The grandfather clock in the hall chimed three, its sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the old house.
Stella lay curled against Brandon, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor in the unfamiliar darkness. His scent, a blend of sandalwood and something uniquely him, filled her senses, a subtle, intoxicating perfume that lulled her into a deep sleep. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion of the evening, coupled with the unexpected comfort of his embrace, had overcome her.
A soft whisper broke through the stillness. “You smelled so nice,” Brandon murmured, his breath ghosting across her hair. His voice was low, husky with sleep, yet charged with an emotion that sent a shiver down her spine.
Stella felt his gaze on her, a weightless pressure that was both intensely intimate and terrifyingly vulnerable. She was acutely aware of the proximity of their bodies, the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her back.
He was staring at her, his eyes dark pools reflecting the moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. The beauty he’d missed… the words echoed in her mind, a strange mixture of flattery and guilt.
He continued, his voice barely a breath, “I am the one for you, and not my brother. I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry if I was an asshole.” His fingers, feather-light, traced the line of her jaw.
The touch was gentle, almost reverent, yet the words hung heavy in the air, laden with regret and a desperate plea for forgiveness.
The touch on her face jolted Stella awake. The unfamiliar scent of Brandon’s cologne mingled with the lingering sweetness of the red wine she’d drunk earlier. She didn’t want to open her eyes, to confront the reality of the situation, but the insistent pressure of his gaze forced her eyelids open.
Brandon’s intense stare met hers, his expression a mixture of hope and apprehension. A rush of blood flooded her head, a wave of dizziness and disorientation. She scrambled away from him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “Dang, I’m sorry!” she stammered, her voice shaky and breathless, and fled the room.
Back in her own room, she leaned against the door, gasping for air, her chest heaving. “What the hell!” she whispered, the words a mixture of disbelief and self-reproach. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of confusion that clouded her mind.
“Did I… did I just kiss him back?” She slapped her cheeks lightly, the sting a brief, jarring interruption to the turmoil within. “What the…” she muttered, rolling onto her bed, the sheets cool and crisp against her skin.
She closed her eyes, trying to push away the images, the sensations, the unsettling intimacy of the moment. “Yeah, that wine did this to me,” she told herself, her voice a strained whisper. She focused on the ceiling, the faint patterns of the plaster a feeble attempt to distract her from the overwhelming reality of what had just happened.
“I will just sleep and forget everything that happened earlier,” she murmured, nodding her head, the words a desperate plea to the oblivion of sleep. But even as she drifted off, the ghost of Brandon’s touch, the weight of his unspoken words, lingered, a persistent echo in the silence of the night.
The afternoon sun streamed through the gap in the curtains, warming Stella’s face. She stirred, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes, the remnants of a restless sleep.
Noon.
The digital clock on her nightstand glared at her, a stark reminder of the hours lost. She stumbled out of bed, the sheets tangled around her legs, and headed for the bathroom.
The cool water on her face did little to alleviate the lingering fog in her brain. She gargled with mouthwash, the minty freshness a temporary reprieve from the metallic taste in her mouth. “I can’t remember what I did last night!” she exclaimed, frustration bubbling to the surface. She threw a few experimental punches at the air, the movements clumsy and ineffective, mirroring the chaos in her mind.
“I should just get together and act like nothing happened,” she muttered to herself, trying to force a semblance of calm. She descended the stairs, her movements still sluggish, her mind still racing.
“Oh! Hi, princess!” Daisha’s voice cut through her thoughts, her sister’s cheerful greeting jarring against the turmoil within.
“I want coffee,” Stella mumbled, her voice raspy from sleep.
Daisha rolled her eyes, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Make your own-” she began, but was interrupted.
Darrel appeared in the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe she has a hangover, so you should make your sister a coffee!” he suggested, his tone teasing yet solicitous.
Stella shot him a grateful smile. “You’re right, Darrel!” she agreed, relieved by his intervention.
Daisha, though clearly annoyed, begrudgingly made her way to the kitchen.
“Brandon left early,” Darrel said, casually leaning against the banister.
“Maybe he needed to go home as soon as possible,” Stella replied, a wave of unexpected relief washing over her. The thought of not having to face him, at least for now, was a small victory in the midst of the lingering confusion.
But Darrel’s next words instantly erased that feeling. “But he told me he’ll be back later,” he added, his tone nonchalant.
Stella’s eyes widened, her earlier relief replaced by a sudden surge of anxiety. “Really? He said that?” she asked, her voice sharp with apprehension.
