Never Have I Ever: Wanted my Brother’s Rival
: Chapter 9

“Do you have roommates?”

West carefully pulled into the driveway of a huge Queen Anne-style house. We were deep into the west side of town, right on the outskirts of the super rich area.

Even in the dark, the house was impressive with its three stories, a round tower with a conical roof on one side, and an ornate, wraparound porch.

“Nope.” He parked the car and turned it off.

I wanted to ask why he’d live in such a big house alone but stopped myself. West had grown up in a sprawling mansion on a hill. The house was famous in the area and had been empty since his family had moved away after West and his sister had left school. He’d told me it had nine bedrooms and twelve bathrooms, like it was perfectly normal for a family of four to live in a house the size of my apartment building.

A house like this would be a massive downgrade for him.

Bitterness rose in my chest. It wasn’t West’s fault his family had money, but the stark reminder that we came from different worlds didn’t help my mood.

It wasn’t like I could forget how different we were.

The drive over had taken twice as long as it should have. Thankfully not a lot of cars were on the road, but with no streetlights and the heavy rain, visibility had been shit, and West had been forced to drive slowly.

How had he gotten to the house so quickly after I’d called him? The storm had been worse then.

“Ready?” West grabbed my bag from the back seat.

I clutched my laptop bag against my chest and nodded.

We threw open the doors and raced to the house. West unlocked the door and led me into what looked like a foyer. With only the beam of his flashlight illuminating the room, I couldn’t see many details, but a large, ornate staircase lay ahead of us, and two small hallways led farther into the house on either side of the stairs.

“This way.”

I followed West into the room directly to our left. It was a living room of sorts. I could make out the shadowy shapes of furniture. Was that a fireplace?

West went to the wall and knelt. “Can you hold the light for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” I slung the strap of my laptop bag over my shoulder and crossed the room to him. “Didn’t take you for the Boy Scout type.”

He snort-laughed. “I wasn’t.”

“Then how did you learn to make a fire?”

He balled up sheets of newspaper, his hands were so big and strong. His palms were wide, and his fingers were long and thick. They looked capable and like they could swallow up my own small, slender hands if we put them together.

When he’d touched me, his skin had felt warm and a little rough. Like he had calluses. It was strange to think of West working with his hands, but he obviously did.

“Trial and error.” He laid the newspaper down on the grate. “I didn’t know I had to open the damper and almost had to call the fire department when the place filled with smoke the first time I tried to light one.”

I smiled at his light tone. “Bet you only made that mistake once.”

“So far. But it’s too early to know if it stuck.” He picked up a packet of matches and shook one out. He lit it and held the flame under the opening to the chimney. The flame flickered and stretched out.

“Are you checking the draft?” I asked.

“Yup.” He blew the match out and tossed it onto the newspaper. “Another thing I didn’t know the first few times I tried to use the fireplace. A week after nearly smoking myself out of the place, I spent a good twenty minutes sitting here and trying to start the tinder. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why the flames kept going out.” He stacked kindling on the newspaper in a tight grid.

“The cold air hitting your hand or the fact that the flames were being blown out by something didn’t tip you off that maybe it wasn’t a fire issue but a draft one?”

“You’d think, but my stubborn ass was convinced it was the lighter. Like the fire wasn’t hot enough.”

I snickered. “Did you get it lit?”

“Nope. I gave up and lit some candles and pretended the fireplace didn’t exist.”

I laughed. “What happened the next time you wanted a fire?”

“I watched a bunch of YouTube videos and figured it out.” He leaned two big logs against each other, creating a peak over the tinder and kindling. “I’m just glad I practiced down here and not up in my room.”

“You have a fireplace in your bedroom?” I asked. Wow, having a fireplace at all was a huge luxury in my book, but to have one in your bedroom was peak opulence.

He nodded and struck another match. “It’s right above us.”

He lit the newspaper in several places, then tossed the match onto the pile. The flames flickered low, then slowly spread and grew, crackling and popping as the kindling caught.

The scent of burning wood tickled my nose, and I breathed deeply.

“You like fireplaces?” he asked.

“Love them. The sound, the smell, the flickering light. I replace them soothing.”

“Me too.”

I tore my gaze from the spreading fire and glanced at West. I’d assumed he was watching the fire too, but he was staring at me. The soft glow of firelight danced over his face and reflected in his eyes. He looked like a sculpture. Too perfect, too handsome.

He cleared his throat and looked away, breaking whatever spell we’d fallen under.

“I’ll go get that cooler for you.” He stood and held out his hand for the flashlight.

I gave it to him and turned back to the fireplace as he walked toward the back of the house.

