Chapter 5: The Reckoning

The morning of their parents' return felt like the end of the world.

Elijah stood in the shower, hot water cascading over his shoulders, trying to wash away the scent of Sam's shampoo from his skin and failing miserably. Every nerve in his body was wound tight with panic, his mind racing through a hundred different scenarios of discovery and disaster.

Six hours. That's all they had left before his father's car pulled into the driveway, before their stolen paradise came crashing down around them.

He'd barely slept, too aware of Sam curled against him, too consumed by the knowledge that this might be the last time he'd wake up with her in his arms. She'd been restless too, her breathing never quite settling into the deep rhythm of true sleep. They'd both been counting down the hours, dreading the inevitable.

When he emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, Sam was sitting on the edge of her bed. She'd pulled on one of his t-shirts—a unconscious claim of possession that made his chest tight—and her blonde hair was a riot of bedhead waves that he wanted to run his fingers through.

"We need to talk," she said without looking up.

The words sent ice through his veins. Nothing good ever started with those four words, especially not when delivered in that carefully controlled tone that meant Sam was holding back a storm.

"About what?" he asked, though he already knew.

"About what happens when they get home." Her blue eyes met his, and the determination he saw there was laced with something that looked like desperation. "About whether you're going to run away again the moment things get complicated."

Elijah ran a hand through his damp hair, water droplets scattering. This was the conversation he'd been dreading, the one that would force them to examine the impossible situation they'd created.

"Sam, we talked about this. We have to be careful—"

"Careful." She stood up, and there was something dangerous in her posture. "Is that what you call it when you refuse to look at me during dinner? When you act like I'm some stranger you barely tolerate?"

"That's not—"

"Because that's what you're planning, isn't it?" She was moving closer now, her voice gaining strength. "You're going to put on your responsible older brother mask and pretend the last two weeks never happened. Pretend you never touched me like I was something precious."

The accusation hit too close to home, because part of him had been planning exactly that. The safe route. The careful route. The route that wouldn't end with their family imploding.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked roughly. "Hold your hand at dinner? Kiss you good morning in front of our parents? This isn't some fantasy, Sam. There are consequences—"

"I know there are consequences!" The words exploded out of her, three weeks of frustration and fear finally finding their voice. "You think I don't know what we're risking? You think I don't lie awake at night terrified that someone will find out and everything will fall apart?"

She was right in front of him now, close enough that he could see the unshed tears making her eyes bright, close enough that he had to fight the urge to reach for her.

"But you know what scares me more?" she continued, her voice dropping to something raw and honest. "The thought of going back to the way things were. The thought of watching you disappear behind that wall of politeness and distance, like these two weeks meant nothing to you."

"They meant everything to me," he said before he could stop himself.

The admission hung between them, more honest than anything their carefully constructed relationship allowed for. Sam's breath caught, hope flickering across her features.

"Then don't throw it away," she whispered. "Don't let fear destroy the one real thing we've ever had."

"It's not that simple—"

"Why not?" Her hands fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. "Why does it have to be complicated? We're adults. We care about each other. We make each other happy. Why isn't that enough?"

Because they weren't just adults who'd met at a coffee shop. Because their happiness was built on a foundation of secrecy and potential destruction. Because loving her—and Christ, that's what this was, wasn't it?—meant risking everything their parents had built.

But looking at her now, seeing the way she was fighting for them, for this impossible thing between them, Elijah felt his carefully constructed arguments crumble.

"You want to know why?" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Because I'm terrified that I love you too much to be careful. Because when I'm with you, I forget about consequences and complications and all the reasons this is impossible. Because you make me want to be selfish."

Sam's eyes widened at his confession, and suddenly she was kissing him with desperate intensity, pouring all her fear and love and determination into the press of her lips against his. He kissed her back helplessly, his hands tangling in her hair, his towel forgotten on the floor.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy between them.

"I love you too," Sam whispered against his mouth. "I love you, and I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not going to apologize for wanting you, or for fighting for us."

The words should have terrified him. Instead, they felt like coming home.

"Sam..." he started, but she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Don't. Don't rationalize it away or find reasons why it's wrong. Just... be here with me. One more time before we have to pretend to be strangers again."

And God help him, he was lost. Lost in the blue of her eyes, in the way she was looking at him like he was worth fighting for. Lost in the desperate knowledge that in a few hours, he'd have to watch her smile politely across the dinner table and pretend his heart didn't stop every time she laughed.

They made love with a desperate intensity that bordered on violence, all teeth and nails and whispered confessions. It was nothing like the gentle exploration of their previous encounters—this was claiming, possessing, the desperate attempt to brand each other's souls before the world intruded.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and impending loss, neither willing to be the first to acknowledge that their time was up.

