Saved by My Stepbrothers: Family Confessions by Angel Lawson & AK Rose

Author:Angel Lawson & AK Rose [Lawson, Angel & Rose, AK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-27T00:00:00+00:00

11

Kate

* * *

I fell asleep with the heat of Paul and Jack’s bodies pressed against me. Now, with the early morning light peeking in the bedroom window, I realize I’m alone.

And I smell bacon.

My clothes from the night before are in a wrinkled, wadded-up ball on the floor, so I open the top drawer of Paul’s dresser. Inside, I find a soft, worn, T-shirt with the faded words Wilmington High across the chest, a baseball logo nestled underneath. It’s big and hangs to mid-thigh, which is good because, after a thorough search, I can’t find my panties.

“Okay,” I say, turning the corner to the massive kitchen and spotting Paul’s broad shoulders bent over the stove, “what the hell did you do with my panties?” He turns and— “Oh fuck. Oh my God.”

Blue eyes look back at me, similar to, but not Paul’s. Derek appears frozen as he takes in my appearance. The threadbare shirt, my bare legs, the admission I’m naked underneath.

“Good morning, Katherine,” he says, easily regaining his composure. “Paul is in a meeting with a patient and Jack left a few hours ago. They both said to let you sleep.”

“Oh.” My cheeks burn from complete humiliation, but Derek continues on with his task as if nothing absolutely horrifying hasn’t just happened.

Which is further compounded as he holds up the frying pan and asks, “I was just making breakfast, would you like some?”

“Sure, um,” I tug at the hem of the shirt, “maybe I should...”

Go change? Drown myself? Sneak out the window?

“Sit,” he says, voice firm. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

For some reason, I follow his command, taking a seat at the long wooden plank table, and pressing my inner thighs together. He fills the plate with strips of still-sizzling bacon and a pile of eggs.

“Toast or biscuit?” he asks, opening the oven door and revealing a tray. The biscuits are a warm brown on the top and my mouth waters.

“Are those homemade?”

“From scratch,” he says with a smile. “My mother’s recipe.”

He drops two on the plate and brings it over, sliding it in front of me. The smell is amazing. Comforting. It’s been a long time since someone fixed me breakfast.

He’s not done, bringing me a steaming cup of coffee and a small pitcher of cream along with butter and jam. He fills his own plate and sits on the opposite end of the long table, and I busy myself with my meal. Behind the table is a wide window that overlooks the grounds.

“Your property is beautiful,” I tell him, trying not to scald my tongue on the coffee.

“It’s a bit large, especially now that Paul has his own home, but I can’t bear to part with it.” He butters his biscuit. “It was nice to see his car in the driveway last night—to hear your voices in the house.”

He takes a bite of his breakfast and I do the same, letting the butter coat my tongue. Derek rests his forearms on the table and asks, “How is the search for Olivia’s killer going?”

“Slow moving,” I admit.

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