I doubted that. I stared up at the big house and the window to Caleb’s bedroom. It was dark, like the rest of them.
Caleb wasn’t waiting up for me. My phone hadn’t rung once in the hours I’d been gone. He’d either gone to bed or was still out partying with his work colleagues.
I didn’t want to tell Nash that. He’d already hit the mark a little too closely with his accusation that Caleb and I weren’t in love. “I should go,” I agreed. “I don’t want him worrying.”
We both got out of the car, and Nash tossed me the keys. I caught them easily, tucking them into my purse.
He raised a hand in farewell from the other side of the car. “Good to see you, Bliss. I know that’s a fucked-up thing to say, considering…”
I didn’t insist he use my legal name. Nobody had used that nickname in a long time, and I liked the way it sounded on his lips. At least I did now that I wasn’t angry with him. He was right about the timing though. “There’ll need to be a funeral. My mother…”
Nash shook his head. “It’ll take time for the police to release his body. But I’ll take care of it. You don’t need to see her.”
I nodded, knowing he would. Nash had never gone back on his word. And instinctively, I knew that some things didn’t change. He walked backward down the street for a few steps, watching me, until the darkness closed in around him and his footsteps drifted away.
It was only as I was halfway up the stairs to Caleb’s bedroom that I realized I was still wearing Nash’s shirt. Without thinking about it, I pulled it across my nose, inhaling his scent one last time.
The overhead light flickered on, and a rumpled Caleb stood at the top of the stairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
I dropped the shirt, but not quick enough.
Caleb’s gaze narrowed in on the movement, his shrewd eyes taking in the unfamiliar piece of clothing. “What are you wearing? And where the hell have you been all night?’
He needed to know. “My brother…”
Caleb squinted. “Everett?”
“I have another brother. An older one.”
Caleb bit out a harsh laugh. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that? You come tramping in here in the middle of the night, reeking of another man, wearing his clothes, and you expect me to believe he’s your brother?”
He moved slowly down the stairs, but I almost wished he’d run. There was a sinister air to his movements. They were almost snake-like, stalking me, ready to strike.
I didn’t dare back away from him.
He stopped in front of me and gripped the shirt, yanking it from my shoulder. “Get it off.”
His closeness forced me back. “I am. I’m on my way to the bathroom to take a shower right now. You can go back to bed. I’ll be in soon.”
He moved in again. “Take it off now. You fucking reek of him.”
I opened my mouth to explain again, but the back of his hand cracked across my face.
My head whipped to the side as the stinging pain speared through my cheek, and tears filled my eyes. I cupped my hand over the place he’d hit me and stared up at him, too shocked to speak.
There was no remorse in his eyes. He grabbed Nash’s shirt again, yanking it so hard the seams protested with a ripping sound. “Take it off.”
This time I listened. I peeled off the shirt with trembling fingers.
“And the rest.”
I blinked, and a tear spilled over and down my aching cheek. “We’re standing on the stairs. Just let me go to the bathroom.”
He twisted the front of my strapless dress, pulling down the front, exposing my breasts. “Take that dirty slut dress off. I’m not having anything in this house that’s touched another man.”
“I didn’t!”
The tears rolled across my skin in a stream while he continued to rip at my clothes. I cried out when he stripped my beautiful dress away, leaving it a sad, crumpled mess at our feet. Alcohol tainted his breath. He was still drunk.
Fear coursed through my veins, but at the same time, I knew he was right.
I’d known I shouldn’t have been wearing Nash’s clothes. I’d let him put his arms around me and comfort me, when it wasn’t his place to do so.
Caleb was right. I had acted like a slut. There was no excuse for it when I was supposed to be his.
It was in my genes, after all. How many times had I heard Jerry call my mother slut and whore? How many times had I seen him throw his fist into her face?
This was what happened when you acted inappropriately.