Chapter 2 Roommate and siblings

He knocked on the door.

Loretta stood, leaned against the frame, and waited.

She didn't rush. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the snow-blotted street of Aspen outside the window.

Everything was silent, almost hauntingly beautiful, if you could ignore the raging headache behind her eyes.

And the man knocking like he hadn't ripped her life apart years ago, like he had the right to stroll back in like it was nothing.

Thanks to her own mother. She blamed that woman, dead or alive. The choices her mother made still tasted bitter on her tongue.

Adopting Martin ruined her family, especially her life. And that was the ugly truth.

"Don't go there, Loretta. Don't!" She said silently, encouraging herself. She needed it.

Another knock. Louder. More impatient.

She rolled her eyes. "Persistent little bastard."

She refused to rush to do his bindings. Not when it came to him. Not since their mother's funeral. Not since that night etched in her bones.

She made her way to the door, cracking her knuckles just for the dramatic effect. She opened it.

And there he was.

Martin Castillo.

Hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, snow clinging to the tips of his dark hair, like he'd practiced it in the mirror.

His hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, snow melting on the tips of his dark hair, his usual smug grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Lo." His voice, as always, was infuriatingly smooth. "Miss me already?"

She stared at him in silence. He looked like someone who'd never lost sleep a day in his life. Like he hadn't once stood in her mother's kitchen, blaming her for everything, calling her selfish for leaving.

"Did you expect a parade?" she snapped, stepping aside. "Because all I've got is a middle finger and a migraine that feels like it's trying to split my skull. Thanks to your unwanted presence."

Martin stepped in like he owned the damn place.

"I'm honored."

Of course he was.

He took off his coat and tossed it onto the back of the couch, already making himself at home. He just barged in and assumed the space was his.

Loretta's gaze flicked to the couch and her chest clenched painfully.

She remembered the night her mother died. Martin pacing, screaming into the phone, then turning on her.

"You should've been there. She asked for you." The words still hung heavy, suffocating. Even though she'd been drowning in her own guilt.

The memory sliced through her, the icy night wind, the silence after the scream swallowing her whole.

She blinked hard, shoved the memory back down where it belonged, and followed him into the house.

"This place already has your personality stamped all over it," he said, glancing around. "Cold, mildly terrifying."

Loretta narrowed her eyes. "You mean clean, organized, and blessedly free of your bullshit? Thanks. I worked hard on that."

Martin grinned. "Oh, come on. You missed me a little."

She snorted. "I missed the part where you disappeared."

They locked eyes for a moment. Something flickered between them. History. Pain. Bitterness soaked in sarcasm.

"Still holding onto that night, huh?" he said casually.

Loretta froze.

Her mouth parted, then shut again.

"Don't start," she warned, voice low.

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say which night."

"You didn't have to."

There it was, that crack in her armor she thought she had buried. But he knew exactly where to dig.

She turned away before he could see the pain in her expression and headed toward the kitchen.

Martin followed, always a step behind, like a shadow she couldn't shake.

"Six months of domestic bliss," he teased. "Think you can survive me?"

"I don't need six months. I need duct tape and a shovel."

He laughed. "You always did have a way with words."

"You always had a way with delusion."

In the kitchen, Loretta's eyes instantly landed on the fridge and her stomach dropped. The apple. Her apple. The one she'd saved from the farmer's market. Crisp, red, perfect. She'd been dreaming about it all morning.

Martin's eyes zeroed in on it immediately.

"No," she said firmly.

He ignored her warning.

"Martin," she snapped. "Touch that apple and I swear I'll end you."

He opened the fridge like it was a treasure chest. "Relax, Lo. It's just an apple."

She lunged forward, snatching the apple out of his hand like it was a live grenade. "You don't get to take what's mine."

His smirk faded just a little. "Still the same Loretta."

"It means something," she whispered, clutching the apple. "You don't get to waltz in and claim things that were never yours."."

"Oh, come on," he said, leaning on the counter. "If we're talking about things that were never mine, you might want to blame Mom, not me."

Loretta froze.

"Remember what she used to say?" he continued, "Martin needs us more, Loretta. Don't be so hard on him. I guess I got used to it."

Her grip on the apple tightened, nails digging in.

It was nothing new. Martin Castillo was an asshole.

"Stupid idiot," she spat. "You've always been an idiot. I remember you failing algebra and somehow I got grounded because I wouldn't remind you to do your homework."

He winced. "Not one of her best parenting moments, but you did it to spite me. You told her yourself. Your fault, Lo."

"You think?" she snapped. "She treated you like the fragile one. Like you were always on the verge of shattering and I was made of stone."

He didn't respond right away. For once, his cocky grin faltered.

"She loves you Lo," he said quietly. "You just have to believe it."

Something thick and ugly twisted in her chest. She hated that he sounded sincere. Hated that part of her wanted to believe him.

"I didn't ask for her love," she whispered.

Silence filled the room.

Then, like flipping a switch, Martin clapped his hands and said, "So, after that heart-to-heart, can I have the apple? I'm starving."

Loretta turned, storming down the hallway, muttering curses under her breath.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Loretta groaned, pulled it out, and saw the name flash across the screen.

Uncle Raymond.

She smiled and picked up.

"Loretta," came the gravelly voice. "He's with you, isn't he?"

She didn't reply.

"I told your mother not to baby him. Look where that got you. Now he's waltzing into your house like he owns it."

Loretta pinched the bridge of her nose. "Uncle Raymond, please. Not now."

"You need to be careful," he warned. "Martin always wants something. And when he doesn't get it, people get hurt."

Her fingers clenched around the phone.

"I mean it, Loretta. Don't let him sweet-talk his way into your heart. Or worse, your plans."

Loretta hated that she was tangled in this mess, the one her mother left behind. A mess that left her with the secret wound no one knew but her.

The day she left her mother and when she met him. The man. Her secret wound only she knew.

"I know you have a good heart," Uncle Raymond said, "but be careful. You know I care about you."

Loretta's eyes drifted to the hallway wall, still covered with old photographs her mother had hung.

Looking at her mother, she swallowed hard, her throat tightening with a silent ache no one could see.

Her throat tightened. A silent sob broke through her. She instantly swallowed the tears.

If only her mother had chosen differently.

Maybe she wouldn't have left.

Maybe she wouldn't have met him.

But those questions were too dangerous to ask aloud.

So instead, she wrapped herself in bitterness and blame, hiding the truth in the shadows.

"Yes, Uncle. Thank you, but I'll handle it," she said quietly.

"I hope you do," he muttered, then hanging up.

Loretta stood there for a moment. She didn't know how to handle this situation that her own mother put her in.

She didn't want Martin in her space when she was still a mess.

She sighed, shoved the phone into her pocket, and walked back to her room.

She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, heart thudding like she'd just locked in a ghost she wasn't ready to face.

How would she hide her demons from her supposed adopted brother?