This was so messed up.

Why did he have to be so nice? Why had he taken care of me back at the house? It was my fault for getting wet and not putting shoes on. But he hadn’t berated me or made any snide remarks about how stupid I was.

A vision of him sitting in front of me, holding my feet against his stomach as he’d used his body to warm them up flashed in my mind, and I flushed hot.

His body was… perfect. Big and strong but not overly bulky. He was in great shape, but he didn’t have that cut look a lot of guys strived for. His muscles looked like they were the result of hard work and not the gym. Like he didn’t mind getting physical and rolling up his sleeves to do the dirty work.

I swallowed the bubble of… something that crept up my throat. It wasn’t dread or fear but more fluttery. Like a sudden adrenaline drop concentrated in my chest.

His body had distracted me, but it was how he’d treated me that I couldn’t shake from my thoughts. The care he’d shown. How he’d insisted on helping me, even when I’d tried to push him away.

I’d known I was in trouble, and I also knew how dangerous hypothermia and frostbite could be. But my old defenses had popped up, and everything in my being had told me to shut West out and deal with it on my own. That I’d put myself in the situation, and it was my responsibility to deal with the consequences.

But he hadn’t let me. He’d taken charge, and he’d sat there, shivering and half-naked, while he’d helped me. He’d put me first, my comfort and my well-being, ahead of his.

What the hell did any of this mean?

“Did you need anything else?”

I jumped. “Sorry, what?”

“Did you need anything?” He held a small cooler out to me.

“Some water, maybe?”

“Anything else? Something to eat?”

“I’m not sure.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and quickly checked my sugar. “Just some water is good for now.”

“Is it okay?”

“A little high still, but it’s going down.”

“Pick a place to sit if you’d like.” He waved to the worn couch across from the fireplace and a round, squashy-looking chair tucked into the corner.

This time, when he left, I stood and looked around the room. It was gorgeous, with dark wood accents and intricate craftsmanship. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the built-in shelving systems were beautifully crafted but empty.

The entire room was bare other than the couch, chair, and a tall lamp that hung over the chair. The room screamed opulence and riches, but the furniture was worn and mismatched.

Shaking off the questions in my head, I put my medication in the cooler and curled up on the chair.

Loud footsteps echoed in the room. West was striding toward me.

“I brought this in case you’re still cold. It’ll take a few minutes for the room to heat up.” He handed me a folded blanket.

I took it, the softness of the material tickling my skin. What was it made of? I’d never felt anything so soft and silky before.

Eagerly I spread the blanket over my lap and nearly purred in contentment as I ran my hand over the top.

“Here.” He passed me a bottle of water. “I’m going to go change out of these wet clothes. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

I turned back to the fire, getting lost in the flickering flames, and let my mind wander. Dozens of thoughts and questions floated through my head. Flashes of memories and random moments from my life filtered in and out.

Fear. Panic. Hearing that crash and not knowing if West had been in the car. Running into the rain, being grabbed. West holding me. Giving me his coat.

Feeling helpless. Being dragged. A hand on my arm. The smell of liquor. Laughter.

So much laughter.

Being trapped. Panic. Fear. That fucking laughter.

“Eli?”

Soft fingers stroked my wrists. I opened my eyes. When had I covered them with my hands?

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded and dropped my hands.

West was kneeling in front of me, his face full of concern.

“I’m fine.” I swallowed and looked down at the blanket.

Stop it. You’re fine. Stop being a baby.

“Drink some water. It’s been a stressful night.” He pressed the bottle into my hand. I must have dropped it at some point.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything as I opened the bottle and took a few sips.

“I’m okay. Just… stressed,” I finished lamely and screwed the cap back on the bottle.

He nodded and sat on the couch. He uncapped his bottle of water, tipped his head back, and guzzled about a third of it down.

My eyes were glued to his throat. The muscles worked, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. It was a perfectly normal physiological thing. He was swallowing. There wasn’t anything special or different about it. But I couldn’t look away. And another of those little adrenaline bursts exploded in my chest.

Get a grip, Eli. He’s drinking water. Stop staring like a creeper.

I tore my eyes from him. What was wrong with me?

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” I picked at the label on my bottle.

“What happened? When I drove up?”

“Nothing.” I squeezed the bottle, the plastic cracking from the force. “I heard the crash and thought it was you, so I went outside. It wasn’t. His friends showed up. One of them thought I was someone else and was trying to get me out of the rain. Then you came, and it was over. Like I said. Nothing happened.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Well, it was. Worse stuff happens to people every day. No use getting all bent out of shape because some meathead thought I was a girl and touched my arm.”

