Worse Than Enemies

“I’m sorry—” I start, but I don’t have a chance to say the rest before he spins on his heel and shoves me up against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

“I told you. Don’t fucking touch me,” he mutters through clenched teeth as he pins me to the wall with his body. “I might have to play nice with your mother, but that doesn’t change anything. Got it?”

“I only wanted to apologize for her. I know she is—”

“Nobody asked you to apologize.”

“But she’s impossible, and I am sorry. Whether or not you want to hear it.”

“I can handle my own shit. Why don’t you get a fucking life and stay out of mine?” He presses himself against me so tight that I can hardly breathe. When I try to suck in air, he only sneers in disgust. How can someone so handsome make their face look so ugly when they want to?

“I kind of don’t have a choice anymore,” I remind him in a choked whisper. “If we have to live together, why not at least try to be friends?”

He bares his teeth in a snarl that makes my blood run cold. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to be your fucking friend. I don’t need shit from you, and I don’t want your pathetic apologies. Just leave me the fuck alone, or else you will regret it.”

“I don’t want to be your enemy.”

“Too fucking bad. We don’t always get to choose these things.”

It’s so frustrating that I could cry. He’s determined not to hear me. “But if we have to live together, can’t we at least try to get along? I did not know until I saw you come through the door that I would even have a stepbrother. I’m sorry if you were surprised, too.”

He takes me by the throat like he did at school, looking down the hall to make sure nobody can see before leaning in close. “There you go again, making apologies that aren’t yours to make. I’m fine. I don’t need your fucking protection, and I don’t want your fucking apologies. Leave me alone. The only way we’ll get along is if you stay the fuck out of my life. Got it?”

“But how can I do that if we have to live here together?”

“It’s a big house,” he points out with a snicker. “Just stay out of my way. Or else you’ll see what happens when I stop playing nice.”

I can’t help it. “This is you playing nice?”

His eyelids flutter like the question knocked him off balance, but he recovers quickly. “Believe me. You don’t want to find out the hard way just how nice I’m being right now. I will destroy your fucking world unless you stay out of my way.” He lets go of my throat but gives me another shove before stomping up the stairs.

I know better than to follow him. Instead, I sit down and put my head in my hands. I thought it was bad enough when all I had to deal with was seeing Hayes at school, but now our parents want us to play happy family. He can tell himself all he wants that we can avoid each other, but I know it’s not going to be easy, not with Mom so desperate to keep her new man happy.

Besides, even with him acting the way he is, I can’t help but want to get through to him. He’s hurting, it’s obvious, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And I’ve never been good at ignoring somebody when they’re hurt—maybe because I know what it feels like to have my pain ignored.

I will destroy your fucking world unless you stay out of my way. I don’t even want to know what that means. What I do know is our parents won’t stop trying to get us to act like a family, no matter what Hayes wants.

How am I supposed to get through this without everything blowing up in my face?

9

I don’t notice how much my concentration has strayed until Lucy snuggles against me on the oversized, deep sofa in what Mr. Ambrose refers to as the media room. The latest animated movie is playing on the big screen. I didn’t even know it was available to watch at home yet. Maybe for rich people, it doesn’t matter.

I stroke her hair absentmindedly. Bridget is seated at the other end of the sofa, reading a book. I don’t blame her. She’s supposed to keep an eye on Lucy. That doesn’t mean she has to enjoy watching Pixar movies. She seems nice enough, maybe in her mid-thirties, with the motherly vibe a four-year-old needs. She’s also kind of plain-looking, a little overweight, and she wears baggy, shapeless clothes. I doubt Mom would ever admit it, but something tells me she wanted a woman less attractive than her.