Chapter 2: Wrong Beds, Raw Truths

But actually, he’s my stepbrother.

I’d never said it out loud, but the word tasted strange in my mouth. We weren’t blood, but the label was enough to keep people guessing.

He’s always hated me.

From the moment my mom married his dad, Mason had been cold, distant. I tried to win him over, but he built walls I couldn’t climb.

Ever since I moved in at twelve, it’s been a cold war.

We barely spoke, except to argue. I tiptoed around him, afraid to set him off. The house felt like a battlefield, and I was always on the losing side.

Truth is, I was scared of Mason—he’d use his big brother status to boss me around.

He’d bark orders, glare at me from across the dinner table, make me feel small. I hated how much power he had over me, but I couldn’t help wanting his approval.

He filled the room—I always fell in line.

Even when I tried to stand up to him, I always backed down. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel exposed, like he could see right through me.

But tonight, liquid courage took over.

The alcohol made me bold, reckless. For once, I didn’t care what Mason thought—I just wanted to have fun.

I blurted out, "Yeah, that night you…"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide with panic.

Mason suddenly covered my mouth.

His hand was warm, his grip gentle but firm. He shot me a warning look, shaking his head slightly. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"Shit, what did I say?!"

I whispered the words, barely audible over the music. My mind raced, trying to piece together the missing memories.

Everything. You spilled the whole thing about you two—yeah, you said it all.

Jess was unbothered.

She shrugged, unfazed by the drama. "Nothing happened!"

She rolled her eyes, like it was no big deal. I envied her calm—my nerves were shot.

"So, how’d I get home?"

I racked my brain, but the night was a blur. I looked at Jess, hoping she had the answers.

He saw you were wasted and just picked you up—carried you home like you weighed nothing.

She grinned, miming Mason scooping me up. I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

He had the darkest look—yikes.

She shook her head, laughing. "He looked like he wanted to murder someone."

I held my head, helpless.

The embarrassment was overwhelming. I wished I could disappear, or at least turn back time.

Just end the world already.

I flopped back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, the internet would forget about me.

Then my phone buzzed.

The vibration was sharp, insistent. I glanced at the screen, dread pooling in my stomach.

It was Mason. I jumped.

His name lit up my phone, and my heart skipped a beat. I hesitated, fingers trembling, before finally opening the message.

"Come home Sunday."

Crap.

My stomach dropped. I knew that tone—no nonsense, no room for argument. I was in trouble.

He might hate me, but as his so-called sister, he had to look out for me.

No matter how cold he was, Mason always made sure I was safe. It was infuriating and comforting, all at once.

On Sunday, I went home, nerves shot.

The house felt different, quieter. I tiptoed inside, heart pounding, half-expecting Mason to jump out and yell at me.

Only Mason was there.

The silence was heavy, oppressive. I crept up the stairs, shoes in hand, trying not to make a sound.

I hid in my room, listening for any movement.

Every creak of the floorboards made me jump. I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear anything from the hallway.

But he didn’t do anything.

No yelling, no lectures—just silence. It was almost worse than a fight.

Sometimes, silence is worse than yelling.

I paced my room, nerves stretched thin. The waiting was torture. I kept checking my phone, hoping for a distraction.

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, I found Mason in my bed.

I woke up to the sound of steady breathing, the weight of another body beside me. My heart leapt into my throat as I realized who it was.

We were lying side by side.

The room was dark, moonlight filtering through the curtains. Mason’s face was inches from mine, his expression soft in sleep.

I screamed and kicked him off.

He hit the floor with a thud, cursing under his breath. I scrambled back, clutching the covers to my chest.

"Ow, Harper, what the hell?!"

His voice was rough, still thick with sleep. He rubbed his side, glaring up at me.

My voice shook. "Why are you in my room?!"

I tried to sound angry, but it came out more like a squeak. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Look closer. This is my room."

He pointed at the posters on the wall—definitely not mine. I glanced around, realizing he was right. My face turned even redder. Heat flushed up my neck and I wanted to melt into the mattress.

I sniffed—yeah, not my blanket.

The scent was all wrong—cologne and laundry detergent, not my usual lavender. I groaned, mortified.

Seeing my mortification, Mason laughed. "I think I heard you mumbling in your sleep—something about wanting to bury me. Bury what? Bury me?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. I threw a pillow at him, missing by a mile.

