person I called a friend, was my tormentor?

“I tried so hard to keep Morgan away from you without bringing those painful memories back. You hurt him, and I swear I won’t let you hurt him again,” Ian vows.

“I… My intention wasn’t to get close to you, to hurt you,” Jae says, reaching out to me once more.

But I step back in utter fear and… and…

“You were one of them,” I choke.

He was one of the faces that became nothing but a blur.

“I begged you,” I continue brokenly, “I begged you to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Jae apologizes, voice on the edge of desperation, “I know what I did, but I wanted to make it right. I wanted to get to know you and I fell-”

“In love? You think I’d buy a lie like that after all the shit you put me through? I had to be hospitalized, I went though so much physical and mental pain! There are still times when I can’t even stand the touch of the people I love because I remember your hits, your punches, the hurt you inflicted on me!”

“Morgan, I-”

“Leave,” I grit, hands turning into fists.

“Please, Morgan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie or deceive you, to hurt you. I-”

“LEAVE!”

Ian takes another step forward and Jae raises his hands up in a gesture of resignation, of surrender.

“I’m sorry, M,” he says seemingly sincere.

I turn my back to him and wait for Ian to step inside before slamming the door shut.

I find my mom waiting with his arms opened wide. I hug him back, so tight, so close.

And I feel his own tears, hot and salty, staining my shirt as he holds me closer.

Ian looks out of place, with a guilty look in his eyes.

“I’m not mad,” I whisper, on some level understanding why he didn’t tell me, “I’m just disappointed.”

My mom gives a small laugh at that, watery but amused.

“Come on,” dad joins in, “let’s watch that movie.”

The rose is slowly forgotten.

Tossed aside.

Dying.

No longer wanted.

thirty five

“Why didn’t you ever have more kids?” I ask Max in the hopes that he’ll be honest with me.

He sighs, looking at me over the top of his paperwork, “You were enough.”

That’s what mom said, but I know there’s more and I’m not satisfied. I frown as I peer at my belly, hand feeling for the little nudges here and there.

The rustling of papers being put down draws my attention to him once more. He looks at me intently and I stare back. I want to know. I want to know more, I want to know why…

He rolls his eyes affectionately before taking a deep breath, “because Matt had a difficult pregnancy. We nearly lost you and that was so terrifying, Morgan. The mere thought… that image still haunts my dreams. Now imagine him being the one that had to go through that pain, the pain of losing you, of not feeling you anymore. Of the feeling of blood trickling down his thighs. He was in so much pain, he was so torn. After you, you were and are enough. You’re our son through thick or thin. We love you.”

“Do you think you’ll ever have another?” I ask in genuine curiosity, biting my lip.

He laughs at that, “we’re too old.”

“Correction,” I grin, ” you’re too old.”

He balls up an unnecessary doc and throws it at me. It hits the top of my head before it lands on the floor, making me laugh.

But I sober quickly, “I’m serious though, will you or… is it really out of the question?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “it’s starting over again, waking up at odd hours of the night, of diaper changes, and loud wailing. It’s not easy raising a kid, you’ll learn soon enough.”

“Do you think I’m not ready?” I wonder, heart skipping a beat.

I want his hones opinion, but it terrifies me that I won’t be a good parent.

“Nobody, absolutely nobody , is ever ready to be a parent. It’s a whole other person depending on you and that’s kind of terrifying. Whether you have a kid today and have one within a year, you will never be prepared and it will always be scary. But it’s worth it,” he assures, “all the pain and sleepless nights, it’s worth it.”

I hum, slumping forward and resting my head on top of his cool desk, “I’m scared, really scared, but I’m also excited. I can’t wait to meet my little one.”

“I bet,” he smiles, “I can’t wait to meet my grandchild either.”

I briefly close my eyes before I bolt up and look at him, “So why didn’t you ever get married with mom?”

He tenses and I can see him debating on being honest.

I hold my breath.

“I was married once. With Ian’s mother and you know that it didn’t go well. I was in the process of getting divorced when I met your mother. I didn’t know true love until him. He still makes my heart flutter til this day. But my bad experience with Ian’s mother… I trusted her and she betrayed me. In no way am I saying that Matthias will ever do the same. I know he loves me, just as much as I love him, but my concept of marriage was distorted.”

“Ohh…”

And I think that’s that. I understand him, his point of view. So I decide not to push it.

Until…

He opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out a little black box.

