Chapter 29: Never Tell Me the Odds

[Adam’s POV]

Light stabs through my eyelids like a thousand tiny needles, each one drilling directly into my brain. I groan, rolling onto my side and immediately regretting the movement as my stomach lurches in protest. The pounding in my head is relentless, a bass drum being played by an enthusiastic toddler with no concept of mercy.

“Kill me,” I whisper to no one in particular, my voice a hoarse croak that scrapes against my dry throat.

I force my eyes open, squinting against the sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. The room gradually comes into focus. the comforter, the plain walls, the dresser with its neat, empty surface. The guest room. I’m still at the Harper house.

Fragments of the previous night float through my mind like debris after a hurricane, tequila shots, Connor’s laughter, the blue hat with its embarrassing message, Candice’s warm smile as she helped me up the stairs. Then there’s a blank space, a fuzzy darkness punctuated by flashes of... something. Warmth. Pleasure. Skin against skin.

I turn my head, movement sending fresh waves of pain crashing against my skull, and freeze.

Candice Harper lies beside me, her naked body partially covered by the navy sheet that’s tangled around our legs. Her brown hair is tousled from sleep, her lips slightly parted as she breathes deeply, still lost in dreams. One arm is flung above her head, the other curved in the space between us, like she was holding me before drifting away in slumber.

‘Oh fuck. No, no, no.’

The reality of what happened crashes over me with the force of a tidal wave. Not all the details, but enough. Enough to know that I’ve made a catastrophic mistake.

I stare at her sleeping form, unable to tear my eyes away despite the rising panic that threatens to choke me. She looks peaceful, satisfied even, the lines on her face softened by sleep. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the sheet having slipped down to reveal more than it conceals.

My stomach churns with a nauseating mixture of hangover and dread. The pounding in my head intensifies as memories from last night become sharper, more focused. Candice on top of me. My hands on her body. The way she moved. The things I said.

‘Jesus Christ, I thought she was Cat.’

I need to get out of here. Now. Before Caterina finds me. Before she discovers what happened between Candice and me, Before she unleashes hell on this family, that’s been nothing but kind to me.

I try to slide out from under the sheets without disturbing Candice, moving with agonizing slowness despite the urgency screaming through my veins. Each tiny movement feels like sandpaper against my raw nerves, the hangover amplifying every sensation to unbearable levels.

Just as I’m about to swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the door creaks open. Connor’s head pops in, his hair disheveled, eyes still puffy with sleep. He freezes when he spots us, his gaze darting from my naked torso to Candice’s sleeping form beside me.

“Ahh, sorry,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline as a knowing smirk spreads across his face. He gives me an exaggerated wink and a thumbs-up before slipping back out, pulling the door closed with a soft click that seems to echo like thunder in my pounding head.

The sound of the door closing disturbs Candice. Her eyes flutter open, warm brown irises focusing on my face with immediate recognition. Unlike me, she doesn’t seem disoriented or confused. A soft smile curves her lips as she reaches out to trace my jawline with gentle fingers.

“Last night was amazing,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep and something else, something warm and intimate that makes my chest tighten with emotions I don’t want to examine.

She pulls me into a hug before I can retreat, her arms wrapping around me with surprising strength, drawing me against the soft warmth of her body.

“Candice, I’m sorry, but I think last night was a mistake,” I say, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I have people after me, Candice. Dangerous people. You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself involved with.”

She says, “Shhhh,” pressing a finger to my lips. “No one’s after you. Let me protect you.”

“Candice, I’m not…”

She cuts me off with a gentle squeeze, her arms tightening around me in a way that feels both comforting and inescapable. “Adam, let’s talk about this after breakfast,” she says, her voice taking on that maternal tone that somehow makes my protests die in my throat. “You know how men get when they’re hungry. Just come here.”

She hugs me tighter, her breasts pressing against my chest, soft and warm. The physical contact sends conflicting signals through my hangover-addled brain, comfort, danger, desire, and dread, all mixed together in a toxic cocktail that makes it hard to think straight.

“Alright, alright,” I relent, not having the energy to fight both her and my splitting headache simultaneously.

I let her pull me against her body, my head resting against her shoulder as her fingers trace soothing patterns across my back.

‘I’ll silently walk out after breakfast when no one’s looking,’ I think to myself, the plan forming with desperate clarity in my mind. ‘Grab the duffel bag, find the back door, and disappear before anyone notices. Before Caterina finds this place. Before she hurts these people because of me.’

Candice presses a soft kiss to my forehead, completely unaware of the danger hanging over her head like a guillotine, suspended by a single thread that grows thinner with each passing moment.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispers against my skin, her breath warm and gentle. “I promise.”

‘What an insane thing to promise someone you just met.’