"I can't do it," Sam said finally, her voice muffled against his chest. "I can't sit at that table tonight and pretend you're just my stepbrother. I can't watch you be polite and distant when I know how you sound when you say my name."

"You have to," Elijah said, but his arms tightened around her. "We both have to."

"No." She pushed herself up to look at him, and the fire in her eyes was back. "I won't be your dirty little secret, Elijah. I won't smile and nod and pretend this meant nothing while you go back to treating me like an obligation."

"That's not what this is—"

"Isn't it?" Her laugh was bitter. "The moment they walk through that door, you're going to disappear. You're going to become the responsible stepson again, and I'm going to be the chaotic stepsister you have to tolerate."

"Sam, please. Just until we figure this out—"

"There's nothing to figure out!" She was off the bed now, pacing naked and magnificent and absolutely fearless. "Either you want this—want us—or you don't. Either you're willing to fight for it, or you're not. It's that simple."

But it wasn't simple, and they both knew it. Their relationship existed in stolen moments and whispered confessions, built on a foundation of secrecy that would crumble the moment it was exposed to daylight.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked desperately. "Tell them at dinner? Watch our family fall apart because we couldn't control ourselves?"

"I want you to stop being afraid!" The words came out fierce, raw. "I want you to admit that this is worth fighting for instead of looking for reasons to run away!"

"I'm not running away—"

"You've been running away since the moment you kissed me!" Sam's voice cracked with emotion. "Every time things get real, every time we get close to something that matters, you find an excuse to pull back. Well, I'm done being patient. I'm done waiting for you to be brave enough to want me."

The accusation hit like a physical blow, because it was true. He had been running, had been looking for exits since their first kiss. Not because he didn't want her, but because wanting her felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

"You think I don't want you?" He was on his feet now, closing the distance between them. "You think any of this has been easy for me?"

"I think you're a coward," she said, chin lifted defiantly. "I think you'd rather be miserable and safe than take a risk on something real."

The word hit him like a slap—the same accusation she'd thrown at him weeks ago, the one that had haunted him through sleepless nights and stolen moments.

"Don't," he said roughly.

"Why? Because it's true?" Sam stepped closer, her blue eyes blazing. "Because you know that the moment they walk through that door, you're going to choose them over us? Choose their approval over what we have?"

"That's not—"

"It is, and we both know it." Her voice was steady now, deadly calm. "So let me make this easy for you, Elijah. I'm not going to be your secret. I'm not going to pretend this never happened. And I'm sure as hell not going to watch you disappear into your guilt and your fear."

She was getting dressed now, pulling on clothes with sharp, angry movements that made his chest tight with panic.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Away from you." She pulled on jeans, not bothering with underwear. "Away from this house where everything has to be hidden and ashamed. Away from watching you choose everyone else over me."

"Sam, wait—"

But she was already moving toward the door, and something in her posture told him that if she left now, if she walked away in anger and hurt, they might never find their way back to each other.

He caught her wrist as she reached for the door handle, spinning her around to face him. The tears she'd been holding back were flowing freely now, and seeing them was like a knife to his chest.

"Don't go," he said roughly. "Please. Don't leave like this."

"Give me a reason to stay," she whispered. "Give me one reason to believe this means something to you."

And suddenly, looking at her tear-streaked face, feeling the way she was trembling under his touch, Elijah realized that all his careful reasoning and rational fears meant nothing compared to the possibility of losing her.

"Because I love you," he said, the words torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm terrified of losing you."

Sam's breath caught, but she didn't pull away.

"Then don't lose me," she said simply. "Choose me, Elijah. For once in your life, choose what you want instead of what you think you should want."

The doorbell rang.

The sound cut through their moment like a knife, reality crashing back with devastating finality. They stood frozen, staring at each other, the weight of unfinished conversations and impossible choices hanging between them.

"They're early," Sam whispered.

Elijah's heart hammered against his ribs as footsteps echoed on the front porch, as keys jingled in the lock. They had seconds—maybe less—before their parents walked through the door and found them like this, naked and desperate and completely exposed.

"Sam," he started, but she was already moving, grabbing clothes and pulling them on with practiced efficiency.

"Don't," she said without looking at him. "Whatever you're about to say, don't. We're out of time."

The front door opened, and their mother's voice drifted up the stairs, cheerful and completely oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated in the room above her head.

"We're home! Kids, where are you?"

Sam looked at him one last time, and the expression on her face was one he'd never seen before—a terrible mixture of love and disappointment and finality.

"Choose," she said quietly. "Right now, choose."

And as footsteps started up the stairs, as their parents' voices grew closer, Elijah realized that his moment of reckoning had finally arrived.

The question was: would he be brave enough to choose her?

Or would he prove, once and for all, that she'd been right to call him a coward?