Page 7 of Better Watch Out

Once again, neither of them answers, and I sag dramatically against the wall with a groan as I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. I’ll be in trouble with Dad if I don’t do this, and he’s already not thrilled with me for the whole car incident. And if neither of them could get a hold of the boys, I can only assume it’s because their phones are off or they’re asleep.

But as far as I know, Satan and his long-lost brother don’t sleep.

Finally I have to commit to going up the stairs. It’s inevitable, I suppose, since they won’t take pity on me and answer when I’m down here calling like a toucan. I take thesteps two at a time, rushing up them on bare feet to get this over with faster. I don’t slip and eat shit on the stairs, which I consider a personal victory, and when I’m at the top of the stairs, I realize why they can’t hear me.

With the door closed, the music playing from their room is muffled and inaudible from downstairs. But the way it thrums in my ears tells me it’s loud as hell, and I’m going to get blasted by it the moment I open the door.

I suppose if I were a good step-sister, I’d knock. But I’m frustrated by having to come find them, and maybe a little unnerved, so I plan on taking a small kind of joy in interrupting whatever they’re doing and maybe surprising Boone into some kind of conniption fit.

It would be great if he could somehow fall out the window, actually. Very poetic. Very satisfying.

“Hey!” I yell, grabbing the knob of their door and slamming it inward so it smacks into the wall. “Dad and Cheryl are—” My words falter as I step into the room and my eyes fall on the two of them.

I’ve seen their beds shoved together before, when the two of them were gaming or had books spread between them. I know for a fact Fletcher helps Boone study so they can get into the same college next year.

But they definitely aren’t studying now.

Fletcher’s back is pressed to the glass of the bay window, his legs spread and knees cradling the person between them. He looks up at me, blue eyes hazy and blond hair tousled. One hand is braced at his side, fingers curled against the cushion of the bay window seat.

His other hand is curled in Boone’s thick brunet hair, guiding his head up and down in a steady rhythm in his lap.

My mind immediately goes as white as the blizzard outside and I just stand there, words dead on my lips as I try toremember what the hell I even need to say. But I can’t move, or speak, or anything else as I stare at both of them.

It’s like I’m trapped here, knowing this is the worst place to be, and yet here I still am.

Fletcher groans, eyes leaving mine as he throws his head back to let it fall against the window behind him. “You have an audience, sweetheart,” he murmurs in his low, purring voice. “But I think you already know that, don’t you?”

Without his shirt on, I can see the tan expanse of Boone’s back, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up and turns to me, dark eyes glittering as he wipes his mouth on his forearm. “I thought she’d just shriek and run away,” he admits, a grin curling over his lips.“Are you just going to stand there, Conor?”Boone purrs, eyes narrowing. “Because this isn’t a free show, babe.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” I stumble over my words, unable to get them out the way I intend. “What are you two?—”

“So…either get out, or come over here and let your stepbrothers fuck your mouth.”

His words have me completely at a loss. My heart races in my chest and I immediately step back, though I see a flash of something in Boone’s face that I convince myself is satisfaction. There’s no way he’s disappointed, after all.

“Dad and Cheryl…” I bite my lower lip, glaring at the floor. What the fuck is going on here? “T-they need you to?—”

Noises make me look up, and when my eyes find Fletcher, he’s in front of me, naked and gorgeous as he reaches out to wrap his fingers around my throat. “Poor thing,” he coos. “Did you think we didn’t know how you look at us? Did you think we can’t see you watch us?”

I open my mouth to reply, trying to?—

Sitka’s paws make contact with my kidney just as her bark in my ear wakes me up in an instant. I gasp, bolting upright, and find myself panting as I try to remember where I am.

“Sitka?” I whisper, reaching out for her. My husky squirms onto my lap, licking my chin as she wags her tail against my arm. I can tell by her wiggling she wants to go out, but I need a few seconds to reorient myself.

Fuck! I haven’t had that dream in a long time. I groan and bury my face in her fur, the memory running on repeat in my head. For some reason, this time it veered from the reality of the situation. Fletcher hadn’t gotten up and said anything to me. I’d spat out what Dad and Cheryl told me to say and ran back down the stairs with my chocolate milk, locking the door to my room and turning on my television as loud as I could in an attempt to blast the memory out of my head.

Later, though—in bed that night—I’d been unable to stop thinking about it. And that’s when I started to feel so fucking guilty about it. Sure, I suppose morally there was nothing wrong with them…doing that. None of us are blood related, after all. Just step-siblings in the case of the boys and me. And the two of them were adopted, and not from anywhere near the same place.

Not that I know too much about it, past what Cheryl told Dad before they got married. That information had been relayed to me, in an attempt to win my sympathies toward them. Especially Boone, who apparently grew up for a while in pretty bad circumstances?—

Sitka yips, and I can feel in my soul the buildup to sounding like an ambulance siren. That’s what’ll happen if I don’t let her out, and even though I’m alone in our vacation house, I don’t want my ears bleeding tonight.

“It’s four am,” I groan, picking up my phone before scooting off the bed. My room was kept almost exactly same, with only afew touches of Cheryl’s taste in the pictures on the wall or the crystals on the wall shelf she’d thought I’d like

She’s not wrong.

“Can’t you hold it until six am like a reasonable husky?” But I’m already up and shoving my feet into my sneakers. I know the snow is deeper than what my shoes cover, but I don’t intend on going off the deck. Hell, I barely intend on opening the damn door. Grabbing my hoodie, I yank it over my t-shirt and pj shorts, reflecting again on the insanity of wearing shorts to sleep in the mountainsin Decemberwith snow on the ground.

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