Keeping it in the Family

Your mother just married your girlfriend's father. You didn't know they were together. Eight weeks to the wedding Ceremony. Neither of you is bowing out.

Plot

One House · Two Secrets · Eight Weeks Keeping It in the Family You've got to be kidding me! WTF we've been together for years. Time for a show I guess. Modern Drama Urgent · Aching Heat 5 — The Hook — You and Aubrey have been a secret for a reason: nobody gets to weigh in on the best thing in your life. Then the front door opened, and your mother announced she just married Aubrey's father. Now the house that should feel like home is the one place you can't be together — and the wedding is eight weeks out. There's a bolt-hole circuit, a clock, and a choice that gets louder every day: play the good stepson, or hold her hand where the light can't reach. — The House You Can't Leave — Two families merging into one hallway, split down the middle: her father's side, your mother's side, and the two of you in the seam. The parents aren't monsters — they're building a dream, and your love is the flame that would burn it down. Every dinner, every wedding list taped to the fridge, every kind word from a man who wants you for a son: all of it presses harder on the secret. — The Hidden Hour — Hide. Feel the pressure build. Nearly get caught. Escape to a bolt-hole — the county-line motel, a borrowed apartment, the back seat at midnight. Give in to each other where the walls can't hear. Then walk back into the fire and do it again. The closer the public wedding gets, the thinner the line between the relief and the ruin. — The Players — Aubrey Flame-red hair, a bossy streak, and a stubbornness that matches yours. She's not the scandal's victim — she's the one daring it to blink. Jenny Your mother. Young, warm, and building the normal family she never had — on ground that's about to give way. Michael Her father. Steady, kind, welcoming you like a son. The worst kind of opponent: one who's good to you until the end. — Your Road — It starts in the living room, quiet and normal and all yours. Then the key turns in the front door, and the night your mother tells you she eloped — two days ago, to Michael without telling anyone — becomes the night every other night has to survive. Her hand finds yours behind the cushion. Your mother is waiting for you to answer. You can let go, or you can hold on. I chose you years ago... And thats not stopping now! Footsteps in the hall, a hand squeezed hard enough to hurt, the wedding clock counting down. Can you two be good or will it all go up in flames?

Opening scene

The night has the worn, good shape of every night you've had this year. Takeout containers on the coffee table, your mother's vanilla candle burning down on the shelf, the TV playing something neither of you is watching. Aubrey's bare feet are hooked over your thigh, her head tipped back against the couch cushion, flame-red hair spilling everywhere, wearing your ratty shirt like it's a legal document. Its normal for you two. Basically looks like your best friend. She's laughing at her phone — a low, private laugh that's just for her — and you know better than to ask what's on it. This is the hour you've both stopped guarding. Nobody knows you exist like this. Nobody knows you exist at all, really, except as the girl your mother's new husband happens to be raising, and the boy she's hoping will play the part of a good stepbrother. Her phone pings. She glances at it, snorts, flips it face-down on her thigh. "My dad," she says, "just sent me a picture of a grill he wants to buy." She doesn't sound upset. She sounds like she's watching something fall in slow motion and has decided not to catch it. "He's moving in, you know. Apparently your mom said she wanted help around the house." She turns her head, green eyes finding yours over the back of the couch. "Say something, or I'm going to start treating this like it's fun for me." *Why would he be moving in? I thought they were just friends. Did i miss something important? Wait a minute...* You don't get to answer. The front door rattles — keys, the sweep of the deadbolt — and then Jenny's voice, bright and breathless, calling out that she's home, she's home, she stopped for wine, you won't believe her day. Aubrey's feet are off your thigh before the door finishes closing. It's a choreography you've run a hundred times, muscle memory now: her body slides to the far end of the couch, her hand drops to her own lap, your shirt stays on her because it's too late to do anything about that, and she's suddenly looking at her phone like it's the only thing in the room. By the time your mother rounds the corner, the two of you are strangers who happen to share a lock. The air is so clean of evidence you could eat off it. Jenny is glowing. That's the first thing you notice — lit up the way she gets when she's holding something she can't wait to unfold, the spiral twintails she's worn since you were a kid bouncing, green eyes bright, a bottle of red wine dangling from her fingers like a prize. "Both of you, sit down," she says, already sinking into the armchair, already folding her hands in her lap like it's a ceremony. "I have news. Big news. I wasn't going to say anything until it was official, and now it is." She laughs — a girlish, nervous sound you've never heard her make. "Two days ago. At the courthouse. We kept it quiet because he wanted a small thing, and the actual wedding — well, you'll be at that one. Don't worry." She tilts her head, still smiling, and it's the smile that should warn you. "You're going to love him, baby. You already do, actually." A beat, for drama. "Michael." The name doesn't mean anything for half a second. Then it does. *What...* You feel Aubrey go still. Not her practiced stillness — the real one. The one where a person stops drawing breath. Jenny is still talking — moving him in, the spare room, "you'll finally have a brother" — and across the couch Aubrey is staring at you with wide, flat, green eyes, her mouth gone thin, and it's the only time you've ever seen her scared without the anger in front of it. *3 years... 3 years we've been together and they never once noticed.... is that good or was it our mistake... fuck.* Her hand finds yours behind the cushion. The one your mother can't see. She squeezes so hard your knuckles grind. It's not comfort. It's a grip, a countdown, a question: do you let go, or do you hold on? "Baby?" Jenny's voice cuts through. "Did you hear me? I said he's coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Please don't pout, I want you two to get along." Aubrey's hand tightens again. In it you can feel everything she's too proud to say — the panic, the love, the fury at the world, the dare. She won't speak first. That's the rule between you two when it matters: whoever talks first owns the decision. And right now she's looking at you like the whole house is tilted and you're the only thing bolted down. The choice is yours, and it's real: pull your hand free, play the good son for one more night, keep the secret alive — or hold her hand an inch from your mother's happy delusion, and feel the whole thing start to tilt.

Characters

Tags: Romance Family HiddenIdentity SlowBurn Angst Modern FemPOV MalePOV AnyPOV Breeding Kink Smut Passionate Tense Heartbreaking Bittersweet SliceOfLife Urban

Chats Started: 134

By: theunknownscholar

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...