I stare in surprise as he opens it and places it in front of me with a small smile.

“You,” I begin, completely at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “I’m going to propose to him.”

A (manly) squeal escapes from my lips as I stare at the band resting nonchalantly on the velvety cushion. It glistens in the light and when I pick it up, I find an inscription inside the band.

You are my home , is engraved in elegant cursive with the date still pending.

It’s gorgeous and light, but binding.

“He’s going to love it,” I beam.

“Of course he is,” he agrees, “And you’re going to help me.”

thirty six

The moment the door opens my lips twitch into a big grin. I struggle to get up from my chair, only managing to do so with Ian’s help. And despite the difficulties as I near my due date, I refuse to let it put a damper on my happiness as I hug Josué tightly.

He looks good, grown up, mature, handsome even. Completely unlike me. He pulls back slightly and stares down at my baby bump with wide curious eyes.

“Shit, you’re really pregnant,” he says in utter shock as if he still can’t believe it, “you’re about to pop!”

A blush spreads across my cheeks as I nod, “yeah.”

He’s never really had a brain-to-mouth filter.

His laugh is loud and joyous, crystal clear as he pulls me even closer for another hug.

“You look good,” he says earnestly.

“Yeah,” I breathe softly, “You too.”

His smile is gentle, more tamed and when he steps aside, I find Mia and Alex bouncing on the balls of their feet, both grinning from ear to ear before they tackle me into a bear hug.

“Oh god,” I groan, arms full of squealing women not that much older than me.

“You look so adorable!” Alex says.

“Can I feel?” Mia asks, her hand already pressing against my belly.

We wait with bated breath before the baby nudges her palm and she gushes and beams.

“Alex, Mia,” Ian greets, making himself known.

Both women approach Ian and hug him tight.

“Congrats!”

“To both of you!”

And they go to the kitchen in search for food and to sneak a peek at the cake.

Josué, however, doesn’t stray far and instead stays by my side, occasionally glancing at Ian.

“So you’re the baby daddy,” he begins conversationally, “Aren’t you… you know, related?”

“I was undercover,” Ian lies smoothly, “as a spy I had to pretend to be Morgan’s brother in order to keep him safe.”

“You know,” Josué says, “if I were any younger, I might’ve believed you.”

Ian pokes his tongue out, but his arm wrapped around my waist doesn’t loosen.

“Is there anything wrong?” I ask, brows furrowing.

“Wrong? No,” Josué answers, “just a bit weird.”

I bite my lip, “yeah, I guess so.”

“In a good way,” he quickly amends, “just, I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah… sorry I can’t go to uni with you,” I sigh with a small shrug, “this just… kind of happened.”

“So long as you’re happy, it’s all good,” Josué assures, quickly adding a threat toward Ian, “pero si él te lastima, se las verá conmigo.”

“Yo se,” I blush, “he won’t, though.”

Ian looks a little lost, but he knows his place and doesn’t say anything. Josué pats Ian’s back as he goes in search of my mom and we’re left alone again.

“Do you regret it?” Ian asks.

“What?”

“Me… us… our baby? Do you wish you could turn back time,” Ian mumbles, “and change everything? Don’t you want to go to school? Continue your education?”

“No,” I answer immediately, “I mean… I’m kind of sad I won’t go to uni with Josué, but I don’t regret us or our baby. I love our baby, I love you . And I can always go back.”

“I love you too,” he whispers, kissing me fervently.

The baby shower, although small, is filled with family, with love.

I love it.

And it gets even better when the cake is brought out.

For any event involving cake, my mom is usually volunteered in carving the slices out. It’s become somewhat of tradition while my dad gives out the slices on decorated plates.

The icing is a sugary but gender neutral color because I refuse to know the sex of our baby. Ian had pouted but relented nonetheless. He loves the excitement of not knowing just as much as I do.

So it’s simple.

And out of the corner of my eye I see my dad save mom a slice. And I just know .

My excitement only grows when every one has cake and we dig in, conversation flowing easily.

My mom is talking with my grandma about one thing or another until he abruptly stops.

With the plastic fork he digs through the icing and bread until he stumbles upon a chocolate little ball. I can’t hear him, but I read his lips as he curses in confusion.

The little ball breaks open easily and he pulls out a piece of paper. As if it were a fortune cookie.

His brows only furrow further as he reads, ” look down. ”

No body says a word as my dad gets on one knee, his hand outstretched with the ring in his hand right in front of him.