Darrel nodded, confirming her worst fears. “Yeah, so I decided to have a barbecue party later,” he announced, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil he’d stirred within her.
Daisha reappeared, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. “Here’s your coffee, princess!” she teased, her tone softened slightly.
Stella accepted the mug, a small act of sisterly kindness that felt like a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty brewing within her. “Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said, offering her sister a genuine, if slightly shaky, smile.
The coffee was a welcome comfort, but the lingering questions about the night before, and Brandon’s impending return, cast a long shadow over her newfound calm.
“I’ll just get some fresh air while enjoying my coffee!” Stella announced, escaping the charged atmosphere of the living room and stepping out into the morning.
The cool air felt refreshing against her skin, a welcome contrast to the lingering heat of her internal turmoil.
–
“Something happened between them last night!” Daisha declared to Darrel the moment Stella was out of earshot, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper.
“And what is it?” Darrel asked, his curiosity piqued.
Daisha shrugged, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “I don’t know, and I don’t care!” she replied, her tone suggesting a healthy dose of amused indifference.
Darrel chuckled, reaching out to take her hand. “Should we go to the gym?” he suggested, his eyes twinkling.
Daisha squeezed his hand, a silent agreement. “Let’s go!” she said, and together they headed upstairs, leaving the mystery of Stella and Brandon to unfold on its own.
–
Stella found a quiet bench beneath the shade of a sprawling oak tree, the gentle sway of its branches a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of the bustling morning. She watched the world stir to life around her mortals rushing to work, children giggling on their way to school, the everyday rhythm of a town waking up.
“What a nice-” she began, her thoughts interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Good afternoon!” Brandon’s voice cut through the peaceful scene, his sudden appearance jarring her out of her contemplative state. He was sweating profusely, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, his breathing heavy as if he’d just finished a strenuous jog.
Stella froze, her coffee halfway to her lips. She instinctively looked away, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension.
“Why are you drinking coffee in the middle of the day?” Brandon asked, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand, his voice a mixture of concern and playful accusation.
Stella remained silent, taking a small, shaky sip of her coffee, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid within the mug.
“I know that you can hear me, Stella,” Brandon persisted, sitting down beside her on the bench.
The warmth of his body radiating next to hers sent a jolt of awareness through her. She jumped up instantly, the contact triggering a flood of memories from the previous night. “Bye!” she blurted out, turning and fleeing back into the house, leaving Brandon sitting alone on the bench.
Brandon watched her go, a smirk playing on his lips as he shook his head. “She remembers it,” he murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
After a few minutes of sitting alone, he noticed Daisha and Darrel leaving the house, their gym bags slung over their shoulders. “Where are you going?” he called out, his voice laced with a touch of playful mischief.
Daisha turned, her expression instantly hardening. “You should behave while we’re not at home,” she warned, her tone serious, leaving no room for argument.
Brandon nodded, a sheepish grin replacing his earlier smirk, “Yes, madam!” He replied smartly, saluting Daisha with a playful flourish.
Darrel added, “We’ll be back before dinner,” his tone leaving no room for argument.
Brandon gave him a thumbs-up, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken understanding. “Enjoy your day!” he called out as Daisha and Darrel headed towards the garage, the sound of the garage door rumbling shut echoing the finality of their departure.
Brandon decided a bath would soothe his nerves, a much-needed respite before facing whatever awaited him. He entered the house, the quiet echoing his own unsettled feelings. He ascended the stairs, his footsteps quiet on the plush carpet, hoping to find Stella. He knocked softly on her door, the wood cool beneath his knuckles.
Silence.
He tried again, a little louder this time. Still no answer. With a sigh, he retreated to his own room, the emptiness of the house mirroring the emptiness he felt inside.
After a long, hot bath, he felt somewhat refreshed, but the unsettling feeling persisted. He returned to Stella’s door, his heart pounding a slightly faster rhythm against his ribs. He knocked again, his knuckles rapping a more insistent rhythm against the wood.
Nothing.
He hesitated for a moment, then, driven by a mixture of concern and restless curiosity, he gently turned the doorknob.
The door opened silently, revealing an empty room. Disappointment, tinged with a prickle of unease, settled over him. He went downstairs, his footsteps echoing in the unsettling silence.
“Where the hell is she?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze sweeping across the empty rooms, searching for any sign of her.
Meanwhile, Stella found herself drawn to the familiar comfort of a fast-food restaurant, the aroma of fries and burgers a siren song to her rumbling stomach. She joined the queue, her eyes scanning the menu board, the brightly colored images a stark contrast to the turmoil within.