“He thought you were a girl?”

“He called me Becky.” I rolled my eyes. “It was dark, and he was drunk. Not the first time someone made that mistake. My hair and build confuse people sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I shouldn’t have gone outside. It was my own fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. No one has the right to touch you when you don’t want it. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing. And it’s okay to be shaken when—”

“Nothing happened!” I burst out. “And it is my fault. I went out into the rain. I didn’t leave when I realized they were drunk. I wasn’t strong enough to get free. So he touched my arm. Boo fucking hoo. Big deal. It’s not okay to be shaken because nothing happened.”

The urge to run, to get away from West and his kind eyes and his understanding words hit hard. The next thing I knew, I was scrambling out of the chair and darting across the room.

“Eli!”

Strong arms wrapped around me and hauled me against a big, warm body.

“I have to go.” I struggled in his hold as panic took over.

“No. Not until you’re calm.”

“I can’t. I have to…”

“You can. It’s okay.” He put his lips next to my ear. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”

The fight left me in a rush, my knees gave out, and I collapsed in his arms.

“It’s okay.” He held me tighter, hugging me and keeping me from crumpling to the floor in a pathetic heap. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Why?” I sucked in a hiccuping breath. “I don’t understand why. Why are you being so nice? Why are you helping me? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I care about you. Because I meant what I said. I want to be friends again.”

“Friends?”

“Yes, friends. I know you hate me, and I get it. But it was a fucked-up situation, and I was a kid and…” He squeezed me tighter. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

I pressed my face into his soft sweater. When was the last time someone had held me like this? Maybe never? Gray and my mom hugged me all the time, and my siblings loved hugs and cuddles, but this was different.

I felt safe. Like West could protect me from all the things that could hurt me. Like he wanted to.

Why was he the only person who made me feel like this? Had I ever truly hated him? I’d tried, but the rightness of being in his arms said otherwise.

An ache formed deep in my chest as tears pricked my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to cry. I was better than that. Tears wouldn’t help anything. Crying in front of West would only prove to him how weak and stupid and pathetic I was.

“I’m not going to run away,” I said softly.

I needed him to stop holding me. It felt too good, too right.

He slowly let me go and tipped my face up. “We need to talk about what just happened… and about before, when I… But I don’t think either of us is in the headspace for that tonight.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. Not right now.”

He dropped his hand. “I think it’s time to go to bed.”

“Yeah. I think so too,” I said, my voice thick with all the emotions still swirling inside me.

“Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.” He swiped a lantern off the floor next to the couch. I hadn’t even seen him bring it into the room. He turned it on, handed it to me, and picked up my bags and the cooler.

I followed him out of the living room and up the grand staircase. I was surprised when he brought me to a room on the left.

“I thought you said your room was over the living room.”

“It is.” He pushed the door open and waved me in. “You can sleep in here tonight. It’s warmer.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” I stepped into the room, which was massive.

A king-sized bed was pushed up against the wall across from the fireplace and flanked by ornate tables. A huge chandelier hung over the bed, and another round, squashy chair was tucked into the corner next to an antique-looking lamp and a small bookshelf. The high ceilings and detailed woodwork gave the room an old-fashioned feel, but the lack of personalization and minimal furniture made it seem cavernous and more like an exhibit in a museum than someone’s bedroom.

“The spare room at the top of the stairs. I’ll tend to the fire for a bit and make sure it’s out before I turn in.” He put my stuff on his bed.

“I can’t take your room.”

“Yes, you can.” He pointed to the dark end of the room. “Bathroom is through there, just past the closet.”

“I’ll sleep in the spare room.”

“It’s warmer in here. Please. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in here.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He lifted his hand like he was going to touch me but dropped it.

“Do you need to charge your phone or anything? I have a power bank.”

“I’m okay. I have one too.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Night.”

“Night.”

The door clicked closed behind him, and a pang of loneliness moved through me.

I was used to being alone. I liked being alone. It was stupid to be lonely when he was going to be right down the hall.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone and checked my blood sugar. Only slightly elevated.

I drank some more water, dug my power bank out of my bag so I could charge up my phone, and put the lantern on one of the night tables. The bed was so big I could roll over multiple times and not reach the other side.

A wave of exhaustion slammed into me as I kicked off my shoes. I pulled the covers back and slid between the crisp sheets. They smelled nice. Like sunshine and peppermint. I snuggled into the oversized pillow.

I should turn off the lantern so I didn’t waste the batteries, but I was so comfortable I didn’t want to move. Instead of reaching for the light, I closed my eyes and gave in to the overwhelming urge to sleep.