Feelings

Chapter 3

I almost died because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

That’s the part that would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. I was so lost in my head, replaying the way Rubben had called Mara baby at breakfast that morning, that I stepped off the curb without looking. I didn’t even hear the car until the horn blasted through the air and the headlights washed the whole street in white.

“Watch out!”

Someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me backward with enough force that my shoulder nearly gave out. I stumbled into a solid chest, gasping, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might break my ribs.

When I finally managed to look up, I was staring into a face I hadn’t seen in years.

Alex.

Alex Robbins from high school. The same Alex who used to steal my fries at lunch and call me Lia-bear until I threatened to punch him if he ever said it again.

He was holding me by the arms, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock. “Lia, Jesus Christ. You just—you almost got hit.”

A laugh bubbled out of me, but it sounded all wrong. Brittle and hollow. “Guess I’m not destined to be a cautionary tale for jaywalkers after all.”

It wasn’t funny. Nothing about nearly getting killed because I was too busy pining over my stepbrother was funny. But if I didn’t laugh, I was going to start crying right there in the middle of the street, and I’d already done enough of that in the past twenty-four hours.

Alex exhaled shakily and let go of me as if he was afraid I might shatter. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

Was I?

Rubben had called another woman baby this morning. He’d touched her like she belonged to him. He hadn’t spared me a single glance at dinner last night.

Was I okay?

“Yeah,” I lied, because what else was I supposed to say? “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”

“Lia.” The way he said my name had no teasing in it now. Only concern.

“I’m fine, Alex. Really.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. He studied me for a long moment, and then his expression softened into something familiar, something that reminded me of who we used to be before life got complicated. “It’s been years. You look good, you know? Tired, but good. What have you been up to?”

“Hospital,” I said, because it was the easiest answer. “I’m a nurse now. Long shifts. It keeps me busy.”

His whole face lit up with genuine pride. “That’s amazing, Lia. I always knew you’d end up doing something that mattered. Me? I’m freelancing as a photographer now. Weddings, pets, anything that pays the bills.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “That suits you. You always noticed things other people missed.”

“Want a ride home?” he asked. “It’s the least I can do after nearly watching you get turned into a headline.”

I thought about saying no. I thought about walking home alone and facing whatever was waiting for me there. But the thought of going back to that house, to Rubben and Mara and the way they fit together so perfectly, made my chest feel tight.

“Yeah,” I said. “A ride would be great.”

The drive was easy in a way nothing else in my life had been lately. Alex rolled the windows down and kept the music low, and for a while, we were just two old friends catching up. He told me about a wedding where the groom fainted during the vows. I told him about a patient who was convinced I was his dead wife. We laughed, and for ten whole minutes, I wasn’t the girl who was hopelessly in love with her stepbrother. I was just Lia.

When we reached my street, he pulled over to the curb.

“Thanks, Alex,” I said, and I meant it. “For saving me. And for the ride.”

“Anytime,” he replied. Then he smiled, softer this time. “We should actually catch up sometime. Coffee? And preferably without the near-death experience next time.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “I’d like that.”

We exchanged numbers. He drove away, and I stood there waving until his car turned the corner. For one brief, shining moment, I felt lighter than I had in months.

It lasted until I opened my front door.

The warmth of the house hit me first, along with the familiar smell of my mom’s cooking and the sound of laughter coming from the living room. Then I saw them.

Rubben and Mara.

On the couch.

She wasn’t just sitting next to him. She was in his lap, her arms draped around his neck, his hands resting low on her waist in a way that was both casual and possessive.

And they were kissing.

It wasn’t a quick, polite kiss. It was slow and deep and unhurried, the kind of kiss that said they had all the time in the world. The kind that said this house, this moment, belonged entirely to them.

My bag slipped from my shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was stand there and watch the way his hands held her, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the small, contented sound she made against his mouth.

My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick.

_This is wrong. He’s hers. He’s never been yours. So why does it feel like he’s betraying you?_

I forced myself to make noise, dragging my shoe against the tile.

They pulled apart slowly, reluctantly, like they resented the interruption.