“What should I eat?” she murmured to herself, her mind far from the simple decision before her.
“New here?” a voice broke through her thoughts, a friendly stranger attempting to strike up a conversation.
She ignored him, her gaze fixed on the tempting array of food.
“Are you free later-” the voice continued, but was abruptly cut short.
“You didn’t wait for me!” Brandon’s voice boomed, his arm unexpectedly encircling her shoulders.
The stranger, startled, quickly retreated.
Stella reacted instantly, shaking off Brandon’s arm with a sharp movement. “How did you find me?” she demanded, her voice sharp with a mixture of annoyance and a hint of underlying panic.
Brandon smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I followed your scent,” he replied, his voice low and confident.
Stella shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and exasperation evident in her expression. “Be mortal here!” she instructed, her tone firm, a clear attempt to re-establish some semblance of normalcy.
Brandon, ever the tease, responded with a playful grin. “Do I look like a wolf to you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Stella rolled her eyes, a small, almost involuntary gesture that betrayed her inner turmoil.
A staff member approached them, her presence a welcome interruption to the simmering tension between them. “What can I get for you?” the staff member asked politely.
Brandon, seizing the opportunity to ease the awkwardness, turned to Stella. “What do you want? It’s my treat!” he offered, his tone both apologetic and charming.
Stella, relieved by the distraction, quickly placed her order.
They found a table near the window, the bustling atmosphere of the fast-food restaurant a muted backdrop to their silent anticipation.
Brandon, attempting to bridge the gap between them, began, “I want to apologize-”
Stella cut him off sharply, her voice low but firm. “Let’s not talk about it!” she declared, her words a clear boundary.
Brandon’s expression shifted, a flicker of hurt crossing his features as he glared at her, his attempt at reconciliation met with immediate rejection. “You don’t want to talk-” he began again, his voice laced with a hint of pleading.
“I already told you, stop!” Stella insisted, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.
Brandon, realizing the futility of his efforts, sighed and looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine!” he conceded, his voice subdued.
Stella took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts, and focused on her food, avoiding his gaze.
Their order arrived, the aroma of freshly cooked burgers and fries a temporary distraction from the unresolved tension between them. They ate in silence, the clinking of cutlery and the muffled sounds of the restaurant a fragile peace in the midst of their unspoken conflict.
Then, a small hand reached out and grasped Stella’s, breaking the fragile quiet.
A young boy, his face flushed with excitement, looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes. “Mommy!” he exclaimed, burying his face against her side in a tight hug.
Stella froze, a mixture of surprise and a wave of unexpected warmth washing over her. She whispered, “Dang,” her eyes darting to Brandon.
–
Brandon froze, his earlier smirk wiped clean from his face as he witnessed the unfolding scene before him. A young boy, his face streaked with tears, had just latched onto Stella, calling her “Mommy.” The unexpected turn of events left him speechless.
Stella, equally surprised, reacted instantly. “Hey, I’m not your mommy!” she told the boy gently, but her words only seemed to escalate the situation.
The boy’s cries intensified, his small body shaking with sobs. “No! You are my Mom!” he insisted, his voice thick with tears, his words hanging in the air, a stark contrast to the casual atmosphere of the fast-food restaurant.
Stella fell silent, her earlier annoyance replaced by a wave of concern and a sudden, overwhelming sense of responsibility. She leaned towards Brandon, her voice barely a whisper. “What should I do?” she asked, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
Brandon, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, offered a less-than-helpful response. “I don’t know! Make him stop crying!” he suggested, his tone a mixture of exasperation and helplessness.
Stella couldn’t suppress a roll of her eyes, his lack of helpfulness only adding to her growing frustration. Taking a deep breath, Stella focused on the crying boy. “Stop crying,” she said, her voice firm yet gentle, surprisingly effective.
The boy immediately ceased his tears, his sobs replaced by a series of small, hesitant nods.
Stella offered him some fries, a small gesture of comfort. “You want some?” she asked, holding out a handful of golden-brown fries.
“Yes, Mommy!” he replied, his eyes lighting up. He then turned to Brandon, adding, “Dad, I want some fries!”
A playful smirk touched Stella’s lips. “Go get some, Daddy,” she teased, her words laced with amusement.
Brandon, caught in the unexpected role of “Dad,” had little choice but to comply. He stood up, a mixture of amusement and bewilderment on his face, and ordered another set of fries for the small boy.
While Brandon was away, Stella attempted to gently steer the conversation towards finding Bryce’s actual parents. “What is your name?” she asked softly.
