Page 4 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

ADAM

C losing the door of my rental car, I take in the huge, two-story house before me.

After my nose finally stopped bleeding, I cleaned myself up and went to find my mum. She didn’t suspect anything. Easton didn’t hit me hard enough to leave a mark. Just hard enough to get his point across: fuck you.

She asked where Easton went, and I told her he wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to check on him. She seemed concerned, but she didn’t push for more. She let me go and told me to have him call her when he could.

Two years ago, my mum told me Easton moved out of the apartment we were supposed to move into together and moved in with his girlfriend .

It hurt more than I thought it would, the thought that he was finally giving up on me, on us , but I couldn’t tell her that.

Not without telling her why it hurt me so much.

When he and his girlfriend broke up last year and he moved into this house with his teammates, I was relieved, then pissed at myself for being so.

Who the fuck was I to revel in his pain?

I’m the one who deserves to be in pain. Not him.

Never him. He deserves to be happy. I wanted him to be happy. Just not with anyone else…

Self-loathing and shame make my throat feel tight as I raise my fist to knock on his front door. A few moments later, the girl Easton was with tonight opens it.

“You.”

“Me,” the girl says, folding her arms across her chest and popping her hip out, blocking the doorway, as she stares at me.

She’s changed out of the deep purple dress she was wearing at the party and into a tiny pair of pajama shorts and a Nirvana T-shirt.

Again, I notice how beautiful she is, and it infuriates me.

She continues to stare at me, and I sigh. “Is he here?”

She doesn’t answer, sizing me up as if she’s trying to determine whether I’m a threat or not.

“Frankie,” a male voice calls from inside. “Who is it?”

“Easton’s stepbrother,” Frankie replies, not taking her eyes off me as the guy joins her.

Wearing low-riding sweats and no shirt, his abs on full display, his dark blond hair wet with sweat, and a towel draped around his neck, Carter Westwood cocks his head at me. “You’re Easton’s stepbrother?”

I nod. He nods. Then his hand clutches my jacket, and he slams me back against the doorframe, his forearm against my throat. Just as he’s about to hit me, a voice I’d recognize anywhere says, “Carter,” and he freezes. He doesn’t punch me, but he doesn’t let me go either, his face inches from mine.

Stunned, I turn my head and look into the house, finding Easton standing with his back against the wall in the entryway.

He’s still wearing his tuxedo, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture much like it was in the bathroom tonight before he punched me.

He’s even got the same knowing little smile on his lips.

“Take your hands off him,” he says, licking his top lip when Carter doesn’t move right away. “Now, Carter.”

Carter’s nostrils flare. After a couple beats, he removes his arm from my throat and takes a single step back, still in my space.

Easton and I don’t look away from each other.

It’s buried beneath the smile, but I see something simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s angry. Angry that Carter was touching me? Is he territorial over me…or him ?

Easton catches the question in my expression, and it makes his smile grow. Bastard .

A light laugh leaves me as I tip my head back against the doorframe, my eyes never leaving his. “God, I missed you.”

His brows jump slightly, and I snap my mouth shut.

Movement on the stairs gets our attention, and we all look that way as two more guys walk into the entryway.

One of them is a lot taller and bigger than the other.

Nate Grayson, the captain of the Hawthorne Hawks.

The smaller guy with the lip ring isn’t on the team.

Judging by the way Nate’s trailing behind him with their hands linked, his mouth on his neck, I’m guessing he’s Nate’s boyfriend.

The boyfriend stops when he sees me standing in the doorway with Carter and Frankie, his eyebrows pinching as he moves his gaze over the four of us. “What’s going on?”

Everyone stares at me, and I find myself staring at the several hickeys decorating the boyfriend’s neck. Fresh.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nate bites out, his arm wrapping around his boy from behind, his forearm across his chest as he pulls him back.

Nate’s shirtless. His boyfriend’s wearing it—and nothing else. The hem skims mid-thigh, just enough to cover him. So, just about everyone in this house walks around half naked. Great.

I look at Easton again, trying to read him, trying to figure out if he’s in a relationship with Carter or Frankie or both—hopefully neither—but he’s giving nothing away. The fucker’s enjoying making me sweat.

He hasn’t spoken to me directly in years, and the first time he does, he chooses the words, “Brother, meet my new family.”