My face turned bright red. I could feel my whole face burning, ears and all. Why did this always happen to me? The embarrassment was next-level.

"What bury?" I mumbled.

My voice was muffled by the blanket, but Mason just laughed harder. He flopped back onto the bed, arms behind his head.

Up in the middle of the night… huh, where’d Harper go?

He sat up, looking around theatrically. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling.

Crap, is my mom in my room?

I froze, listening for footsteps in the hallway. Panic rose in my chest—if she found us together, I’d never hear the end of it.

"Harper’s not here?" It was Uncle Mark. "Let’s see if Mason’s here—where’d they both go at this hour?"

His voice was muffled by the door, but I could hear the confusion. I held my breath, heart racing.

Footsteps came closer. I held my breath.

Every creak of the floorboards made my pulse race. I glanced at Mason, eyes wide with panic.

Mason quickly yanked me into the closet, then squeezed in after me.

He pulled me close, shutting the door behind us. The closet was cramped, filled with the scent of his cologne and clean laundry. I could barely move, pressed against his chest.

…

It was so cramped I was basically pressed into his arms. His breath was warm on my cheek, and the scent of his laundry soap was everywhere. My heart was doing cartwheels. I tried to focus on anything except the way his arms felt around me.

Maybe I was imagining it, but his ears looked a little red.

In the dim light, I could just make out the flush creeping up his neck. I bit back a smile, feeling strangely giddy.

"This is all your fault—calling me home on Sunday and not even saying why."

I whispered the accusation, trying to keep my voice low. Mason just shrugged, looking sheepish.

Mason looked confused. "Dad just wanted us home for dinner. He’s too shy to say it. What did you think I was gonna do?"

He sounded genuinely puzzled, like he couldn’t believe I’d been worried. I rolled my eyes, but a weight lifted off my shoulders.

"Huh? Not because of that night at the bar…"

I trailed off, the memory surfacing. My cheeks burned as I remembered what I’d said—and done.

I trailed off, suddenly remembering something deeper.

There was more to that night than just embarrassment. I felt a knot form in my stomach, dread creeping in.

I’d bragged about trying it, and Mason had clapped his hand over my mouth.

The memory was fuzzy, but I remembered the warmth of his hand, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.

His ears flushed. "Don’t talk nonsense. I didn’t do anything that night."

He looked away, avoiding my gaze. I could tell he was hiding something, but I didn’t push.

That night?

The words echoed in my mind. Which night was he talking about?

Which night?

My heart pounded as I tried to piece it together. There were so many nights—so many almosts.

"You… what did you do that night?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

Mason clearly knew what I meant.

His eyes darted away, his jaw tense. I could see the struggle on his face.

"I…" He looked away, stammering, "I… I…"

His voice was barely a whisper. I reached out, touching his arm, hoping to reassure him.

"Mason! Mason, where are you?!"

Uncle Mark’s voice boomed through the house, breaking the moment. Mason jumped, eyes wide with panic.

Uncle Mark barged in.

The door flew open, and Mason lost his balance, tumbling on top of me. I squeaked, trying to push him off, but there wasn’t enough room.

Mason panicked and fell right on top of me.

He braced himself with one hand against the wall, my face buried in his chest. I could feel his heart pounding, matching my own.

His scent—clean and unique—filled my nose. I tried not to think about how good he smelled, or how close we were.

I closed my eyes, breathing him in. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

"Weird, Mason’s not home either?"

Uncle Mark’s voice startled me. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my pounding heart.

I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t open the closet door. Mason’s hand tightened on my arm, grounding me.

"Harper never lets anyone rest—out in the middle of the night. If she doesn’t want to be here, she should just go back to school."

My mom was grumbling.

Her voice was muffled, but I could hear the frustration. I felt a pang of guilt, but also a stubborn defiance.

"Mason’s not here either. What could those two be doing?"

My cheeks burned, imagining what they must think. I glanced at Mason, who just rolled his eyes.

"I’m going out to look."

The footsteps faded, and I let out a sigh of relief. Mason loosened his grip, but didn’t let go entirely.

"You didn’t have to hide too," I whispered, shifting in the cramped space.

I tried to move, but there was nowhere to go. Mason’s breath was warm against my cheek.

