June First
: Part 2 – Chapter 20

June, age 18

“Oh, June, honey. Look at you!”

My mother gasps in awe, pulling a pen from her silvery hair and jotting something onto a notecard. Dad strolls up behind her with tears in his copper eyes. He’s always been the sappy one. Mom is steely and strong, while Dad turns to mush at the slightest sentiment.

“Look at my June,” he sing-songs, sniffling through his words. “Going to make the boys swoon.”

“Dad, come on,” I tease. My cheeks heat as I duck my head, landing at the bottom of the staircase. “You like my dress?”

I twirl the skirt, feeling like a true princess. Mom picked it out with me when we had our girls’ day of boutique shopping and sugary treats at the pastry café. It’s a pale crystal blue, and it reminded me of a radiant sky. In the sunshine, the tulle lights up like a prism; like a rainbow.

It’s my Over the Rainbow dress, where skies are blue.

Where dreams come true.

Dad swipes at his leaky eyes. “I love it. I love it, sweetheart.” He paces forward, scooping me into his big bear arms. “You’ll be the most beautiful belle at the ball.”

My smile stretches over his shoulder. I feel beautiful—I truly do. My hair is curled into chestnut ringlets, partially pulled up on top with a diamond-studded clip. My skin shimmers with glitter-infused lotion, and my face is painted tastefully. I’m excited for Ryker and my girlfriends to see me. I’m the final stop on the limo ride over, giving me a little extra time for family pictures and last minute preparations.

“Your brothers are going to blow a fuse when they see you. God help any poor boy who dares glance in your direction,” Dad says, pulling back to drink me in with pride.

I chuckle, dipping my chin again. Mom fluffs my hair, adjusting a long ribbon of curls over my shoulder and sighing sweetly.

Theo is stopping by for photographs before his shift with Kip tonight and should be here any minute. Brant is outside on the patio.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell my parents, excusing myself from the living area, gathering my long skirt, and making my way to the back door to surprise Brant.

I think he’ll love my dress as much as I love it.

Will he think of bright skies and bluebirds flying high, just like I did?

Will our favorite song pop into his head, filling him with magic and warmth?

A smile blooms as I traipse through the kitchen and peek through the glass door. Brant is standing in the center of the patio, staring out at a big tree—the same one that used to hold our childhood treehouse. Memories spring to mind of storybook games, grand adventures, and summer sleepovers with flashlights and buckets of popcorn as I huddled in my favorite place with Theo and Brant.

I hate that I fell.

I hate that Dad tore it apart the next morning, closing a chapter of my childhood that will always be near and dear to my heart.

Inhaling a deep breath, I tug open the patio door and step out onto the pavers.

Brant turns to me.

Everything about him seems to go still—his stance, his muscles, even his breath. He just stares at me across the patio, silent and unflinching. The emotion that crosses his face isn’t what I saw when Mom and Dad saw me walk down the staircase. It’s not the same at all.

He almost looks like he’s in pain.

Does he hate my dress?

There’s the heat of a thousand suns blazing in his eyes, and I worry that it’s anger. “Hi,” I say meekly. My lips feel dry, even though they’re bathed in cherry gloss. Clearing my throat, I take a hesitant step forward, pulling a smile to my face. “What do you think?”

I do a silly twirl.

When I curtsy, then straighten, Brant blinks, appearing to shake himself of whatever emotion stole him away from me.

He averts his eyes for a moment, then looks back at me. “You look stunning.”

Warmth trickles through me like a sun-kissed stream. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it.”

“I wasn’t sure. You looked mad.”

His gaze flickers over me, and when our eyes lock again, a shiver skips down my spine. His stare is so penetrative, it almost feels like he can see inside me—straight through to my furiously pounding heart. My hand instinctively presses to my chest, as if I can calm the beats.

Brant rubs at the back of his neck, a smile finally lifting. “I was a little mad.”

My heart thumps faster. I press harder.

“I was mad I’d have to get this new suit dirty, fighting off all the boys tonight.”

A sense of relief washes over me as I drop my arm, laughter slipping free. “It is a nice suit.” I take a few steps forward, watching Brant’s smile slip further with every step I take. When we’re nearly toe to toe, I lift my hands to adjust the little blue bowtie, his Ivory scent mingling with a new cologne. Something woodsy and clean. “Your bow is blue like my dress,” I note.

It wasn’t planned. It makes me smile.

Brant’s eyes are fixed away from me as he says, “It’s a pretty dress.”

“It reminded me of our song. Blue skies, bluebirds. When the light hits it just right, it glitters with every color of the rainbow. It reminded me of…”

It reminded me of you.

My cheeks stain with blush at the realization that it had reminded me of him. Brant’s face had flashed to my mind the moment I saw it.

I lower my hands, sliding my palms down the front of his chest as my thoughts drift. He snatches them. “What did it remind you of?”

