Page 3 of InfraRed

Afraid he’ll appear at any moment, I spin on my heels and, like a coward, run, leaving my best friend to handle my mother.

The crowd around me is a blur of nameless faces as I push my way through. I hear their whispers as I bump into them, muttering incoherent apologies.

My body is rocked back, my feet coming out from under me as my legs crumple when I slam into a wall. Reflexes takes control, shooting my hands out to break my fall, but somehow, gravity doesn’t win.

“Whoa, Sunflower.”

Sunflower.

His deep voice rockets through my body, skittering across my flesh, creating chills. Only one man calls me that. It would be the cherry to this catastrophe.

He’s thelastperson I expected to see. The last Iwantedto see. So, of course, he appears like magic to witness my latest meltdown after being absent from my life for years.

I force my eyes to focus, and his dark hair and darker eyes become clear. As always, he’s dressed impeccably, wearing a dark gray suit that clings to his broad shoulders and thick arms, undoubtedly custom-made for his impressive six-foot-four frame, paired with a deep blue shirt with the top two buttons left undone. In heels, I still need to lift my eyes a bit to meet his despite being five-foot-ten, and I see the concern in the dark depths.

A rough thumb brushes across my fiery flesh, catching the lonetear that escaped without permission. “Why are you crying?” Heat slashes across my cheeks and burns the tips of my ears.

Why do you only ever appear when I am crying?

My head swishes back and forth, denying the truth, my blond waves falling into my face. “Allergies.”

His razor-sharp jaw flexes, not believing the lie that spills so easily. Near obsidian orbs jerk behind me. They narrow, turning impossibly darker, and a muscle in his cheek twitches, no doubt recognizing the cause.He’s the only one who knows even a fraction of the truth.

He starts forward, and my hand shoots out, landing on his chest as I shake my head. “Don’t.” I plead, begging him not to escalate the already horrifying scene.

His nostrils flare. I hear his teeth grind, but when he looks at me, I see his reluctant surrender. “Come on.”

It’s been two years since I last saw my oldest stepbrother, though it’s been even longer since we had an actual conversation that didn’t involve embarrassment, lectures, and yelling. I complicated things when I acted on impulse. We were once close, even if we only saw each other a few times a month, but it came to a screeching halt when I put him in a very awkward position.

I thought the distance cured me of my unrequited feelings, but a familiar flip of my stomach says maybe not. Hopefully, it’s just the stress of the situation.

“Okay,” I whisper, and he squeezes me tighter to his side as if I’m a fragile child.

To him, that’s what I am.

When he turns me toward the elevators, I freeze, digging my nails into his arm. He meets my eyes, brows furrowing deepbetween them. I flick my eyes toward Dad and my Uncle Henry who just stepped out of the doors. If we continue this way, we will cross paths with them, and that can’t happen.

A choked sound of aggravation rumbles as he glares at me before lifting his head. He chews the inside of his cheek while his dark eyes scan the rooftop. Chin dropping toward me, his decision made, he wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me to a vacant corner. When we are as far away from nosy eyes and ears as the crowded rooftop allows, I’m pulled in front of him. His rough palms cup my cheeks, and he searches my face with his mouth set in a firm line. Sharp eyes glow with anger. It grows by the second at whatever he sees in my expression.

I break the agonizing silence first, desperate to have him stop looking at me like I’m a kicked puppy. “Thank you for helping me, but I should get back to my…” I trail off, not wanting to say date, but I’m not sure why. Maybe I just don’t want to endure a repeat of his overbearing big brother side.

I’ve only had one boyfriend. Neither ended well, and I don’t date often. I can count on two hands the number ofdatesI’ve been on since I started college. And if I’m honest, tonight doesn’t count as one of those since it’s with my best friend, Lily’s, cohort in deceitful deeds, Thad. Nothing could or would ever come of it. Thad is a walking, talking billboard for contraception and STI awareness—a man whore of epic proportions. He’s a good guy beyond that, but I know he only asked me tonight because Lily expressly forbade it. I think he likes to annoy my dad, too. Beyond getting under their skin, he has no interest in me. He prefers girls with curves and confidence. Not the anxiety-ridden, self-conscious, skinny, lanky type. Then he decided I’m notthe type of girl you fuck and duck.His words, not mine, but he’s not wrong.

And knowing all this, I accepted his invitation because I didn’twant to come alone and look more pathetic than I already do.

“Back to your?” Graham’s dark, arched brow lifts, waiting for me to finish. When I don’t, the vein in his forehead pulses. “You better not say your mom. Jesus, Casey, how is this still going on? Why haven’t you told your dad?”

You know why.

Fire erupts across my cheeks. Embarrassment takes over once again as I remember he is privy to some of my most humiliating moments. He witnessed the ridicule I endured more than once. That’s why, at one time, I confided in him about my mother as much as I could. It barely scratched the surface, but it was more than anyone else would ever know. He listened to my every word even though it infuriated him. Then when I asked him to keep my secrets, he would get angrier. More often than not, I had to beg and plead for him to keep quiet—too much was at risk. And he never said a word to anyone.

He was the knight in my fantasies because helistenedto me when I couldn’t tell anyone else.

I take a step back from him, needing the space to think clearly. Needing away from the security my memories insist he provides. He might’ve once felt like my hero, but I broke that bond by being foolish and reckless. My heart doesn’t need to trip and stumble back into old habits, and he doesn’t need me making his life difficult.

“I can’t stop her when she corners me.” My arms cross over my chest, a weak attempt to appear strong, though I can feel my bottom lip quiver.

“You could walk away,” he growls, keeping his voice low, but his disapproval blasts with his tone and eyes.

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