Jake presses a hand into his chest.
But Kaleb throws them off, growling, and I back up, tears welling again as he swoops in and picks me up, holds my face and forces his mouth on mine. I choke down a sob, the assault of his scent reminding me how happy we were just this morning.
Before we came back to the world.
I push him away, crying out as Noah and Jake pull him off me.
I breathe hard, falling to my feet and backing up, farther away from him.
“Cici Diggins is pregnant,” I tell Jake and Noah. “Very pregnant.”
Kaleb doesn’t look at anyone but me, but I see Jake and Noah staring at me, stunned.
“It could be anybody’s,” Noah argues.
“Yours?”
“No,” he retorts like I’m crazy. “God, no. I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Did she say it was Kaleb’s?” Jake straightens, releasing his son.
“She didn’t have to,” I tell him, but I lock eyes with Kaleb.
If it’s his, I might learn to live with it, even though that means living with her in our lives.
If he knew about it all along, though…
“Say something,” I tell him. “Say something to me.”
Anything, please.
“Or write something, then,” I ask. “Tell me anything. Tell me you love me.”
He just stands there, though.
And I stop crying, my heart broken but not. Maybe it’s just not there anymore, because I draw in a deep breath, knowing someone will have his kids, but it will never be me. I can’t live in another house where someone I love won’t talk to me.
“We’re all set,” I hear a woman say from the kitchen.
It only takes a moment, but I blink away the tears and follow her into the shop, desperate to get away.
“Let’s get you ready,” she chirps.
I nod, pushing Kaleb and Cici out of my mind.
They change me into a pair of short jean shorts and a black off-the-shoulder top that shows my belly. I sit down to have my hair styled and my make-up done, Noah having accounted for everything when bringing people up here, I guess. I feel like I’m on one of my parents’ movie sets.
“Not too much,” the blue-haired photographer tells the make-up artist. “I want natural. I want her to look like someone the average guy can get into bed with.”
Someone clears their throat behind us.
“Kidding,” the lady quickly replies, and I guess Jake is standing behind me.
Then to the artist again, she says, “You catch my drift, though, right? Pretty, not porno.”
The man with short-cropped blond hair and tattoos on his fingers nods, blending concealer under my eyes, probably to get rid of the splotchiness from my crying.
The stylist fluffs my waves, sprays my hair, and I open my mouth, stretching my face, because I haven’t worn make-up in so long, it’s like cake on my face.
Noah pulls up a stool and plops down, waggling his eyebrows at me as the stylist moves to his head next.
“Keep Kaleb away from me,” I tell him in a low voice, but it’s more a beg.
“Sure.” He sighs. “I was in the mood to bleed today.”
I give him a sad smile. We finish readying, and I move, as if on auto-pilot. Mirai is flying in tonight, and whether or not she’ll recognize me is irrelevant. She’ll know things happened here, and I won’t blame her for not understanding. I don’t think I do myself anymore.
I’m hurt, but at least I’m leaving stronger than when I came.
“Noah?” the photographer named Juno calls.
I straddle the dirt bike, spotting Kaleb’s black T-shirt off to my left by the shop doors, but I don’t dare look. Noah climbs on the bike behind me, jeans and bare chest, because we’re supposed to look sexy as if this image is supposed to have any basis in reality. Motocross racers will probably laugh and pick apart our lack of proper attire and equipment, but sex sells, I’m told.
So here we go.
He fits behind me, placing his hands on my hips. Kaleb shifts off to my left, and I think Jake steps in, stopping him.
I lean back into Noah, the air hitting my bare stomach as I arch my back a little.
“Not too close,” someone tells Juno. “She’s his cousin.”
Noah snorts, his chest shaking against my back.
I clench my teeth. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious.”
I roll my eyes. I guess I should laugh, too, or I’ll cry. The cousins in this house are so much closer than they realize. My hips are the least of what Noah has touched.