Chapter 5

Waking up the next day is, without exaggeration, a terrible idea, not just because of the headache that feels like it has a life of its own or the awful taste in my mouth, but because the second I open my eyes everything comes rushing back, the party, Sofi, Mateo, and that moment that’s clearly going to stick with me a lot longer than I’d like.

I try to ignore it, closing my eyes for a second like that might erase something, but it doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t, because there are things you can’t undo, and this is definitely one of them.

I get up carefully, groaning when the pain in my face reminds me exactly how the night ended, walk to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

Perfect.

Split lip, a pretty visible bruise, and that “yeah, I clearly made bad decisions” face that doesn’t help at all.

“Nice job, Lucas,” I mutter, staring at my reflection.

It doesn’t fix anything, but at least it makes me feel slightly less ridiculous.

I grab my phone almost on instinct and open Sofi’s chat, but there’s nothing, not a single message, not even a sign that she’s okay, and that makes me more tense than I want to admit, so I type are you okay?, stare at it for a second, then delete it before sending, like those two words are either too little or way too late.

I try again.

Let me know when you get home.

This time I send it and just sit there staring at the screen like an idiot, like that’s somehow going to make her reply faster, but nothing happens, no “seen,” not even a damn typing bubble.

I try calling her, but it goes straight to voicemail, and I clench my jaw as I lower the phone, because of course it makes sense… after last night, the last thing she wants is to talk to me, or to anyone.

After last night… the least she deserves is space, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.

I toss my phone aside a little harder than necessary and run a hand over my face, feeling the bruise still throbbing.

This is a mess.

A complete one.

And the worst part is I don’t even have time to process it, because my mom shows up at the door with that tone I know way too well.

“Lucas.”

Here we go.

“What?” I answer, not even trying to sound interested.

She looks me up and down, arms crossed, taking in every detail of my face.

“Do you want to explain what happened to you?”

Great.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, “it was a game.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“A game where they hit you like that?”

“It’s hockey,” I shrug. “It happens.”

She doesn’t believe me.

Not even a little.

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, more serious now. “Did you get into a fight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut in before this turns into an interrogation.

She holds my gaze for a second, clearly debating whether to push or not, but eventually she sighs.

“Fine, but behave tonight.”

I frown.

“What tonight?”

“The dinner,” she says. “With Mark.”

Right.

The dinner.

Because clearly this day needed to get better.

“Lucas,” she adds, softer, “it’s important to me.”

I look at her.

And that’s enough.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good,” she says. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

I nod, and the second she leaves I grab my phone again without thinking, like maybe this time it’ll be different, but there’s still nothing, no message, no read receipt, not even a sign she’s seen what I sent.

⸻

The restaurant is one of those places where everything shines a little too much and everyone seems to know exactly what to do with all the forks, which already puts me at a disadvantage.

“Behave,” my mom whispers before we go in.

“I always do.”

She gives me a look that clearly says she doesn’t believe that, but she walks in anyway.

I follow her inside, and at first everything seems normal, I see Mark smiling, relaxed, getting up to greet us like this is just any other dinner, like nothing is out of place, and for a second I actually think maybe this won’t be that bad.

But then my gaze shifts just a little… and I see him.

Mateo Carter.

Sitting there like nothing.

Like we weren’t beating the hell out of each other less than twenty-four hours ago.

With a swollen lip, a visible bruise… and that calm expression that makes me want to wipe it off his face.

For a second I think this is a joke, a really bad one, the kind that isn’t funny at all, but no, because he sees me too, lifts his gaze, and for a split second his expression tightens, clearly just as unhappy to see me, but it doesn’t last, because he quickly puts that same irritating calm back on, like nothing gets to him, like this isn’t as messed up as it actually is.

“Lucas,” Mark says, “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah… sure,” I answer, still processing.

My mom looks happy.

Too happy.

“I want you to meet someone,” she says.

No.

“This is Mateo,” she continues, “Mark’s son.”

Silence drops instantly, heavy and awkward, because of course, obviously, it makes perfect sense that out of everyone in the world it had to be him, like the universe just decided to make my life a little more complicated, and still Mateo gets up calmly, slipping his hands into his pockets like nothing’s wrong, like we weren’t just throwing punches a few hours ago.

“We know each other,” he says.

I stare at him.

“Yeah.”

Way too well.

My mom smiles, completely pleased.

“Perfect, that makes everything easier.”

No.

It doesn’t.

“Because now…” she adds, looking at both of us, “you’re going to be family.”

There it is.

The word.

Family.

The second I hear it, my jaw tightens, because of course, that’s exactly what was missing, while Mateo keeps looking at me, and even if he’s trying to act calm, there’s something in the way he holds my gaze that says he doesn’t like this either… but that doesn’t stop that slight challenge in his eyes, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.

“I guess that makes us stepbrothers,” he says, with that tone that’s already getting on my nerves.

I clench my teeth.

“I guess.”

Because out of everyone in the world, it had to be him, and if I thought things were already bad, I was clearly wrong, because this isn’t just another problem, it’s not just another complication… this just got a whole lot worse.