Troublemaker Meets The Four Hottie Professors

Cheska

The air in the hallway felt like it had been sucked out of the room. My skin went cold. I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it was actually painful. I wanted the floor to crack open and swallow me whole.

"Cheska?"

Kier's voice drifted down from the stairs, light and curious. He padded toward us, his face relaxed into a casual smile. He had no idea. He didn't see the electricity vibrating in the small space between me and the man standing in front of him.

"Babe, this is my stepdad, Damian Delmar," Kier said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch felt like ice. "Dad, this is Cheska. She's my... best friend."

The world went silent. The word Stepdad echoed in my skull, over and over, mocking me.

Damian Delmar.

The man from the bar. The stranger with the rough hands and the dark, knowing eyes. The man I had pinned against a brick wall and kissed like my life depended on it just twelve hours ago.

I stared at him, my breath hitching in my throat. I waited for him to look shocked. I waited for him to explain. But Damian just tilted his head slightly. A slow, infuriating smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. It was calm. It was dangerous.

My stomach did a slow, sick flip. He wasn't going to say anything. He was going to let me drown.

"Hi, Cheska," he said.

His voice was a low growl, smooth as expensive bourbon. It sent a shiver straight down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. He acted like we were strangers meeting for the first time, but his eyes stayed on mine a second too long. He was remembering the taste of me. I knew it.

"Hi," I managed to whisper. My voice was thin, barely a sound. My knees felt like water.

"Sorry, Dad," Kier interrupted, letting out a forced laugh. He stepped closer to me, oblivious. "We stayed out late. I think the tequila is still talking for her. She isn't fully awake yet."

I looked at Kier, trying to force a smile, but my face felt like stone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run.

"I should go," I blurted out. I didn't wait for a reply. I didn't look at Kier's confused face or Damian's burning gaze. I turned on my heel and bolted.

I practically tripped over my own feet as I scrambled out of the house. The morning air was crisp, but my skin was burning. I walked fast, my lungs stinging with every breath. My mind was a mess of memories. Kier had told me about his stepdad before. He told me how his mom had left and how Damian had been the one to stay and raise him. He'd talked about him like he was a saint.

He wasn't a saint. I knew how he tasted. I knew the way his hands felt on my waist.

A black car suddenly pulled up beside me, the tires crunching on the gravel. The tinted window rolled down, and I felt my heart sink even further. My brother, Calix, was staring at me. He didn't have to say a word. The disappointment was written in the hard set of his jaw.

"Get in the car," he said. His voice was cold.

I climbed into the passenger seat without a fight. For several minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the roar of blood in my ears.

"Cheska, stop this bullshit," Calix said finally. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. "You can't keep doing this. We get it. Losing Mom destroyed you. It destroyed all of us. But coming home at dawn, smelling like a bar? You're better than this."

I gripped my knees, my fingernails digging into my jeans. The lecture. Again.

"Seriously?" I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. My eyes stung. "I'm twenty-three, Calix. I can take care of myself. But you? You love playing the martyr. The perfect, responsible son. It's pathetic."

He swallowed hard, his throat working as he fought to keep his temper. "This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" I snapped, the anger finally boiling over. "You're the golden child. I'm the mess. The one who embarrasses the family name. That's the script, right?"

"That isn't true," he said softly, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. "I just want you to be okay."

I looked out the window, watching the trees blur into a mess of green. I was so tired. I was tired of the guilt, tired of the grief, and now, I was terrified of the dark fire I had started with a man who was strictly off-limits.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Damian's smile.

"I know," I whisper.

The words feel thin and brittle in the small space of the car. I look at my hands, picking at a loose thread on my jeans because I can't look at him.

"I just need you and Papa to see me. The real me. Not the version of me you're mourning."

Silence settles over us, thick and suffocating. The only sound is the sudden, violent pelt of rain against the windshield. It's loud, rhythmic, and heavy. Every drop feels like a memory of Mama. I can almost hear her voice cutting through the tension, scolding us for fighting the way she used to. But she isn't here to play peacemaker anymore. Now, our anger just sits there between us, raw and unchecked.

My brother is right. When she died, she took the old Cheska with her. That girl was bright and full of ambition. She had plans. This new version of me is a ghost. I didn't choose to be this way, but it's easier to drown the grief in a glass of amber liquid. It's easier to pretend I'm fine and let the world blur until I can't feel the ache in my chest.

"Sorry, Calix," I mutter.

I swipe a thumb under my eye, catching a stray tear before he can see it. I'm tired of being the girl who cries.

"I didn't mean it."

He sighs, a long sound that carries the weight of everything we aren't saying. He reaches out and taps my shoulder, his touch brief but grounding.

"It's okay," he says softly. "I've got you. Let's go home. Papa is looking for us."

I nod and force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. It feels like lead is sitting in my lungs. Outside, the rain turns the world into a gray smear, matching the chaos inside me.

But as the car pulls away, my mind isn't on my father or my grief. It's on the memory of last night. I keep seeing his face. Damian Delmar.

He was supposed to be a stranger. Just a man at a bar with dark eyes and hands that made me forget my own name for a few hours. I thought I could walk away from that heat, but now the thought of him burns. I can still feel the way he looked at me, like he could see through every lie I've told myself.

I don't know how I'm going to breathe the next time our eyes meet.