Page 40 of Reckless Obsession

Lucas smiles at that, a sleepy little thing that tugs at the corner of his mouth. But the second he reaches Alex, his smile turns shy, his cheeks pinking slightly as if he’s just remembered he’s standing in the same room as the person he’s hopelessly in love with.

They’ve been together for months now, but Lucas still gets like this sometimes around my brother. As if he doesn’t quite know what to do with the way Alex looks at him. Like the intensity of it still catches him off guard.

Alex reaches for him without hesitation. One arm wraps around Lucas’s waist, pulling him closer as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Lucas goes easily as if gravity works differently around Alex.

Alex dips his head and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m about to make breakfast,” he says quietly. “Would you like coffee first?”

“Yes, please,” Lucas mumbles. Then he rises on his toes and kisses Alex on the lips.

“For the love of God,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Can you not do this in front of me? Stop aggressively reminding me that I’m lonely.”

Lucas snickers against Alex’s mouth before pulling away, his cheeks faintly pink.

He slips out of Alex’s arms and moves toward the stool beside mine, climbing onto it and tucking one leg under himself. Alex throws me an unimpressed look and I shrug, completely unapologetic, taking another slow sip of my ginger tea.

Still terrible.

Lucas turns toward me then, his amusement fading a little as his eyes sweep over my face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

His tone is gentle, but his gaze is assessing as he takes in the dark circles and the way I’m hunched over the counter like a dying Victorian child.

“I feel like crap,” I mutter, staring into my mug. “It’s been a while since I drank that much.”

Alex’s voice cuts through the kitchen a second later.

“Dad called me this morning.”

The words land like a dropped knife. I glance at him, my brows pulling together.

“He said you’re not answering his calls,” he continues, as if reciting the weather. Then he tilts his head slightly. “And Joanna called him. Apparently, you’ve missed your last four therapy sessions.”

Something hot flares in my chest. I straighten, my glare snapping towards him.

“And so what?” I retort. “Does Dad report to you now?”

Alex doesn’t even pause or seem fazed by my reply. He moves toward the coffee maker, presses a button, then turns back to the counter.

“I don’t care if you ignore our father’s calls,” he says calmly.

The machine hums softly behind him. Then he grabs a mug when the coffee finishes, pours it slowly, walks over, and sets the cup gently in front of Lucas.

Lucas murmurs a quiet thank you, wrapping his hands around the warmth.

“However,” Alex continues.

Now he looks at me. Really looks at me. His eyes are cold and steady, pinning me to the stool like a blade.

“Why,” he says quietly, “are you doing the same to Mom?”

The question lands harder than the hangover behind my eyes. And for a moment, the kitchen goes completely still.

I stare down into my mug of ginger tea, watching the steam curl upward in thin wisps. It makes my stomach churn, but I take another sip anyway because it gives me something to do besides look at him.

A quiet laugh slips out of me.