“Bryce,” he replied, his voice still slightly shaky but his tears now dried.
“So, where was the last time you saw me?” she asked carefully, trying to subtly guide him towards remembering his parents.
Bryce pointed towards the entrance of the restaurant. “There!” he said, his finger pointing towards the busy street outside.
Stella looked in the direction he indicated, scanning the faces of the passersby. There was no sign of anyone searching for a lost child. A wave of concern washed over her, the situation becoming far more complex than she had ever anticipated.
Brandon returned to their table, carrying a fresh order of fries and a small burger.
Bryce’s face lit up at the sight of the food. “Thank you, Dad!” he chirped, his earlier distress completely forgotten.
Brandon, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected paternal role, managed a slightly awkward but genuine smile. “No problem,” he replied, ruffling Bryce’s hair gently, a surprisingly natural gesture that belied his initial discomfort.
Stella, watching the interaction, felt a pang of something akin to… mesmerizing? She quickly redirected her attention to Bryce. “You should eat first,” she instructed, her tone firm yet gentle.
Brandon opened his mouth to suggest a plan to find Bryce’s parents, but Stella cut him off.
“Let’s talk about it later!” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Brandon nodded, his gaze softening as he watched Bryce happily munching on his fries.
The urgency of the situation seemed to have lessened, replaced by a strange, unexpected calm.
Once they had finished their meal, the question of Bryce’s parents loomed again.
As they stepped out of the fast-food restaurant, Brandon turned to Stella. “Where are we going now?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of uncertainty and a hint of underlying concern.
Stella, equally unsure, posed the question to him. “Is there any park here?” she asked, her gaze scanning the surroundings.
An elderly woman, sitting on a nearby bench, overheard their conversation. “Yeah, just go there!” she said, pointing down a side street.
Stella nodded her head, offering a grateful smile to the old woman.
Brandon, ever the skeptic, voiced his doubt. “Are you going to believe her?” he asked, his tone cautious.
Stella, however, seemed resolute. “Yep!” she replied, taking Bryce’s hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, the rhythm of their footsteps a steady beat against the backdrop of the afternoon sounds.
As they reached a small, secluded park, Stella’s earlier uncertainty seemed to melt away. “You just need to trust them,” she murmured, more to herself than to Brandon, before suddenly breaking into a run, Bryce giggling as he followed her.
Brandon watched them go, a thoughtful expression on his face. “She already looks like a mother now,” he murmured, a hint of admiration in his voice as he observed Stella’s easy interaction with Bryce, her laughter blending with the child’s joyous squeals.
Stella, her hair flying in the breeze, yelled back to him, “Come play with us!”
Brandon hesitated for a moment, then a smile spread across his face. He nodded and joined them, quickly shedding his earlier hesitation.
They played together until the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park.
As darkness started to fall, and Bryce’s energy began to wane, Brandon leaned towards Stella, his voice low. “We should bring him back to his parents,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on Bryce, who was now quietly playing alone, his earlier exuberance replaced by a gentle weariness.
“Nah, no one will look for him,” Stella stated flatly, her tone laced with a certainty that surprised even herself.
Brandon’s gaze sharpened, his earlier playful demeanor replaced by a look of intense scrutiny. “How did you say that?” he asked, his voice low and serious, his eyes searching hers for an explanation.
Stella met his gaze, her own expression hardening. “He was left on purpose,” she revealed, her words hanging heavy in the darkening air.
The revelation hit Brandon with the force of a physical blow. The playful energy that had filled him just moments before evaporated, leaving him drained and utterly deflated. He stared at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and a dawning horror. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, struggling to reconcile the cheerful scene of moments before with the chilling implications of her words. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept the possibility of such callous abandonment.
Stella nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah, I saw a note in his pocket,” she confirmed, reaching into her own pocket and producing a crumpled piece of paper. She handed it to him, her fingers lingering on his for a fraction of a second, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.
Brandon took the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the creased paper. He glanced at Bryce, who was now engrossed in building a small tower of pebbles, oblivious to the turmoil brewing around him. Then, he slowly began to read the message, his eyes scanning the words with a growing sense of revulsion.
‘I dump him because I can’t raise him anymore.’
The words were stark, blunt, devoid of any emotion except a chilling indifference.
Brandon crumpled the note in his fist, his knuckles white with suppressed rage. “What the-” he began, his voice rising in anger, but Stella’s hand shot out, silencing him.
“He will hear you,” she whispered, her tone sharp, her eyes conveying a warning that he understood instantly.