*****

The dining table at the Harper house is massive. I sit awkwardly in the middle, flanked by Candice on my left and Connor on my right, while June bustles around us, delivering plate after plate of breakfast foods. The spread is genuinely impressive scrambled eggs, bacon crisped to perfection, stacks of golden pancakes, fresh fruit arranged in a colorful spiral, and a basket of muffins still steaming from the oven.

The domestic scene feels surreal after the last few weeks of my life. My head pounds with each heartbeat, a relentless reminder of last night’s excesses. The smell of food, normally enticing, makes my stomach roll ominously. I take small sips of water, trying to rehydrate without triggering my gag reflex.

Candice’s hand rests casually on my thigh under the table, her thumb making small, lazy circles against the fabric of my borrowed sweatpants. The touch just annoys me.

April and Gabby sit across from us, both also hungover. April’s blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, her normally sharp eyes slightly unfocused as she nibbles cautiously on a piece of dry toast. Gabby looks worse, slumped in her chair with dark circles under her eyes, clutching her coffee mug like it contains the elixir of life.

Connor leans in close, his shoulder brushing against mine as he dips his head toward my ear. “How was it?” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the clinking of silverware and June’s cheerful humming from the kitchen.

I turn slightly, keeping my voice equally low. “I barely remember. I was browning out hard.”

Connor’s eyes widen slightly before he nods in understanding. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You love MILFs, don’t you?”

“True,” I mutter, pressing my fingers against my temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing. “Too tired to think about it.”

Connor chuckles quietly, patting my shoulder with sympathy that does nothing to ease my growing sense of dread.

June returns to the table, carrying a steaming carafe of coffee that makes Gabby perk up visibly. “More coffee for anyone?”

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as pain lances through my skull. “No thanks,” I mutter, wincing as Candice fills my plate with a mountain of eggs and crispy bacon strips.

“Make sure you eat a lot so you can have lots of energy today,” Candice says, her voice carrying a suggestive undertone.

‘She just wants to treat me like a walking dildo,’ I think to myself, the realization both flattering and deeply concerning given my situation.

June returns from the kitchen with a basket of toast, but freezes mid-step when she catches the way Candice is looking at me, all bedroom eyes and secret smiles. Her gaze darts between us, taking in Candice’s hand on my thigh, the slightly rumpled way we both look, the unmistakable intimacy that hangs in the air like perfume.

“Mom, you didn’t?” June asks. “He was way too drunk last night to consent!”

The accusation lands like a bomb at the breakfast table. April’s head snaps up, her hangover momentarily forgotten as she stares at her mother with wide eyes. Gabby nearly chokes on her coffee, coughing violently as Connor pats her back.

Candice has the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but there’s no real remorse in her expression as she shrugs one shoulder. “Oh, and Connor wasn’t?” she counters, gesturing toward Connor with her fork.

April bristles immediately, her posture straightening as she comes to Connor’s defense. “Connor wants it just as much as we do,” she insists, her voice sharp with territorial protectiveness.

June’s eyes are locked on me, searching for signs of trauma or discomfort, while April continues to glare at her mother with barely contained indignation.

“Relax, relax,” I say, raising my hands in a placating gesture. The sudden movement sends fresh waves of pain pulsing through my skull, but I push through it. “I consented. It’s fine.”

The words feel hollow even as they leave my mouth, a peace offering sacrificed on the altar of household harmony. But the alternative, admitting I was too drunk to consent, that I’m pretty sure Candice tricked me, seems infinitely worse. The last thing I need is to drive a wedge between these people when I’m about to disappear from their lives forever.

June frowns, her brow furrowing as she studies my face with the careful scrutiny of someone who’s spent years reading between lines. “Are you sure?” she asks, her voice gentler now but no less probing. “Because if you weren’t in a state to…”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I interrupt, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face in half. “Really. It’s all good.”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue, but it seems to work. The tension in the room deflates slightly, June’s shoulders relaxing as she sets down the toast basket. Candice’s hand squeezes my thigh under the table, a gesture that’s meant to be reassuring but only intensifies my urge to flee.

I take a deep breath, preparing to make some excuse about needing air, about gathering my thoughts, anything that will get me out of this house sooner.

But then the doorbell rings.

The sound slices through the awkward silence like a knife, three sharp, insistent chimes that freeze the blood in my veins. My fork clatters against the plate as my hand goes suddenly numb, fingers refusing to maintain their grip.

“I wonder who that could be,” Candice says, already pushing back her chair. “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we, June?”

June shakes her head, looking equally puzzled. “No, not that I know of.”

My whole body starts to feel sick, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead as nausea rises like a tide in my stomach. The room tilts slightly, breakfast plates and coffee mugs blurring at the edges as one terrible thought consumes my mind.

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’