I flinch. He might as well have taken a knife and stabbed it into my heart.

I deserve it . I deserve everything he throws at me.

“Carter, Frankie, Nate, and Xavi,” he finishes, nodding at the boyfriend.

I already know who Nate and Carter are. I watched every single one of their games on my iPad, and I’m sure he knows it, but he doesn’t call me out in front of them.

“Brother?” Nate echoes.

“My stepbrother,” Easton explains. “Adam.”

Nate narrows his eyes.

“Did you tell them about me?” I blurt out.

Easton raises a brow at that. I shut my mouth again, silently cursing myself.

Carter knows something about us, but if the others don’t, I’m sure I just gave us away. There’s more to us than stepbrothers. A fuck of a lot more.

“Can we go somewhere else?” I ask, sighing when his only response is to cock his head at me. I know that look. He wants me to beg. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never been above doing anything he wants me to do. I could never say no to him.

Apart from the one time I did say no to him…

I blow out a breath. “Please, E. I just want to talk to you.”

Shrugging, he heads upstairs. Assuming I’m allowed to follow him, I do, not missing the four sets of eyes watching my every step. Like predators waiting to pounce if I make one wrong move.

“They seem nice,” I mumble once we’re out of earshot.

He doesn’t look back as he leads the way down the hall. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? How nice my friends are?”

No, I was just trying to break the ice and erase some of the tension between us, but it seems he’s not about to make this easy for me.

I aim a small smile at his back. That’s my guy.

“So, you all live here? Together?”

He nods, still giving me nothing.

He opens his bedroom door, and I look around his space as I walk inside. There’s that smell again, an intoxicating mix of him and me . I quickly scan every surface, searching for the source, but come up empty. Maybe he keeps it in the bathroom.

As if reading my mind, he walks into the en-suite bathroom, tipping his chin at me when I stop to wait near his bed. “Well? Come on,” he says.

I slowly step inside with him. He closes the door and locks it, the soft click echoing through the silence. He’s so close again. So close I can feel him, so close I could reach out and touch him if I?—

He slowly takes his jacket off before pulling at the knot of the black tie around his neck, all the while staring at mine.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Taking a shower,” he replies as he lets the tie fall to the floor.

“Easton…” I warn.

“What?” His mouth tics up as he works on his cuff links. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. We used to shower together. Don’t you remember?”

I close my eyes. Of course I fucking remember.

His fingers move with deliberate slowness, teasing each button open. The bastard wants a reaction—and fuck, he’s getting one. Heat prickles under my skin, my hands twitch, jaw tight as I wait for him to finally reveal?—

He peels his shirt open, and I stare at his chest, a breath puffing through my lips when I see the single word tattooed on his chest, right above his heart. The word that I wrote on him.

Sunshine .

“It’s still there.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He flicks his gaze to my chest, then back to my face. “Did you have yours covered?”

I shake my head.

He cocks his. “Show me.”

I shake mine again, taking a small step back when he takes two toward me. “Easton, stop.”

He stops, and I frown, unable to hide my disappointment in time. His knowing smirk makes my heart race. He was testing me.

“I missed you too, little brother,” he murmurs.

I take a breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You used to like it.”

Damn him.

He takes another step.

“Easton…” I try again, but we both know it’s futile, my pathetic attempt at playing the good guy, the responsible one of the two of us.

I don’t want him to stop. He could keep fucking coming, crawl his way into me, and burn me from the inside out, and I still wouldn’t want him to stop.

Less than a foot away, his hands finally, finally slide up my chest over my jacket. He unbuttons it, then wraps my tie around his fist and yanks me closer, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he runs the silky material between his fingers. He likes ties. Belts. Anything he can use to restrain me.

I stay rooted, hands twitching at my sides, eyes locked on his mouth as he works each button open. When he finds what he’s after, his shoulders ease. His fingertip drags over the letters carved into my chest—his words, his mark.

Sunshine…

“Do you remember the first time I let you fuck me?” he asks, and I cut my gaze back up to his.

He grabs my waist, yanks me into him so we’re chest to chest, skin to fucking skin, and whispers, “I called you little brother, and you moaned so loud I had to clamp my hand over your mouth before you woke our parents.”

Fuck. Fuck…