Why the hell isn’t my suitcase packed?

After I left my uncle stunned stupid in the bathroom earlier, I dressed and made my bed, leaving my empty luggage abandoned on the floor, but even if the episode with Kaleb last night had never happened, I’m not sure I would’ve gone through with packing it then, either.

I lay the ladle in the bowl and pick up the spatula, flipping the pancakes and making the batter splatter.

Maybe that’s why I always came home on school breaks. Too desperate not to be alone.

I whip around to grab the plate and see Kaleb.

I stop. He leans against the refrigerator, staring at me, and my heart jumps as I clench my thighs. How long has he been standing there?

His green eyes watch me, the same curious expression he wore last night, and I can’t even hear the branches outside blowing against the house because my pulse pounds in my ears.

What is he staring at?

Locking my jaw, I grab the plate off the island and spin back around, scooping the pancakes onto the plate. He’s still dressed in jeans, but these ones are clean, and he looks showered, although his hair is disheveled like he just got up. I guess Jake doesn’t hold him to the same standard he holds Noah and me with his five-thirty wake-up calls?

His eyes burn my back, but after a moment, I hear the fridge open and close and then feel him approach my side. Is he going to apologize? What if I hadn’t been a step-cousin? What if I’d actually been blood when he decided to ignore my protests last night?

Slowly, I clear the griddle and dole out four more scoops of batter as he pours himself a glass of juice, but even though my eyes are on my task, all I can see is him next to me. He smells…

Like leather. Like musky bodywash. He must’ve just showered then. Last night it was…rain, trees, firewood, and sweat. He smelled like the woods. Heat pools between my legs at the memory.

I shake my head. For Christ’s sake.

“Leave the juice out,” I tell him.

But he doesn’t listen.

He turns around as if he didn’t hear me and takes the juice, sticking it back into the refrigerator.

“You like blueberry?” I ask. “Buttermilk?”

I don’t give a damn what he likes. I just want him to make me go upstairs and pack my suitcase.

“Chocolate chip?” I keep going, pushing us both. “Pumpkin? Whole grain?”

He picks up his glass of orange juice and strolls over to the table, gulping it as he goes on like I don’t exist.

I tighten my fist around the spatula as I flip the pancakes, breathing hard through my nose.

“How many would you like?” I drone on. “Three? Four?”

I glance over to see if he’s nodding or shaking his head or holding up fingers to tell me how many he wants, but he just sets his glass down on the table and pulls out a chair.

I pull out the plug of the griddle and add the fresh pancakes to the pile on the plate, grabbing the syrup and forks. The front door swings open and the floor creaks with footsteps as Jake and Noah come barreling in. How do they know when breakfast is ready?

I carry the pancakes to the table, setting the plate down in the middle as Noah grabs a glass of milk and Jake washes his hands. Both immediately over to the table.

Steam from blueberry pancakes wafts into the air as the guys sit down, and I twist around to pick up the plates off the island, my anger still rising.

I set a plate down in front of Jake, one down in front of Noah, and the last down in front of me, feeling Kaleb’s eyes on me, because I didn’t give him one.

I don’t cook for you.

Noah and Jake must realize something is happening because they stop moving. I glance up, seeing their eyes move between Kaleb and me, and I know Noah can guess the tension between us, but I don’t know if Jake knows yet. Noah probably didn’t talk about last night for fear of getting his brother in trouble.

Without blinking, though, Kaleb picks up the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table, doles out three to Jake, three to Noah, and then pauses only a moment, holding my eyes, before dropping the plate back onto the table, right in front of himself and taking the rest of the pancakes. Picking up the syrup, he pours it on his stack without leaving any for me.

Prick.

Noah clears his throat, but I can hear the laugh, while Jake sighs, taking his plate and setting it down in front of me. Reaching over to the island, he takes another one and uses his fork to pick a couple of pancakes off Kaleb’s over-loaded plate.

“You both met already, I see,” Jake grumbles.

But no one responds as the boys start eating.

“This looks good, Tiernan,” Jake says, trying to ease the tension. “Blueberry pancakes are the only thing your father and I—”

“I don’t care,” I spit out and push the plate away.

Everyone quiets, and I stand up and grab an apple from the fruit basket. Taking a bite, I walk over to fill up my water bottle from the refrigerator.

I know I’m being rude, and I’m sorry for it.

Maybe I’ll take a hike. Stretch my legs, give them some space.

The kitchen is quiet for a few more moments, but I hear Noah speak up.

“I’m finishing the Lawrence bike today,” he tells his father, I’d assume. “The guys are coming. I’m gonna take it out to Ransom’s Run. Test it out.”

“Don’t take all day,” Jake tells him, his tone a bite now. “We have more work to do.”

His patience from a moment ago is gone, and I know I pissed him off.

I look over and see him turn to Kaleb next as he stabs his plate with his fork. “And don’t you disappear, either,” he orders his oldest.

All the men fall silent, hurrying through their breakfast, and the tension in the room now thicker than mud.

I twist the lid back on and prepare to leave the dishes for them, but when I turn around to go, I catch Kaleb staring at me again. Except his eyes are on my legs.

I wear ripped jean shorts, not too short, and a flannel buttoned up to my neck.

I drift my gaze around the table, noticing I have more clothes on than any of them. Jake and Kaleb aren’t wearing any shirts, and Noah’s tee has the sides cut out, giving glimpses of the smooth, tan chest underneath.

Kaleb’s black hair against his sun-kissed face.

Jake’s toned shoulders and narrow waist.

The veins in Noah’s forearms and…

I straighten, swallow, and turn around, quickly leaving the room.

I need to get out of here.

I hit the gas and pull the truck up the driveway until I reach the top of the incline, feeling the gravel kick up under me. Turning off the engine, I take the work gloves off the passenger-side seat and hop out of the truck, heading for the bed as I pull them on.

“You find your way okay?” Jake approaches, dropping the tailgate for me.

I nod.

“The guys were helpful?”

“Yes.”

We both hop up into the bed to start unloading the hay.

After breakfast, he’d asked me to take the truck to town to pick up some bales of hay, and I happily agreed once I learned I could go on my own. Some air. Some space. It was just as good as a hike, and hey, I got to go to my first Tack & Feed store. Thankfully, it sported no racks with tabloids for sale, so I was able to avoid news from home.

Music and laughter come from the garage, and I look over, seeing a group of motorbikes parked off to the side. Must be the friends Noah was talking about when he said he was taking the bike out today.