The outburst died in his throat, replaced by a stunned silence. “How can she do that to her son?” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion, his words a mixture of disbelief and profound sadness. He couldn’t comprehend the depth of the mother’s cruelty, the casual disregard for her child’s well-being.
Stella met his gaze, her expression resolute. “You already read the reason,” she stated, her voice calm despite the storm raging within her. “I will keep him,” she added, the words hanging in the air, a declaration of unexpected responsibility, a decision that surprised even herself, yet felt utterly inevitable.
Brandon stared at her, his earlier anger replaced by a stunned silence. “Hey, how about your father?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.
Stella, however, seemed unwavering in her resolve. “I will defend him against my father! I’ve already made up my mind; I will keep him!” she declared, her tone firm, her eyes reflecting a steely determination that surprised even herself. She started walking towards Bryce, her steps purposeful, her decision solidified.
“But-” Brandon began, his protest cut short by Stella’s next words.
“Just trust my decision,” she said, stopping in her tracks, her gaze meeting his.
Bryce, sensing her presence, looked up from his game of building a pebble tower. “Mommy!” he yelled, his voice filled with unrestrained joy, and ran towards her, his small legs pumping with energy.
Stella opened her arms wide, welcoming him into a warm embrace. “Let’s go home,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, a comforting reassurance in the midst of the unexpected chaos.
Bryce readily agreed, his small hand reaching out for hers. As they started walking, Bryce, ever the observant child, noticed Brandon standing nearby. He instinctively reached out, taking Brandon’s hand, creating an unlikely trio walking side-by-side.
They walked in comfortable silence until they reached Darrel’s house.
Daisha, ever the observant sister, immediately noticed Bryce. “Finally-who is that?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion, her finger pointing towards the young boy.
Stella, her patience wearing thin, held up a hand, silencing her sister’s immediate questioning. “Don’t do that! He’s my son!” she announced, her tone sharp, her words leaving no room for doubt.
Daisha’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Dang! Can you hear what you’re saying, huh?” she asked, her voice a mixture of shock and incredulity.
Stella nodded, her gaze unwavering, her decision firmly cemented. “Yep,” she confirmed, turning to Bryce. “Bryce, say hi to your Aunt Daisha,” she instructed gently.
Bryce, ever the polite child, waved his hand at Daisha. “Hi, Aunt Daisha!” He greeted her cheerfully.
Stella then prompted Daisha to reciprocate.
“Hello, Bryce!” Daisha greeted the young boy, a forced smile playing on her lips as she waved back, still reeling from the unexpected revelation and the profound shift in her sister’s life.
“Let’s go inside,” Stella announced, her voice firm, her grip tightening slightly on Bryce’s small hand.
They entered the house, the familiar scent of home a welcome contrast to the uncertainty of the afternoon.
Darrel, noticing Bryce for the first time, let out a surprised, “Ohh-” before Stella cut him off.
“Let’s talk about it later,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Darrel simply nodded. “I’ll just prepare the meat for our barbecue party,” he said, heading towards the kitchen.
Daisha, her curiosity piqued, followed him, her questions clearly bubbling beneath the surface.
Stella settled Bryce onto the comfortable couch in the living room, making sure he was comfortable. Turning to Brandon, she instructed. “You should help them.”
Brandon readily agreed. “Oh! Yeah, I will,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips as he headed towards the kitchen.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity.
Daisha, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, immediately confronted Brandon. “So, explain now!” she demanded, her tone sharp, her eyes fixed on him.
Darrel, however, remained calm and collected. “Let’s just wait, Daisha! Your sister told us that we will talk about it later,” he replied, his voice patient, his tone diffusing her immediate frustration.
Daisha, though clearly still curious, had little choice but to agree.
They worked together, efficiently preparing the meat for the barbecue, their earlier curiosity momentarily forgotten in the shared task.
Once the skewers were ready, they moved outside, the aroma of grilling meat already filling the air.
Darrel expertly handled the grill, his movements practiced and efficient.
Daisha assisted, her earlier curiosity replaced by a focused concentration on the task at hand.
Brandon, meanwhile, set up the table, arranging plates and cutlery with meticulous care.
Stella reappeared, a thoughtful expression on her face. “If you don’t mind, I’ll invite Flora and Tyros here,” she said, turning to Darrel, seeking his permission.
Darrel simply smiled. “Sure, do whatever you want,” he replied, his tone warm and accepting, his earlier curiosity now completely overshadowed by the unfolding events and the unexpected addition to their family.