Chapter 77 : Familiar Feelings
STEPHEN’S POV:
I wake up slowly, like I’m being pulled out of something warm and heavy. For a few seconds, I don’t even open my eyes. I just lie there, breathing, feeling.
The sheets are soft and the air is different and then it hits me. This was Hayden’s room.
My eyes snap open.
Everything comes back in fragments at first—the rooftop, the way he kissed me like he meant it, the way we couldn’t stop once we started. The laughter, the quiet, the certainty of it.
My chest tightens, but not in a bad way. In a holy shit, that actually happened kind of way.
I turn my head slightly.
He is sitting on the edge of the bed. He is already awake and dressed and the moment I really look at him… something feels off.
My stomach drops. “Hey,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep as I push myself up on one elbow.
He doesn’t answer immediately. He is staring at his phone.
The screen lights up again. A name flashes across it.
It was Lilian.
I don’t know why, but something in my chest twists sharply at the sight.
He exhales under his breath, like he’s been holding it in too long, then runs a hand through his hair.
“Hayden?” I try again, slower this time.
He finally looks at me and yeah… something’s definitely wrong.
All the softness from last night? Gone and replaced with something tight. Closed off.
It feels like a punch to the gut. “What’s going on?” I ask, sitting up properly now, the sheet slipping slightly as reality starts settling in.
He hesitates. That hesitation alone is enough to make my chest go cold.
“Nothing,” he says finally, but it’s too quick. Too forced.
I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head. “Don’t do that.”
His jaw tightens.
“I’m serious, Hayden. Don’t….don’t pretend like everything’s normal when it’s obviously not.”
The phone lights up again. Lilian was calling, again. He looks at it like it’s a problem he doesn’t know how to solve.
Then he declines the call.
Silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating and suddenly, I don’t feel warm anymore.
“What is this?” I ask quietly. “Because last night didn’t feel like nothing.”
His eyes flicker and for a second, just a second, I see it. That same look from last night. The one that made me believe this was real. But then it disappears just as fast and was replaced by something colder.
Something that makes my stomach drop straight to the floor.
“Stephen…” he starts, then stops.
That’s never a good sign.
I sit up straighter, my chest tightening. “Just say it.”
He exhales sharply, like he’s forcing the words out. “What happened last night…”
My heart starts pounding.
“….was a mistake.”
Everything in me goes still.
No. No, that’s not…
“What?” I say, barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t look at me now.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he continues, his voice flat, like he’s rehearsed this already. “We shouldn’t have let it happen.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to take it back and waiting for something to break through that wall he’s putting up. But nothing does.
“You don’t mean that,” I say, because there’s no way….there’s just no way.
“I do.”
The words land hard.
I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “No. No, you don’t. You don’t get to….” I gesture between us, my frustration rising. “You don’t get to say all that last night, do all that, and then wake up and just….what? Pretend it didn’t mean anything?”
“I’m not pretending,” he snaps, finally looking at me again. “I’m fixing it.”
Fixing it? The phrase hits worse than anything else.
“Fixing it?” I repeat, my voice is louder. “By acting like we fucking was a mistake?”
“Yes.”
There’s no hesitation this time and that’s what really does it.
My chest tightens painfully. “Why?” I demand. “Give me one good reason why last night suddenly doesn’t count.”
His jaw clenches again. “Because it can’t,” he says.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not,” I shoot back. “It’s an excuse.”
There was silence. Then, he continued. “My girlfriend is coming over,” he says.
Just like that. Like that explains everything and makes it okay.
I blink at him, trying to process it.
“Your….” I cut myself off, shaking my head again. “Lilian?”
He nods once.
My stomach twists. “And that matters now?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous. “It didn’t seem to matter last night.”
His expression hardens. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
“There it is again,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “You keep saying that like if you repeat it enough, it’ll magically become true.”
“Stephen….”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice rising slightly. “No, you don’t get to shut me down this time. You don’t get to run from it again.”
His eyes flash.
“I’m not running.”
“You are,” I fire back immediately. “You’re running because you’re scared.”
That hits him. I can see it. The way his shoulders tense. The way his gaze sharpens.
“Scared of what?” he challenges.
I let out a harsh breath. “Of what people will think,” I say, my voice quieter now, but no less intense.
“Of what it means. Of us.”
His silence says everything and then I say the thing we’ve both been avoiding.
“Of the fact that you just slept with your adopted brother.”
The words hang in the air.
His expression shuts down completely. “Stop,” he says.
“Why?” I push. “Because it makes it real? Because you can’t pretend it didn’t happen if we actually say it out loud?”
“I said stop.”
But I can’t, not now. Not when he’s trying to erase everything like it meant nothing.
“You think sending me back to my room is going to fix this?” I ask, my voice breaking slightly despite myself. “You think pretending last night didn’t happen is going to make it go away? You fucking enjoying when you slipped your dick inside me.”
“Stop it. It has to,” he says, quieter now and that… that’s worse because he believes it. Or at least, he’s trying to.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick and stubborn. “So that’s it?” I ask. “We’re just… back to nothing?”
He doesn’t answer. The silence says enough.
My chest feels tight, like it’s being crushed from the inside.
I nod slowly, even though it hurts. “Right,” I murmur.
I swing my legs off the bed, grabbing my clothes from where they’re scattered across the floor. Every movement feels heavier than it should.
Behind me, his phone lights up again.
It was Lilian. Of course.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh under my breath.
“Go ahead,” I say, not turning around. “You should probably answer that.”
He doesn’t respond.
I pull my shirt on, my fingers clumsy for a second before I force them to steady.
This feels familiar. It was like detention all over again. I hate that it still hurts this much.
When I finally turn back to him, he’s watching me.
And for a second, just a second, I think he might say something to stop me and fix this but he didn't.
Of course he doesn’t.