"Didn’t have time to think."

He shrugged, looking sheepish. I couldn’t help but smile.

Mason helped me stand. "Stop squirming."

He steadied me as I tried to regain my balance. The closet was still dark, but his presence made me feel safe.

When the voices faded, Mason pulled me out.

He opened the door just enough for us to slip out. The hallway was empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Get out, quick." His ears were still a little red as he pushed me out, then slammed the door shut behind me.

I stumbled into the hallway, heart racing. Mason’s face was flushed, but he tried to play it cool.

"Mason, what’s your problem?"

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. He just shrugged, avoiding my gaze.

He didn’t answer—just locked the door. The click echoed in the hallway. Seriously? I stared at the door, annoyance and something else—something twisty in my chest.

He’d thrown me out and left me to take the blame.

Typical Mason—always finding a way to come out on top. I clenched my fists, determined not to cry.

"Harper! Is that you?" My mom stormed over. "Do you know what time it is? Where were you? Tell me the truth."

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. I braced myself for the inevitable lecture.

"If you don’t want to be here, why come home at all?!"

The words stung, sharper than I expected. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but nothing came out.

One sentence shut down all my excuses.

I felt small, powerless. I glanced at Mason’s door, hoping for backup, but he stayed silent.

I looked at Mason’s door. Inside, I could faintly hear water running.

He acted like nothing happened, calm as ever.

Mason—still the same as always.

I envied his ability to brush things off, to stay cool under pressure. I wished I could be more like him.

When my mom first married into this family, she was gentle with Uncle Mark, warm to Mason.

She tried to make everyone feel at home, but the lines were always drawn—me on one side, Mason on the other.

Uncle Mark was polite to me, Mason was cold.

He never raised his voice, but he never reached out, either. I felt like a guest in my own house.

They were more like a family—I was the outsider.

I watched them at dinner, laughing and joking. I smiled, but it never quite reached my eyes.

Feeling out of place, I started going home later and later.

I’d find excuses to stay at school—study sessions, club meetings, anything to avoid the awkward silence at home.

One day, my mom asked where I’d been.

She was sitting there, worry lines all over her face. I felt guilty, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth.

I told the truth: I’d been studying on campus.

She nodded, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. I hated lying, but I hated the disappointment even more.

But Mason, lounging on the sofa, legs crossed, playing games, muttered, "Pretty sure I saw my sister at the coffee shop today."

He didn’t even look up from his phone, but his words hit their mark. My mom’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring.

He feigned surprise. "Sis, that wasn’t you, right? You’re too good for places like that."

His tone was mocking, but there was a hint of something else—maybe concern, maybe jealousy. I couldn’t tell.

My mom’s face changed instantly.

She stood up, arms crossed, waiting for my explanation. I felt my stomach drop.

I had gone to the coffee shop. Ran into Mason almost every day. He stayed even later than me.

We’d pass each other in the doorway, neither of us willing to break the silence. It was a strange kind of truce.

And he’d never snitched before.

This was new. I wondered what had changed—why he’d decided to call me out now.

"No! That wasn’t me!"

I blurted it out, but even I didn’t believe it. My mom’s eyes narrowed further.

I was a terrible liar—I got caught instantly.

She saw right through me, her disappointment clear. I felt like I’d let her down again.

"Why lie? Look at your grades slipping. I worked so hard to raise you, and this is how you repay me? You’re so young, going to places like that alone."

Her voice trembled, a mix of anger and fear. I wanted to explain, but the words stuck in my throat.

Afraid of adults, I silently cried.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. I hated feeling so powerless, so small.

I hated how Mason stayed aloof, above it all.

He lounged on the sofa, pretending not to care. But I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened on his phone.

He was better than me, smarter, top grades. The more ordinary I was, the more I hated embarrassing myself in front of him.

I compared myself to him constantly, always coming up short. It was exhausting, but I couldn’t stop.

My mom got more and more worked up, finally shouting, "Harper! If you don’t want to be here, just get out!"

The words hit me like a slap. I froze, unable to move or speak.

My heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, I thought she really meant it. I looked at Mason, hoping for support, but he just stared back, expression unreadable.

I really was an outsider.

The realization hurt more than I expected. I grabbed my keys, ready to run.

My mom never lost her temper with Uncle Mark or Mason—just me. Why is it always me? I stared at the floor, wondering if I’d ever really belong here.