Rubben looked up, and for one devastating second, his eyes softened when they found mine. It looked like he was actually glad to see me.

Then he remembered himself.

“Hey, Lia,” he said, his tone light and easy, as if he hadn’t just been kissing his girlfriend in the middle of our living room.

Shame and anger washed over me in a scalding wave. “Hi,” I managed, but my voice came out small and I hated it.

Mara turned to look at me, her smile sweet and edged with something sharp. “Well, look who’s home. Just in time to join us.”

Join them. Right.

I swallowed and kept my expression carefully blank. “I just got off shift at the hospital.”

Rubben stood, setting Mara on her feet, and moved to give me space. But the tension in the room was so thick I could barely breathe. He glanced at me, his expression impossible to read. “Long day?”

I couldn’t tell if he was apologizing or if he was amused, and the fact that I couldn’t read him anymore made something ache in my chest. “Tired,” I said, my lips pressing into a thin line.

Why does this hurt so much? Why does it feel like he’s mine when he never was? Why can’t I make it stop?

Mara stepped closer to Rubben deliberately, brushing her hair off her shoulder in a way that exposed the curve of her neck to him. “Long day for you too?” she asked him, but her eyes were fixed on me.

“Yes,” he replied, his hand finding hers again without hesitation.

Then he looked at me. “Long day,” he said, directing the words at me this time.

But they weren’t meant for me. Not really.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, to my bag, to anywhere that wasn’t the two of them. My heart was pounding so loudly I was convinced they could hear it. Jealousy burned through my veins, hot and bitter and all-consuming.

I hate this. I hate seeing them together. I hate that I care this much. I hate that my body still reacts to him no matter how many times I tell myself to stop._

Rubben must have seen something in my expression, because he took a step toward me. “Lia… are you okay?”

I forced myself to look up and smile, but it felt brittle and unconvincing. “I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than I intended.

His eyes narrowed. He always knew when I was lying. “You seem off. Did something happen at work?”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head and avoiding his gaze. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Mara let out a soft, amused sound. “I’ll give you two a minute,” she said sweetly, and slid past me into the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, the air in the room changed. Rubben was suddenly too close, his presence overwhelming and familiar all at once. I could smell his cologne, that clean, masculine scent that was uniquely him. Heat seemed to radiate from his body, or maybe it was just me.

“Lia,” he said, his voice dropping low in a way that made my chest ache. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

God, he always knew. Even when I hid it, even when I lied through my teeth, he could see right through me.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, but my voice betrayed me, trembling on the word.

Before I could prepare myself, he moved. His hand came up and he gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin for a second too long.

The contact sent a shock through my entire system. It was electric and wrong and everything I’d been trying not to feel for months. My mind was screaming at me to step back, to put distance between us, to remember exactly who he was and who I was.

But my treacherous body leaned into his touch for one shameful, devastating second before I caught myself.

“I should… unpack,” I stammered, taking a step back as if the space between us had suddenly caught fire.

He nodded slowly, but his eyes never left mine. “Of course,” he said, and though the word was simple, it felt heavy with all the things we weren’t saying.

I walked to my room without looking back. I didn’t run, because running would have meant admitting what that single touch had done to me.

But I felt him watching me the entire way. His gaze was a tangible thing, hot and heavy against my back.

God, save me from this man.

That night, I tried to outrun myself.

I changed into my running clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and slipped out the front door before I could talk myself out of it. The pavement was cool beneath my sneakers, the streetlights casting long shadows as I ran.

Run it out. Burn it out. Get him out of my system.

It didn’t work.

Every step I took, his name echoed in my head in time with my heartbeat. Rubben. Rubben. Rubben.

I came back an hour later, sweaty and exhausted and no less consumed by him than when I’d left. The house was quiet when I returned.

Then I heard it.

Sobbing.

It was coming from the kitchen.

I found Mom sitting at the table, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her grief. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d been crying for hours.

“Lia,” she choked out when she saw me, and hearing my name in that broken voice made my heart stop.

“Mom? What happened? What’s wrong?”

She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face, and the words she spoke next destroyed the world as I knew it.

“Your father,” she sobbed, struggling to form the words. “The Renegade took him tonight.