Emrys Harrow was my crush first-then he became my stepdad. Tragic, right?
Dreaming about screwing my mother's man? Yeah, that's a whole new level of messed up.
But this isn't a story about regret. It's about how I seduced my stepdad, made him cheat...
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(EMRYS'S POV)
I don’t remember the last time I woke up sober.
I don’t remember much at all anymore—except for her.
Kezara Moone. My Kiki.
Her name is carved into my bones, her absence a gaping wound I can’t stitch shut.
The whiskey burns its way down my throat, but it doesn’t burn away the ache. Nothing does. The pain lingers, whispering her name in the spaces between my breaths.
I tip my glass back again.
Another drink. Another night. Another miserable attempt at forgetting the only person I can’t.
The bartender doesn’t ask anymore. He just refills my glass, watches me with the quiet judgment of someone who’s seen men fall apart before.
But no one’s ever fallen apart like this.
Like me.
Like a man who had it all and lost the only thing that mattered.
I’m barely aware of the heavy footsteps behind me before a hand fists the collar of my shirt and yanks me up.
The club spins. My head pounds.
And then I hear his voice.
“Enough.”
Jackson.
Of course.
The only person stubborn enough to keep pulling me out of my grave.
I let out a rough laugh, tipping my head back. “You again,” I slur. “You gonna take me home, Jackie? Tuck me in? Read me a bedtime story?”
Jackson doesn’t humor me. Doesn’t indulge my drunken bullshit. His grip tightens, and without another word, he hauls me out of the club.
The night air slams into me like a freight train.
I stumble, blinking against the harsh city lights.
“Let go,” I mutter, but Jackson doesn’t. He drags me to his car, shoves me inside, and slams the door.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
And then—
“Why do you love her?”
It’s so unexpected, so out of place, that I actually turn my head to look at him.
Jackson’s hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His voice is calm, but there’s something sharp beneath it.
He’s never asked before. Never pried.
I let out a breathy laugh, rubbing a hand over my face.
“There’s no reason to love someone,” I murmur. “You just do.”