And when my mom finally looks down, he gasps, tears immediately springing to his hazel eyes.

“Matthew Vernal, will you marry me? Will you become my home indefinitely, let me love you and cherish you? Will you love me as I love you?”

Mom is speechless until I break the silence with a small cough that snaps him into reality. Tears spill from his eyes as he nods.

“Yes,” he croaks a little weak, a little breathless, “yes, oh god yes!”

We cheer, awe-ing and applauding when the ring is slid onto his finger.

They hug, so tight, so in love.

They kiss (which, ew, they’re my parents!).

And they smile widely, completely enamored.

Ian’s hand squeezes mine.

And as I look at him, I know that one day, I’ll find my way home.

thirty seven

My contractions start early in the morning, the first rays of the sun barely peeking over the horizon. It feels like intense pressure, like my insides are being squeezed so tightly it leaves me breathless.

The intense and sudden pain draws out a small groan from my lips, but it doesn’t last long.

I write it off as Braxton Hicks, so I don’t mention it to anyone.

Except, I realize a little too late that it’s not just false contractions.

They’re real. Really real.

I’m washing dishes after having lunch, despite Ian’s protest, when my water breaks.

I bite back a panicked scream and hold onto the counter until the pain passes. Sweat trickles from my brow as I pant and I look at the growing puddle at my feet, the slick wetness running down my thighs.

“Morgan, why don’t you go take a seat, I’ll finish up here and…” My mom begins, trailing off as he stares at me with wide eyes, “and your water broke.”

“Surprise,” I gasp breathless.

“Oh shit,” he curses, coming beside me and guiding out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Ian and dad are standing immediately upon taking in the sight. I give Ian a wobbly smile, breathing harshly through the growing pain.

“Holy shit,” Ian whispers, snapping into action and helping me sit while my mom searches for clean clothes and shoes.

My dad is in charge of the hospital bag as he rushes out the car, choosing to drive us himself rather than to call James.

He’s nervous, everyone is. But there’s an excitement thrumming through the air.

“You okay?”

“Ye-Yeah,” I groan, “yeah, I’m okay, just… hospital, soon, please.”

My words are clipped, filled with agony and rushed through gritted teeth.

Fuck it hurts!

“Come one sweetheart,” Ian coos, “let’s get you some drugs.”

I snort a small laugh despite the pain and bury my face in his chest, “okay.”

It’s slow going, but we get to the car with me clinging to Ian’s arm and finally we rush toward the hospital. My dad breaking more than a few speeding laws and running a red light once (only once , he stresses).

It’s hours of pain, of on and off contractions until I finally get my drugs.

And all is well until my god-mother steps through with a small frown.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asks immediately.

“Something’s wrong?” I ask weakly, trying to sit up but failing, my heart monitor spiking up.

“No, no, nothing too bad,” she reassures, “baby’s just breached.”

“Breached?” I gasp, “What-What does that mean?”

“Baby’s not in the right position, we’re gonna have to perform a C-section since you’re too far along to try and change the little one’s position,” she explains delicately.

“Will… are they okay?”

“Yes, baby’s safe.”

Within another hour, I find myself hesitant as I see Ian stand. My hand holding onto his so tight, so afraid of letting go.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing my brow, “I just need to change and I’ll be right beside you again. They’re almost here, baby boy, our little one is almost here.”

I nod, a lump stuck in my throat, “ye-yeah.”

And I finally let him go, tears blurring my vision as I see him turn his back.

thirty eight

I’m greeted with the most beautiful sight in the world when I finally wake up.

Ian is in the rocking chair, swaying back and forth with a little bundle in his arms. So small. So tiny.

My heart aches and I want to reach out, to touch, to feel .

A small frustrated noise falls from my lips as I try to sit up, something tugging at my still bloated belly.

Ian’s brown eyes find mine immediately and he quickly approaches me.

“Hey,” he whispers, “easy sweetling.”

“H-Hi,” I croak tiredly.

I find that I can’t look at him, not when something so amazing is snuffling in his arms, something so precious.

“Is that… is that our baby?” I ask hoarsely.

His smile is bright, breathtakingly beautiful as he nods, “yes.”

I suddenly feel empty.

After weeks, months , of carrying that little life inside of me, they’re finally here.

My hand rests on my empty belly, but my heart is ready to burst with how full of love it is. I reach out, arms outstretched and begging.

