Page 3 of Unwrap Me After Dark
The words send a lightning bolt down my spine. I renew my struggle with sudden desperation, twisting beneath him. “Get the fuck off me.”
This time, he allows it—releasing my wrists and sitting back on his heels. I scramble away, shoving him hard as I attempt to my feet. Tyler stays where he is, kneeling on the floor, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Get off me, asshole,” I snap, even though he already has.
He laughs, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he stands, brushing dust from his jeans. “Whatever you say, Liam.”
I hate the way he says my name. Like it’s a punchline to a joke only he understands.
I storm into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind me. The cabin shakes with the force of it. I lean back against the frame, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest.
My pulse is still racing, my skin flushed and hot. All those years apart, and those months in therapy. All my academic achievements. My impeccable reputation. Friends that love me. The attention from the women. All of that is shredded to smithereens in just five minutes back in Tyler Murphy’s proximity.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars.
One week. Seven days trapped in this cabin with Tyler. My stepbrother. My bully. My enemy.
The bedroom feels like a flimsy refuge. The door at my back, too thin a barrier against the danger that lies on the other side. This week is going to be a nightmare.
2
Tyler
MORNING LIGHT SLICES THROUGH the blinds, hitting my face. I squint, cursing myself for not closing them last night. The cabin’s silence presses in on me as I stretch, my joints popping in protest. No sounds from the other room. No coffee brewing. Just the hollow emptiness that follows a storm—and yesterday was definitely a storm. Liam’s door remains shut, a wooden barrier between us that might as well be concrete. Typical of him to hide.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. Almost eleven. Christ. I slept longer than intended, though after yesterday’s shitshow, who can blame me? Twenty minutes—that’s how long Liam lasted before storming off like a dramatic teenager. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me enjoy getting on his nerves so much. Maybe it’s because of his holier-than-thou attitude, which has only worsened since college.
My stomach growls, demanding attention. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull on a pair of basketball shorts. The wooden floor is cool against my bare feet as I pad to the kitchen. I pause outside Liam’s door, debating whether to knock.Wake his sulking ass up. Force him to face the reality that we’re stuck here together for an entire week.
I decide against it. Let him hide. His problem, not mine.
The coffee maker sits on the counter, clean and unused. I rummage through the cabinets, finding a bag of pre-ground beans that looks like it’s been sitting there since the ice age. I sniff it and recoil. Smells like burned dirt.
A quick glance out the window confirms what I already suspected—Liam’s car is still parked beside mine, exactly where it was last night. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed. Relieved that he hasn’t abandoned our fucked-up family vacation altogether. Or annoyed that I have to deal with his presence. Our whole lives have been like this—me pushing, him retreating, the endless cycle that started the day Dad married his mom six years ago.
Movement from the neighboring cabin catches my eye. An older woman sits on her porch, a steaming mug cradled between weathered hands. Beside her, a little girl—eight, maybe nine—hunches over a tablet, her small fingers swiping across the screen. The woman says something, and the girl looks up, smiling. The simple domesticity of it makes something twist in my chest. I turn away.
I need real coffee. The kind that doesn’t taste like disappointment and broken family dreams.
I pull on a t-shirt and grab my keys, not bothering to text him. Liam will figure it out—or not. I couldn’t care less.
My car engine roars to life, gravel crunching beneath the tires as I reverse out of the driveway. The lake shimmers in the distance, sunlight dancing across its surface like scattereddiamonds. It would be beautiful if I were in the mood to appreciate it.
The town is smaller than I expected, just a few streets lined with the kind of quaint shops that haven’t changed in fifty years. I drive slowly, taking it in—the hardware store with fishing gear displayed in the window, the diner with its neon “OPEN” sign, the obligatory souvenir shop selling overpriced crap to tourists.
I park in front of a coffee shop that looks passable—at least the sign doesn’t have Comic Sans font, which is more than I can say for the bakery nearby. A bell chimes as I push open the door, announcing my arrival to the handful of locals scattered at small tables. They all look up, conversation pausing just long enough to register my presence before resuming with lowered voices.
The barista perks up when I approach the counter. He’s about my age, with a man-bun and carefully cultivated stubble.
“Morning,” he says, his smile a little too interested. “Haven’t seen you around before.”
“Just got in yesterday.” I scan the menu board.
“Vacation? We get a lot of city folks this time of year.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter.
“Something like that.”
“Staying at one of the lake cabins?” His persistence grates on my nerves, and I’m not in the mood for chit-chat.
