Chapter 8: The Other Girl

The text from Jessica Martinez came at the worst possible time—Saturday morning, while Elijah was trying and failing to focus on his economics reading, his mind still reeling from the previous night's encounter in the kitchen.

Hey! Still on for coffee this afternoon? Can't wait to finally hang out outside of class :)

He stared at the message for a full minute before remembering that he'd actually agreed to this. Three days ago, in a moment of desperate clarity after finding Sam in the laundry room wearing his sweatshirt, he'd said yes when Jessica had asked him out. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—a way to prove to himself that he could be normal, that he could want someone appropriate, someone who wouldn't destroy everything he'd worked to build.

Now, with the memory of Sam's lips still burning against his mouth, the idea of spending an afternoon making small talk with another woman felt like the worst kind of torture.

But maybe that was exactly what he needed. Distance. Perspective. A reminder that there was a whole world of possibilities beyond the dangerous territory of his feelings for Sam.

Looking forward to it, he texted back, then immediately felt like he was lying.

The sound of Sam's door opening down the hall made him look up from his phone. She emerged wearing running clothes—tiny shorts that showed off the long lines of her legs and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and even without makeup, she looked absolutely stunning.

"Going for a run," she announced to no one in particular, but her eyes found his through the open doorway of his room.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was still charged with everything that had almost happened in the kitchen, every unspoken word and unfulfilled promise hanging like smoke in the space between their rooms.

"Good for you," he said finally, his voice coming out more distant than he'd intended.

Something flickered in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or confusion. She'd probably expected him to say something about last night, to acknowledge what had passed between them. Instead, he was retreating again, putting walls back up that they'd spent days tearing down.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I need to clear my head."

She disappeared down the stairs, and a few minutes later he heard the front door close. From his window, he watched her stretch on the front porch, her movements fluid and graceful, before setting off down the street at an easy pace.

Even after she'd disappeared around the corner, he found himself staring at the empty sidewalk, his chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to longing.

This is why you need to do this, he told himself. This is exactly why you need to remember there are other options.

But when he met Jessica at the coffee shop three hours later, all he could think about was how wrong everything felt.

Jessica was beautiful—there was no denying that. Petite and brunette with warm brown eyes and a smile that could probably stop traffic. She was smart too, a psychology major with plans for graduate school, and under any other circumstances, Elijah knew he would have been attracted to her.

Should have been attracted to her.

Instead, he found himself comparing everything about her to Sam. Where Jessica was petite, Sam was all curves and long limbs. Where Jessica's laugh was musical and controlled, Sam's was wild and unguarded. Where Jessica spoke in careful, measured sentences, Sam said exactly what she was thinking with a directness that could cut glass.

"You seem distracted," Jessica said after twenty minutes of stilted conversation. "Everything okay?"

"Sorry," Elijah forced himself to focus on her face, on the genuine concern in her eyes. "Just family stuff. You know how it is."

"Oh, I totally get it. My stepbrother and I used to drive each other crazy when our parents first got married. All that forced togetherness can be really intense."

The casual comment hit him like a physical blow. If only she knew just how intense that togetherness had become.

"Yeah," he managed. "Something like that."

Jessica leaned forward, her hand reaching across the table to cover his. The touch was meant to be comforting, but all it did was remind him of how different her fingers felt from Sam's—smaller, softer, wrong.

"Want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps to vent to someone outside the situation."

The offer was kind, genuine, and it made him feel like even more of an asshole for being here under false pretenses. Jessica deserved better than a guy who was using her as a distraction from his inappropriate feelings for another woman.

"It's complicated," he said, gently extracting his hand from hers. "Family dynamics, you know? Hard to explain to someone who wasn't there for all of it."

She nodded understandingly, but he could see the slight hurt in her eyes at his withdrawal. "Of course. I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to listen..."

"Thanks," he said, meaning it. "That's really nice of you."

They spent another hour at the coffee shop, the conversation flowing more naturally as Jessica told him about her summer internship at a local therapy center and her plans for graduate school. She was passionate about her work, articulate about her goals, and everything about her screamed "good choice" and "appropriate" and "safe."

So why did he feel absolutely nothing?

When she suggested they take a walk through the nearby park, Elijah agreed, hoping that maybe the change of scenery would help him connect with her the way he should. They strolled along the tree-lined paths, Jessica chattering easily about her classes and her friends, and he tried—really tried—to lose himself in the normalcy of it all.

But every blonde woman they passed made him think of Sam. Every laugh he heard echoed with memories of her voice. Even the scent of the flowers they walked past reminded him of her perfume, of the way she'd smelled when she'd pressed herself against him in the kitchen.

"Elijah?" Jessica's voice broke through his thoughts. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Disappearing on me." She stopped walking, turning to face him with a mixture of concern and frustration. "Look, if you don't want to be here, just say so. I'm a big girl, I can handle rejection."

The directness in her voice reminded him so forcefully of Sam that it actually made his chest ache. But where Sam's directness came with fire and challenge, Jessica's was tinged with hurt and disappointment.

"It's not that," he said quickly. "I do want to be here. You're amazing, Jessica. You're smart and funny and beautiful and any guy would be lucky to—"

"But?" she prompted when he trailed off.