He carefully places our little baby in my arms.

I push back the blanket to reveal a round little face, swollen and red and perfect. Their little hand curls around my finger and my heart nearly stops. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never felt this intense feeling of love before.

“Is… are they okay?” I look up at Ian questioningly, biting my dry lip expectantly.

“Yes,” he nods again, “he’s perfect.”

My breath hitches at that.

A boy.

We have a baby boy.

I look at him, at his little face and he yawns . Tiny heart shaped lips opening, little tongue peeking out.

He’s gorgeous.

Beautiful.

He’s ours .

Ian smiles back, his lips pressed against my cheek, “You were amazing and I love you so, so, much. I love you both.”

“I- We love you too,” I whisper.

He grins and it’s then our baby starts to cry, to wail weakly in my arms. I frown and coo at him, bouncing him lightly before Ian helps me feed him.

His eyes fluttering open to reveal that newborm gray-blue color. And immediately I know.

“Hamlyn Grayson,” I whisper, “his name.”

Ian’s smile only grows, “lover of home?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “loving you, finally having him in my arm, it’s like coming home. But… if you don’t like it we don’t have to, I mean you a-”

Ian interrupts me with an amused laugh as he kisses my brow, “I love it.”

I can’t help but smile back, excitement bubbling inside because he’s finally here!

epilogue

Hamlyn walks on unsteady feet, babbling as he stumbles before he falls on his bum. He doesn’t cry though, he takes it like a champ and gets back up. Everyone’s eyes are on him, on how adorable he is and it makes my heart swell at the sight. He’s so precious, so ours.

It still amazes me that he’s almost one, that he’s grown so much.

Across the aisle I find Ian smiling at me, his eyes crinkled just a bit with the sun beaming down on us. He looks gorgeous, handsome in his tailored suit.

And beside him is dad. Maximilian Grayson standing tall and firm even as his hands tremble with nerves.

It’s then, however, that the wedding march begins.

I pick up Hamlyn and place him on my hip, my smile growing wide when my mom walks down the aisle.

His usually unruly hair, for once, is slicked back. His tux is a dark forest green with silver accents embroidered through it, a white rose is sitting in his breast pocket while a white bow is wrapped neatly around his neck.

He looks beautiful, happy, nervous.

He immediately reaches for my dad’s hand when he’s close enough and his engagement ring shines brightly with the sun’s rays.

My dad, equally as handsome in a dark blue and black attire, reaches out for him as well.

And the way they fit is perfect.

Like they belong together, they belong with one another.

The ceremony feels like it speeds by and before I know it, I’m holding hands with Hamlyn as we deliver the rings.

Hamlyn behaves himself and everyone coos , my mom even leaning down to kiss his chubby cheek soundly in thanks.

From there on it’s a blur.

A blur of tears as they exchange their vows, their promises of love to one another.

A blur of happiness when they finally kiss and seal the deal.

A blur of celebration as everyone cheers.

And when I look at Ian, I know I’ve found my way home.

He kisses me, holds me tight, as our hands interlock. His thumb rubs the ring he gave me so many months ago. A ring of so many promises, of happiness and love.

“Look at them,” he says, “look at how happy they are.”

I nod, “it was about time, don’t you think?”

“Fafa!”

We look down to find Hamlyn with his arms outstretched between us, begging to be held.

Ian scoops him up easily, “Hey bud.”

“Fafa!”

I hide my smile in Ian’s chest, god I love him, both of them, so much.

And when it’s time to make a toast, I notice that Matthias Grayson-Vernal raises a glass of apple juice.

This is only the beginning.

But at least we’re home.

Fin .

A/N: Any questions just ask away and I’ll try to answer to the best of my abilities. Thank you for reading!

1. one
2. two
3. three
4. four
5. five
6. six
7. seven
8. eight
9. nine
10. ten
11. eleven
12. twelve
13. thirteen
14. fourteen
15. fifteen
16. sixteen
17. seventeen
18. eighteen
19. nineteen
20. twenty
21. twenty one
22. twenty two
23. twenty three
24. twenty four
25. twenty five
26. twenty six
27. twenty seven
28. twenty eight
29. twenty nine
30. thirty
31. thirty one
32. thirty two
33. thirty three
34. thirty four
35. thirty five
36. thirty six
37. thirty seven
38. thirty eight
39. epilogue