Page 38 of Step Brother Bear

“Shit,” I say to the stillness. He wouldn’t leave me, not after last night, unless I imagined everything—the desperation, the yearning—it was so unlike him, but the memories feel so real, impossible to dispute. Maybe he’s back to himself and freaked out by everything that happened. He could be out clearing his head. The last twenty-four hours happened so fast that it’s probably for the best that we have some time apart.

A whiff of my body odor permeates my nostrils. I examine the gray t-shirt still covering my black swimsuit. I’m a mess. Luckily, we managed to drag in the bags we quickly packed, but I didn’t have time to think about what to bring.

I sit on the floor, pulling my duffel bag close to see what I stuffed inside. “Thank God,” I exclaim when I find a pair of my large, period-stained underwear. Definitely not my sexiest garments, but it beats the bikini currently riding up my ass. I find shorts and a loose cotton t-shirt. No bra, so it looks like my bathing suit top is my only option since I’d give someone a black eye if I let these puppies hang free.

It could be five in the morning or twelve in the afternoon. I could look up at the sky and figure out a range for where the sun sits, but I wouldn’t be able to tell north from my asshole. It felt like I shut my eyes for a second and woke up to the sun-heated room. There’s no clock in here, and I left my phone in the car. Mom, the police, or the news are all probably blowing it up right now. I’m half tempted to never look at the thing again, but Derek and I still need to discuss what our plan is. Our plan because we’re in this together now.

The heaviness of the situation makes me anxious, and I look around the room for something to focus on to calm my quivering nerves. A metal box underneath the cot we slept on snags my attention. It could be filled with severed body parts or hidden cookies, the latter thought urging me to open it and find out. I rummage through the stack of papers inside. Most of them are scraps of old books, perhaps quotes he enjoyed. There are pictures of sports cars, the hottest sneakers from ten years ago, and different rap album covers. I never took Derek for a scrapbooker, but I also never took him for a bear, so it shouldn’t be too shocking that he’s full of surprises. As I dig further into the box, I find a picture of me. It used to be a Polaroid of Chrishell and me from freshman homecoming, but the Chrishell part is ripped off, leaving only me in my pastel pink dress. He must have stolen it from my room. It swells my heart, but as I keep digging, I find another picture—cut out from my yearbook. Then another. Then another, and suddenly there’s an entire pile of missing high school photos of me.

Oh, my God. I’m unsure whether I should be freaked out or flattered, but I have no urge to run away. I hated him in high school, was sure he felt the same way, but it’s obvious from his collection that I wasn’t just the annoying stepsister in his way. I was the object of his attention, so much so that he stored me away in his secret cabin.

“What are you doing?”

I yelp and jerk my attention to the dripping wet Derek in the doorway, two bloody fish clasped in his enormous hands. I fumble with the pictures, trying to stuff them back in the box. “Oh, nothing. I was hungry and looking for something to eat.”

His eyes glue to my hands. A picture of me flies out from the pile and floats toward Derek’s feet. He stares down at it.

Shit.

He places the fish on a rickety table near the door and crouches on the floor next to me, droplets from his hair hitting the side of my face. He grabs the stack from my hand and flips through, smiling awkwardly as he bites his lip. He taps one, then holds it up. It’s a picture of me in a bikini in Palm Beach, senior year. “I almost forgot about this stash.”

“Why are they here? As a matter of fact, where is here?” I try to hide the fear in my voice.

He doesn’t look up. “This is an abandoned hunting shack I found one summer in middle school. It’s where I ran away when things got too bad at home. I brought whatever I could to pass the time.”

A small piece of my heart chips away at his words. I heard the yelling, the banging, and then silence. Even back then, I didn’t like it. Now I’m furious I didn’t do anything about it.

He laughs. “I’m surprised there’s no cum stains from the amount of times I jerked off, clasping this in my hands.” Derek has said some pretty unhinged shit before, but this takes the cake.

I’m at a loss for words, but he doesn’t seem to notice my stupor, only continues to flip through the photos. I guess this is a good sign. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to slit my throat and wear my skin, but I’m still a bit unsettled. I swallow a dry gulp. “I didn’t know you liked me back then.”

“I didn’t. I hated you.”

Damn. “Uh, okay?”

He sighs, placing the picture back in the box. “No, I didn’t hate you. I hated what you represented.” He turns toward me, running his hands through his wet hair.

“What did I represent?”

“My lack of choice.” The corner of his lip twitches.

“What do you mean?”

He turns, his jaw tense, but he doesn’t answer me.

A blaring memory takes focus, what he called me as he came inside of me. “You called me your mate last night.”

“I’ve called you lots of things.” He won’t look at me.

“But never that. Am I your mate?”

He scoffs. “You don’t even know what that means.”

“I can guess. I’ve seen enough werewolf movies. It means we’re predestined for each other. That we can't survive without each other, right?”

“It’s different.”

“So I am your mate?”