Chapter 5

Dean’s POV

Dad has had music blasting through the house since eight in the morning.

Not good music, either.

His current playlist is some kind of seventies rock catastrophe that he keeps turning up every time Diane tells him to turn it down.

"You’re going to blow the speakers," I tell him, hauling another box marked DIANE — BOOKS through the front door.

"I'm celebrating."

"At nine in the morning?"

"My future wife is moving into my house today. Let me live."

Diane appears behind him with a coffee in one hand. "He's been like this since six."

Dad catches her around the waist and kisses her cheek.

I look away.

Last night is still too fresh.

Marie standing inches from me on the porch. My hand on her face. Her looking at me like she wanted to stay there and then—

Your dad seems happy.

The escape hatch.

A few seconds later, she was gone.

I set the box down harder than necessary.

"Careful!" Marie’s voice comes from behind me.

I turn.

She's standing in the doorway with a smaller box balanced against her hip.

Hair pulled up. Old gray T-shirt. Denim shorts. No makeup.

She looks like she barely slept.

Neither did I.

"Books," she says, nodding toward the box I just dropped. "Generally not improved by blunt-force trauma."

"They'll survive."

"Good to know you've developed such respect for literature."

It's the first real thing she's said to me all morning.

We've managed an impressive few hours of move that there, watch your foot, and Frank wants this upstairs.

I take the box from her.

"I had it."

"I know."

"Then why'd you take it?"

"Because you're standing there talking instead of carrying it."

Her eyes narrow.

For a second, I think she's going to argue. Then the corner of her mouth twitches, barely.

It still does something stupid to my chest.

"Dean!" Dad yells from downstairs.

I close my eyes.

"What?"

"Bed frame!"

Marie glances toward the stairs. "That sounds ominous."

"It is."

"The room beside yours!" Dad shouts. "Get it done before lunch!"

Marie looks at me.

"The room beside yours?"

"Apparently."

"Fantastic."

I almost smile.

"Try to contain your excitement."

"I'm overwhelmed."

At least she's talking to me now.

I'll take it.

***

Twenty minutes later, I'm beginning to suspect the bed was designed by an asshole.

"Other way."

I look across the frame at Marie.

"What?"

"The bracket. Other way."

"It's right."

"It's upside down."

"It's not."

She turns the instructions toward me and points at the diagram.

I compare it to the bracket.

She's right.

I flip it over.

Her mouth curves.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

"Need the instructions?"

"No."

"Sure?"

I hold out my hand. She pulls them against her chest.

"No. You were very clear that you don't need them."

"Give them to me."

"Admit I was right."

"Give me the instructions, Marie."

"Say it."

I reach across the frame.

She leans away, laughing. "No."

I catch one corner of the paper.

"Dean—"

It tears straight down the middle. We both stare at it. Then she looks at me.

"Nice."

I laugh and toss my half beside her. "You're a pain in the ass."

"You missed me."

Her answer comes so easily that neither of us reacts at first.

Then her smile falters.

I look at her. She looks down at the screws.

"Long one," she says, holding out a bolt.

I take it from her.

"Thanks."

We go back to work.

The awkwardness doesn't disappear completely, but soon she's making fun of the way I organize the hardware, I'm telling her she's doing nothing useful, and she's threatening to leave me alone with the bed.

It almost feels normal.

Then her phone buzzes on the floor between us.

The screen lights up.

Tristan: still good for tomorrow? 

I look away.

Not fast enough.

Marie reaches for the phone.

"Nosy."

"It was right there."

"Sure."

I go back to tightening the frame. "Have fun."

She pauses. "What?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh." She puts the phone down. "I plan to."

"Good."

Silence.

I tighten the bolt.

"You're going to break that."

"No, I'm not."

"Dean."

I stop.

She's watching me with the beginning of a smile.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then quit looking at me like that."

Her smile grows.

"I think you're jealous."

I laugh. "Of Tristan?"

"That's usually how jealousy works."

"He's one of my best friends."

"Then you should be happy for him."

I look at her. She waits.

"Go on your date, Marie."

"I am."

"Great."

"Great."

I pick up the next bolt. But she doesn't let it go.

"You're really bad at this."

"At building beds?"

"Pretending you don't care."

My hand stills.

I look at her.

"Why do you want me to care?"

That wipes the smile off her face. For a second, she doesn't answer. Then she looks down at the hardware between us.

"I don't."

"Right."

"Either way," she says, pushing herself up from the floor, "you're going to have to get used to it."

I stay where I am. "Get used to what?"

"Me dating."

"Why?"

She brushes the dust from her shorts, then looks down at me with a small, challenging smile.

"Because you're my brother now."

The word lands wrong.

"Don't call me that."

Her smile fades slightly. "Why?"

"You know why."

For a second, she just looks at me. Then I see it—the challenge returning to her face.

"Get used to it, Harrison. You're my brother now."

I set the screwdriver down and stand.

"I'm not your brother."

"Our parents might disagree."

"I don't care."

I start toward her.

"Say it again."

Her eyes follow me as I cross the room.

"What?"

"You heard me."

She lifts her chin.

"You're my brother."

I stop in front of her.

She's still holding her ground, but the teasing look is gone.

"Look at me."

"I am."

"No." I hold her gaze. "Really look at me and say it."

She swallows.

"You're my brother."

She gets the words out, but they don't have the same confidence anymore.

I take another step.

Marie takes a step back.

Then another.

Her back meets the wall.

"Come on." My voice drops. "One more time."

Her hands come up against my chest.

For a second, I think she's going to push me back.

She doesn't.

Her fingers curl into my shirt instead.

I catch her waist beneath her shirt and lean down until my mouth is beside her ear.

"I am not your fucking brother, Marie."

She shivers against me.

I pull back just enough to see her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes fixed on mine.

"Am I?"