Keys in hand, I was about to leave when Mason suddenly tossed his phone aside.

He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. The movement was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

Enough already.

His voice cut through the tension, commanding attention. My mom fell silent, surprised by his tone.

He cracked his neck. "Dad brought both of us into this house—if one of us leaves, we both do."

He looked at me, then at my mom, daring her to argue. I stared at him, shocked by his sudden loyalty.

My mom was speechless. "Mason, I’m your elder."

She tried to reassert her authority, but Mason didn’t budge. He just shrugged, unbothered.

He ignored her, staring at my keys. "If you don’t want them, give them to me."

He held out his hand, palm up. I hesitated, unsure what to do.

Mason could be so mean—he really would kick me out.

I knew he wasn’t bluffing. I clutched my keys tighter, heart pounding.

He reached for my keys, and I bolted to my room.

I slammed the door, pressing my back against it. My hands shook, adrenaline surging through my veins.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Mason get chewed out by Uncle Mark for talking back to my mom.

Their voices were muffled, but I could hear the anger in Uncle Mark’s tone. Mason just shrugged, unfazed.

Mason didn’t care. When he noticed me watching, he even raised an eyebrow and flashed a wicked grin.

He winked, as if to say, "See? I’ve got your back." I couldn’t help but smile, despite everything.

Something odd stirred in my heart. He’d tattled and got me yelled at, but then took the heat himself. Was this his idea of fun?

I wondered if he enjoyed the chaos, or if he was just trying to protect me in his own twisted way.

After that, I was watched closely at home—couldn’t act out anymore.

My mom kept a closer eye on me, checking my grades, my curfew, everything. It was suffocating, but at least I wasn’t alone.

"Well? Where were you?" My mom’s familiar voice snapped me back to reality.

Her tone was sharp, but I could hear the worry beneath it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for another round.

"Mom, I’m an adult now." I braced for the storm.

I tried to sound confident, but my voice wavered. I met her gaze, refusing to back down.

"Do you know—"

She started, but Mason cut her off, stepping into the hallway.

"Lisa, she and I just went out for something. We’re back now."

He spoke calmly, his voice steady. My mom hesitated, thrown off by his intervention.

Mason suddenly appeared, water still dripping from his face. "It was hot, I went to wash up."

His hair was damp, beads of water clinging to his skin. He looked relaxed, like nothing had happened.

I froze.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe he was covering for me. My heart swelled with gratitude.

Mason—when did he start covering for me?

It was new, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I glanced at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke.

My mom actually calmed down.

She sighed, the tension draining from her shoulders. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

"They probably had something important. Kids are grown now, we can’t control them forever. It’s late, go rest." Uncle Mark tried to smooth things over.

His voice was gentle, reassuring. I smiled, grateful for the reprieve.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I never thought, after all these years, it would resolve so easily.

I never thought, after all these years, the same problem would be resolved so easily.

It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. Maybe things were finally changing.

"Why’d you come out? Weren’t you washing your face?" I teased.

I nudged him, trying to lighten the mood. He rolled his eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile.

"You looked too pitiful. Didn’t want to hear you cry."

He shrugged, playing it cool. But I could see the softness in his eyes.

I cheered inside, but kept up the sarcasm. "You’re all talk."

I stuck out my tongue, grinning. Mason just shook his head, pretending not to care.

"Betrayal’s only fun the first time. After that, it’s just boring."

He said it with a smirk, but there was a hint of regret in his voice. I wondered if he meant it.

Mason turned off the living room lights, his faint smile disappearing into the dark.

The house was quiet, the only sound the hum of the fridge. I watched him disappear down the hallway, my heart aching with something I couldn’t name.

Still such a jerk.

I muttered under my breath, but I couldn’t help smiling. Mason was impossible, but he was mine.

"By the way, how’d you end up in your room? And what did you do that night?"

I couldn’t help asking, curiosity getting the better of me. Mason just shrugged, avoiding my gaze.

"You sleepwalked. You’ve done it before—I even drew a ghost face on you and took a picture."

He grinned, pulling out his phone. I groaned, covering my face. Embarrassment was becoming a habit.

That’s it?

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I let it go. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

I’m not sure I buy it.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. I made a mental note to ask him again, someday.