Our eyes pull back together.

I swallow. “My childhood. Lullabies and things like that.”

I’m not sure why I lie, but thinking of my brother as I purchase a dress for Prom, to wear for a boy who probably wants to rip the dress right off of me, feels… strange.

Wrong, somehow.

He’d likely be horrified by that response.

Brant blinks, releasing my hands and taking a small step backward. He scratches at his dark hair, glimmering with various flecks of golden highlights in the setting sun. “Well, I love it, Junebug. You look—”

“Hell no, Peach. Absolutely, no.” Theo storms out onto the patio with a knitted shawl Grams made for Mom last winter. “You’re wearing this.”

I spin toward him as he drapes the scratchy cloak of yarn around my bare shoulders. My nose scrunches with distaste. “It itches. And it smells like ancient dust bunnies and dying plants.”

“It smells like no one’s gonna touch you tonight.”

I glower at him. “It doesn’t match at all. This isn’t even a color, Theo.” Is it brown? Burgundy? No one knows. “I’m not wearing this. Fuck mushrooms.”

“You—” He falters, blinks… then bursts into laughter. His whole body shakes when he laughs, and that always makes me laugh. Theo sighs, adjusting the holster around his waist. “Touché, Peach. Touché.”

Brant slips past us, giving Theo a smack on the shoulder as he sweeps by. His eyes trail to me for only a moment, and the smile I give him goes unseen as he disappears into the house. Swallowing, I return my attention back to Theo. He’s looking at me funny. “What?”

His lips twitch. “Nothing.”

“You have a look.”

“I’m just thinking about how I’m going to get out of an assault charge when your date tries to lay a finger on you tonight. Felonies don’t mesh well with my line of work.”

I snicker. “What on earth will you do when I get married one day? And have babies?”

He visibly shudders, and I flash back to my fever dream from years ago. I think about Theo and his speech I never got to hear, and how it was more than likely a laundry list of threats toward my future husband. A grin crests with amusement, only to fade the moment I remember who my groom was in the dream.

My cheeks burn.

So weird.

“Well…” he sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glancing toward the sky. He taps at his holster. “It’s a good day to save someone.”

“It’s always a good day to save someone,” I smile fondly.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Theo’s eyes glisten with affection when they skip back to me. “I’m proud of you, Peach. You know that, right?”

My grin grows brighter as I shuffle in place on bare feet, tiny pebbles biting into my soles. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re smart and wise, and so fucking kind. I can’t wait to see you light up a stage one day with your talent, and with that big, beautiful heart of yours. You’re going places, Peach, you really are. And I’ll be cheering you along, all the way to the top.” He raises his hand, placing it atop my shoulder and squeezing gently. His dark blue eyes glint a little lighter when the sunshine hits them just right. With a cheeky smile, he finishes, “And I’ll kick the crap out of every single boy you try to take with you.”

I rip off the shawl and chuck it at the back of his head as he bolts into the house, his laughter trailing behind him.

I cup a hand over my mouth in shock.

No way. There’s no way!

Celeste fidgets in front of Mr. Kent, wringing her hands together, her skin flushed as red as her sheath dress. Overplayed pop music drowns out the sound of her voice as Genevieve and I sit shoulder to shoulder at a round table a few feet away, trying to hide our squeals of disbelief.

Mr. Kent takes a step back from Celeste, scratching at his neck and glancing around the room. He’s even sweating a little.

“She’s crazy,” Gen whisper-shouts into my ear. “She’s absolutely nuts.”

I giggle under my breath.

When we entered freshman year, we made a pact—we each had to perform a spectacularly stupid dare on Prom night. We don’t get anything out of this, of course; no trophy or golden medal. Only our combined mortification, mutual respect, and a lifetime of “I can’t believe we did that” giggles.

Honestly, I thought my friends had forgotten about our silly little pact, but Celeste brought it up the moment we gathered around the table and our dates took off to drink punch and talk sports.

Celeste’s dare came easy. She’s had a crush on her math teacher, Mr. Kent, since the moment she stepped foot into his classroom. Gen and I dared her to confess her deepest fantasies to him. The naughtiest of fantasies, the kind that would make a grown man blush.

It seems to be working.

He’s blushing profusely.

Gen’s elbow rams into me when Celeste turns and skips across the dance floor in her high heels, her face the deepest shade of fuchsia I’ve ever seen.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” She mumbles it over and over before she collapses into a chair and buries her face in her arms. She tosses her cell phone onto the table with a recording of the whole conversation—delicious proof. “I hate you both. I hate you both so much.”

We nearly die of laughter.

Mr. Kent strolls by our table, exiting swiftly, clearly rattled and embarrassed.

“Don’t hate us, Celeste. Retribution is so much sweeter.” Gen waggles her eyebrows at me, our friend crumpled between us over the table. “Who’s next? Me or June?”

