Love me like a sin stepbrother

CHAPTER FIVE

EMERY

The next morning came in a blink. I rolled off my bed, my eyelids looking like they'd been painted with dark brushes.

I couldn't sleep a wink. No, I didn't dare close my eyes.

Not when Zayn had decided to sleep in the room next to mine.

I could hear his shower running when I closed my eyes, and I couldn't help imagining what it would be like to be in there with him.

My stomach churned as I remembered last night.

*Emery, god, what's wrong with you? He's your stepbrother. Your patient, at that.*

With that thought, I braced myself and freshened up. Within minutes, I was done.

The moment I stepped out of my room and the cold air hit me, I forgot everything I'd just told myself.

I could hear my parents speaking downstairs. They were waiting, anxious for the results.

Embarrassment slammed into me. I was supposed to be professional, treat him, fight for his life with him.

Not make silly fantasies and get wet over my stepbrother.

With a deep breath, I dragged my feet toward the room they'd prepared for us.

He was lying on the bed, probably waiting for me.

"You're here," he said. His eyes locked on me, pinning me in place.

"Hmm," I managed to say as I walked closer.

I looked around. Just like Richard said, everything was in place. Medical stuff lined the walls, monitors, IV stands, the whole setup.

I walked toward the IV line and checked it.

His eyes followed my every movement.

"You're late. Did you even sleep at all?" He said it with his eyes still stuck on me.

*Please, don't care. Can't you see I'm trying my best here?*

"Unless you couldn't stop thinking about our little escapade last night."

My face went hot. I snapped my eyes to him, and that stupid smile tugged at his lips.

"Ah—um—"

*Stop this, Emery!*

"The doctor in Minnesota must have given you a report. Do you have it?" I changed the topic fast, pinching my thigh so the words would come out right.

"There." He pointed to the table.

I grabbed the folder and opened it.

The words hit me like a punch.

Glioblastoma. Stage IV. Inoperable. Six to eight months.

My shoulders dropped.

This was really bad. The worst kind of brain tumor you could get.

I kept reading. Radiation didn't work, and chemo barely touched it. The thing was sitting in a spot where surgery would kill him faster than the tumor would.

Six months.

Maybe eight if he got lucky.

I looked back at him. How the hell was he so calm? He looked thinner, yeah. His face was sharper. But he was just lying there like nothing was wrong with him.

He was dying.

And I was supposed to fix this.

I put the folder down and forced myself to focus. I checked the IV, and the montor. Do the job, Emery.

But when I touched his wrist to check his pulse—

"I've always wanted you."

My hand froze.

"What?"

"You heard me." His voice went lower. "I've wanted you since the first day you walked into this house."

I tried pulling my hand back. He grabbed my wrist and held it there.

"Zayn, I'm working—"

"I don't care if I'm selfish." His grip got tighter. His thumb brushed my pulse point, trembling just slightly. "I'm dying, Emery, and I still want you. But I need to know if you can do this with me. Can you actually fight for whatever time I have left?"

His eyes burned into mine.

"Can you face our parents when they find out? Because I can't stop wanting you. And I'm done waiting."

My lungs seized.

Every part of me screamed *no*. This was insane, wrong, impossible.

But I looked at him, and all I saw was someone who had maybe half a year left.

Someone who'd spent years pushing me away because he thought that's what he had to do.

And now he was asking me to stop running too.

I nodded. Just a tiny movement.

But he saw it.

His hand went to the back of my neck and yanked me down. Our mouths crashed together, messy and desperate and nothing like last night.

This was everything. Years of wanting, all at once.

When we broke apart, I was shaking.

"We need to go downstairs," I whispered. "They're waiting."

"Let them wait."

"Zayn—"

"Fine." He let go, and I stepped back, trying to fix my hair, smooth my clothes.

We went downstairs together, my heart still thumping loudly.

That's when I heard Zayn's uncle, Logan talking.

"I've found a solution."

We both stopped at the top of the stairs.

"What solution?" Richard asked.

"The heir," Logan said, his voice smooth. "Zayn needs an heir before... well. Before... otherwise his legacy dies with him."

My blood went cold.

I looked at Zayn. His jaw locked.

We moved closer, quiet, staying just outside the living room where they couldn't see us.

"An heir?" My mom sounded surprised. "Logan, that's... how would that even work?"

"I already figured it out. I know someone who's willing to help, a young woman who's ready to carry Zayn's child. IVF. All very respectful."

Silence.

Then Richard's voice came out, thick and broken. "You want my son to have a child he'll never meet?"

"I want your son to leave something behind. Isn't that what matters?"

Zayn's hand found mine in the hallway. He squeezed so hard it hurt.

"I think..." Richard's voice cracked. "I think that's beautiful, Logan. Thank you."

"We agree," my mother said quickly. "It's the right thing."

I felt everything collapse.

We'd just started, and it was already over.

"I have someone ready," Logan went on. "Her name's Leilani. She's a lovely girl. And if Zayn doesn't want to get... involved... Emery can help with the samples. Isn't she a professional doctor?"

He said it like he knew exactly how unprofessional I'd already been.

I thought I was going to throw up.

Zayn pulled me back, away from the door, back upstairs.

I wasn't sure if he was dragging me away from the conversation... or dragging me toward a future I wasn't ready for.

We didn't talk until we were in the exam room with the door shut.

"Zayn—"

"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't say it."

"But your dad just—"

"I know what he said." He turned to face me, and his eyes looked wild. "And I don't care. I'm not doing it."

"You might not get a choice."

"I always have a choice." He stepped closer. "And I choose you."

"This is your legacy. Your father wants—"

"My father doesn't get to decide how I spend my last six months." His hands grabbed my face. "You do. Say yes. Say you'll stay, no matter what."

I stared at him.

This was crazy. This would destroy everything.

But I opened my mouth and said it anyway.

"Yes."

His smile made my chest hurt.

"Good. Then let's go meet my fake fiancée my uncle got me.”