"But I'm dealing with some stuff right now that I need to figure out before I can be fair to anyone else."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was more honesty than he'd been planning to offer. Jessica studied his face for a long moment, her psychology training probably picking up on all the things he wasn't saying.

"This family stuff," she said finally. "It's really got you twisted up, doesn't it?"

If only she knew. "Yeah. It really does."

She nodded slowly, and he could see her making some kind of decision. "Okay. Well, when you get it figured out, if you want to try this again, give me a call. But Elijah?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't wait too long. Whatever's eating at you, ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. Sometimes the only way out is through."

The advice hit him like a punch to the gut, mostly because he suspected she was right. He'd been running from his feelings for Sam for so long that it had become second nature, but maybe avoidance wasn't the answer. Maybe the only way to move past this obsession was to face it head-on and deal with the consequences.

They parted ways in the parking lot with an awkward hug that felt more like goodbye than see-you-later. Jessica was too smart not to realize that this wasn't going anywhere, and too proud to pretend otherwise. As Elijah watched her drive away, he felt the familiar weight of guilt settle over his shoulders. Another good person hurt by his inability to be normal, to want what he was supposed to want.

The drive home passed in a blur of self-recrimination and frustrated desire. By the time he pulled into the driveway, the sun was beginning to set, painting the suburban street in shades of gold and amber that should have been peaceful but only made him feel more unsettled.

Sam's car was in the driveway, which meant she was home from her run and whatever else she'd been doing to "clear her head." The thought of facing her after his disastrous attempt at normalcy made his stomach churn with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

He found her in the kitchen, standing at the counter with her back to him, her hair still damp from what must have been a recent shower. She'd changed into a simple sundress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and even from behind, she looked like every fantasy he'd ever tried to suppress.

"How was your date?" she asked without turning around, her voice carefully neutral.

The question stopped him cold. How had she known? He certainly hadn't told her, and their parents wouldn't have mentioned it because he hadn't told them either.

"How did you—"

"Jessica Martinez posted a picture on Instagram." Sam's voice was still neutral, but there was something underneath it—a tightness that suggested she wasn't as unaffected as she was pretending to be. "You two looked very... cozy."

She finally turned around, and the sight of her face hit him like a physical blow. Her expression was carefully controlled, but her eyes were blazing with something that looked like hurt and anger and something else he couldn't quite identify.

Jealousy. She was jealous.

The realization should have been satisfying—proof that she felt something real for him beyond just physical attraction. Instead, it made him feel sick to his stomach, because he could see the pain she was trying to hide, and he was the one who'd caused it.

"It wasn't a date," he said quickly. "Not really. We just got coffee and—"

"Walked through the park holding hands?" Sam held up her phone, showing him Jessica's Instagram story. Sure enough, there they were, Jessica's hand clasped in his as they strolled along one of the tree-lined paths.

He didn't remember taking her hand. Had barely been aware of the physical contact at all, so lost had he been in thoughts of the woman standing in front of him now. But the evidence was right there, tagged with a heart emoji and the caption Perfect afternoon with this cutie.

"Sam, it's not what it looks like."

"Isn't it?" Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Because it looks like you decided to see if the grass was greener somewhere else. It looks like you're trying to convince yourself you're not attracted to your trashy stepsister by finding someone more appropriate."

"Don't call yourself that," he said sharply, taking a step toward her. "Don't ever call yourself that."

"Why not? That's what I am, isn't it? The inconvenient attraction you're trying to get over? The mistake you're trying to forget by dating nice girls who won't complicate your perfect little life?"

Each word was like a knife between his ribs, mostly because they contained just enough truth to hurt. He had been trying to prove something to himself with Jessica, had been hoping that spending time with someone appropriate would somehow cure him of his obsession with Sam.

But all it had done was prove the opposite—that no one else would ever compare, that no one else would ever make him feel the way she did.

"You're right," he said quietly, the admission torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "You're absolutely right. I was trying to get over you."

Sam's carefully controlled expression cracked slightly at his honesty. "And? How did it go?"

Elijah looked at her—really looked at her—taking in the way the kitchen light caught the gold in her hair, the way her chest was rising and falling with rapid breaths, the way she was looking at him like he held the power to either save her or destroy her completely.

"It didn't work," he said simply. "I spent the entire afternoon thinking about you."

The confession hung between them like a live wire, dangerous and electric and impossible to take back. Sam's eyes widened slightly, and he could see her pulse jumping at the base of her throat.

"Elijah..."

But before she could finish whatever she was going to say, the sound of their parents' voices drifted in from the living room, and the spell was broken. They were home from their dinner out, discussing something about work in the easy, comfortable way of couples who'd been together for years.

Sam stepped back, putting distance between them, her walls going back up with practiced ease. But not before he caught the look in her eyes—something fierce and possessive that made his blood sing with recognition.

"We should..." she started.

"Yeah," he agreed, though neither of them moved.

"Later," she said, and it sounded like both a promise and a threat.

As their parents' voices grew closer, as the familiar sounds of family life intruded on their charged moment, Elijah realized with crystal clarity that Jessica had been right about one thing.

The only way out was through.

And tonight, he was finally going to stop running.