Celeste sits up straight, blotches of red still painting her face. “God, my heart is beating out of my chest. Give me a minute to make sure it doesn’t give out.” I slide a glass of water over to her, and she takes it eagerly, gulping it down and collecting herself.

My attention wavers when Brant steps into the ballroom with my chemistry teacher, Miss Holland. I dart my eyes over to him, stiffening as my teacher laughs at one of his jokes. The sound of her cackle has my arm hairs standing to attention, and I don’t know why. She’s older than him—beautiful, sure, but at least a decade his senior. I frown, watching them interact. Brant leans back against the wall, folding his arms and looking light and carefree. He doesn’t give her that same look he gave me on the patio when I debuted my ballgown; the look of fire and brimstone.

I pick at the sequins on my bodice, gnawing on my bottom lip as I observe them tease and tell jokes. At one point, Brant seems to check out of the conversation, his mind becoming distracted. His eyes leave hers to case the room instead, jumping from table to table. He’s looking for something.

And then his sights land on me, perched at the table on his right.

He smiles a little, his posture relaxing. His eyes fill with warm relief, as if I was what he was looking for.

My hand lifts in a small wave as I return the smile.

And when I glance back at Celeste, she’s grinning devilishly. My insides pitch. “What? You’ve thought of my dare, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Her focus is pinned on Brant, causing my heart to flutter with worry. “You’re not allowed to make a move on him. He’s off-limits.” It’s a silly thing to demand, but he’s my brother. It would be too weird.

The evil gleam in Celeste’s eyes doesn’t fade. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” she breezes, then leans into Genevieve, shielding her mouth from me, so I can’t hear what she’s concocting.

Gen gasps. “No way. She’ll never do it.”

“She has to. It’s the dare.”

My own heart is now beating so fast, I fear it might escape. “What? What is it?”

Gen pulls her lips between her teeth as she straightens, glancing over her shoulder at Brant, then back at me. “Oh, girl, prepare yourself.”

“What?” I’ll go mad if they don’t tell me right now.

With a dramatic intake of breath, Celeste pivots toward me and announces my fate: “Kiss Brant.”

The air leaves my lungs.

The room spins.

My skin starts to sweat.

“N-No… what? No.” I’m shaking my head, horror drenching me. “Are you insane? He’s my brother.”

“He’s not really your brother,” Gen says. “He’s not blood.”

“It doesn’t matter—that’s sick! It’s twisted. You’re both out of your minds.”

Gen shrugs, leaning into me. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone, but I have a huge crush on my stepbrother. It was super weird at first, but it happens, you know?”

My eyes pop. “I don’t have a crush on Brant. You’re acting crazy. This was supposed to be fun.”

“It’s supposed to be humiliating,” Celeste intervenes, holding up her hand. “I can attest to that. Go on now, June, don’t disappoint us.”

Both girls giggle at my impending doom.

I bite my lip, my counter words all caught up in my throat. Glancing over to Brant, I replace him looking at me again, but he turns away the moment our eyes meet.

I gulp. “How can I? He’ll be disgusted. Horrified. He’ll hate me forever,” I rush out, hoping to change their minds. There must be something else I can do. There must be.

“He’s not going to hate you, it’s just a silly dare.” Celeste stares at him from across the room, her smile wicked. “As far as I’m concerned, you have the easiest dare by far. Look at that man.”

No. I won’t look at him.

And if I do this, I’ll never be able to look at him again.

“Come on, June. You can’t chicken out on us.” Celeste places her hand over mine, a gentle encouragement. “Everything will be fine, and you’ll both laugh about this by morning.”

My chest twists with terror. My stomach swirls with dread.

But… maybe she’s right. If I don’t accept this dare, I might be forced into something worse—stripping naked in front of my classmates, or coming on to a teacher far more appalling than Mr. Kent, or having to kiss someone else.

Someone awful; someone I don’t even care about, let alone love.

I love Brant. He loves me.

All will be forgiven.

Sucking in a deep breath of courage, I nod with flimsy resolution—but with resolution, nonetheless. Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I rise from the chair, then smooth out the tulle of my skirt. “Fine.”

“Fine? Shit, okay.” Celeste pops up from her own seat, snatching Gen by the wrist. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, you can’t come with me. I can’t have an audience… this is unbearable enough.”

“We have to see it, June. We need proof. Slip into the hallway behind the double doors and we’ll just watch through the glass window.”

“Kiss him in the hallway? Someone will see us,” I snap back.

“The rest of the venue is all closed down—no one will be wandering on the other side of the doors.”

Oh, God.

I may vomit.

“Fine, okay, just… give me a minute, then come over once the door is shut.” My heart is ricocheting off my ribs. “And I hate you both more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Remember that.”

They just laugh at me.

Gathering my wits, I lift my chin with an air of conviction I absolutely do not feel. My mouth is dry, my palms sweating. I walk over to Brant, almost rolling an ankle in my dumb heel, and his attention pulls toward me as I approach. I wonder if he can see that I’m actually dying right now. I’m passing away and floating up to the clouds at this very moment because my spirit would much rather get the hell out of dodge than go through with this.

I stop in front of him, picking at my freshly painted fingernails.

A smile brightens his face, and he pushes up from the wall. “Junebug. Having fun?”

“No.”

He frowns.

I clear my throat, backtracking. “Yes. I mean, yes… um, can I borrow you for a minute?”

“Everything okay?”

“No.” Damnit, June. “Sorry. Yes. I just wanted to tell you something.”

He knows I’m acting like a true basket case, so he steps toward me, close enough that I can smell the soap on his skin. His eyes dance across my face, trying to figure out why my cheeks are redder than the punch, and why my left eye is twitching sporadically. “Okay. Of course.”

“This way.” I force a weird semi-smile and stalk away, expecting him to follow. He does. Damn him. Coughing a little into my fist, I lead him down the long hallway and slip through the double doors. Then I stall my feet, spinning around to face him when he joins me on the other side.

Brant lets the door swing shut behind him, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Why are we over here?” He senses something off about me and moves in closer, his hand extending to my forearm. “You’re scaring me a little.”

It’s so quiet on this side of the doors, and I fear he can hear my heart screaming in terror. I lick my lips. “I’m not trying to. I just… I have to do this.”

He shakes his head, a baffled laugh slipping out. “You’re not making any sense. Do what?”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Just get it over with, June.

“This.”

I don’t think. My hands lift, reaching up and pulling his face down to mine. His stunned breath is the last thing I hear before our lips crash together, and I’m inching up on my tiptoes, my palms clasped around his jaw, my mouth parting on instinct.

I didn’t intend to part my lips, but I do.

We just hover there for a moment, our breaths heavy and unsteady, turning into pants the longer we linger, while our mouths connect in a way they never should.

And then something happens.

I don’t know what happens, but something happens.

I feel his hand cinch around my waist, while the other drags up to my hair, tangling in the mound of loose curls. My pelvis jerks forward without warning.

Then he kisses me.

Truly kisses me.

An involuntary sound spills free when his tongue slips inside my mouth. A sound I’ll never understand, could never explain away. A sound that has him making an identical sound. This isn’t my first kiss, but my God… it feels like it.

My tongue flicks against his. I feel him shudder against me as his grip on my hair tightens. He groans, pulling me closer to him as our tongues touch and taste for the very first time.

Forbidden. Illicit. Scandalous.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

But I don’t pull back. I don’t shove him away.

In fact, I move closer. Closer than I ever should be, my hands trailing from his face to his hair and fisting gently. He groans again as he deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue over mine, over and over, until I’m mewling and gasping and grinding myself against him.

Brant pulls back, breathless. His eyes are dark and stormy, brimming with lust and confusion. He doesn’t let me go. He holds me tight, squeezing me as he says, “Why did you do that…” It’s not even a question. He says it like a breathy growl of defeat, as if he just lost something he’d been fighting desperately for.

My lips feel puffy and swollen. Tingly.

I stare up at him.

I don’t know what to say.

But I couldn’t speak if I wanted to because his mouth crushes mine again in another bruising kiss. A moan pours out of me. A terrible, wicked sound that I wish I could take back. This is madness. Sinister madness that has me drunk and lightheaded, scared out of my mind.

He nicks my lip with his teeth, then plunges his tongue into my mouth, both of his hands rising up to cradle my face. He cherishes me as he ruins me. His fingertips burrow into my cheeks while we kiss each other desperately, faces angling to taste deeper, harder, my hands still pulling at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Pants, moans, growls. His erection presses into me. My whole body hums and burns as I suck his tongue into my mouth and feel him tremble.

I’m wet.

My panties are soaked through, I can tell.

My God, what are we doing? What the hell are we doing?

Alarms begin to drown out the coil of hunger spiraling low in my belly.

Warning signs sweep across my mind, stealing my attention.

This is Brant.

This. Is. Brant.

Panic seizes me, and I replace the strength to pull back, my startled cry hitting the air when our mouths part and I shove him away from me. Brant’s chest is heaving, his eyes glazed and wild. Hair a mess. Skin flushed, lips kissed raw.

Oh my God.

I think I hear something in the distance, a plethora of footfalls, but I don’t wait around.

I bolt.

With tears rushing to my eyes, I bust through the double doors, nearly plowing over Celeste and Genevieve who were watching from the other side. I don’t stop to drink in their horrified expressions or see whose footsteps those were.

I just run. Fast and furious, all the way out the main entrance and into the parking lot where I can finally stop to catch my breath.

I don’t look back.