Chapter 3 3

Dona’s POV

The next morning, I woke up with a jackhammer pounding in my skull and my tongue dry as sandpaper.

The world spinned as I tried to sit up, ignoring my aching head. The sunlight filtering in through the blinds was too bright and far too cheerful for someone whose heart had been stomped on a few hours ago.

My room looked like it had survived a hurricane. It was exactly how I left it after last night’s emotional meltdown. Crumpled tissues littered the floor, empty beer cans rolled near my bed, and my phone lay face down on the floor like it couldn’t stand to look at me either.

Everything that happened at the bar replayed like a cruel joke.

Augie Reynolds, the golden boy, the star hockey player, the reason I had shown up in the first place looked me dead in the eye and told me, “You’re not really my type."

As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd called me a ginormous asshole.

It was as if I had been auditioning for his affection, when all I did was exist… and maybe stare at him a little too long.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but it was persistent. Humiliating, heart-fucking-wrenching and stupid.

Last night was the first time I had done something so dumb like that, and I swore that I was not going to repeat that ever again. Not for any guy.

My head throbbed harder as I climbed out of bed, and as if that was not enough torture already, I stepped on one of the crushed beer cans.

"SHIT!"

Wincing as I leapt on a foot, I shuffled around gathering the mess. If I left my room like this, my mom would lecture me into another headache.

I was just about to collapse back into bed when a knock came at the door.

“Dona?” came my mom’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Come down and help me make breakfast.”

“I’m not really up for it, Mom, please." I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

“I wasn’t asking. Get your ass downstairs!" She kicked my door open to make her point, and then walked away.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth with slow, sluggish movements, and then pulled my hair into a haphazard bun.

Then I threw on a hoodie over my bare chest and stepped into a pair of leggings before trudging downstairs like a zombie.

The smell of eggs and toast hit me as I stepped into the kitchen. My mom was already at the cooker, humming to herself as if she didn’t just ruin my morning.

“Grab the tomatoes and start slicing,” she said without looking up.

“Good morning to you too.” I huffed, rolling my eyes at her before I went to do as she asked.

“You look like you slept in a dumpster.”

Locking eyes with her, I scoffed, “Thanks, Mom.”

“Maybe next time, don’t drink yourself to oblivion because of a boy.”

“You don’t know what happened.” I scowled, glaring at her as the memories came back again.

“I saw the beers in the bin and your puffy eyes, and you say I don't know what happened.” Scoffing, she added, "I'm raising a girl in college, and some twenty-five years ago, I was also a girl in college, so I know a lot of things."

“Right.” I muttered, reaching for the tomatoes. There was no point trying to lie now. She knew what happened, but I wasn't going to delve into further details.

“I couldn't get a hold of Piper too, seems she got knocked out like you did." My mother continued. I didn't respond; I didn't think I had it in me to talk at all.

“By the way, your stepbrother is coming home today.” She started a few seconds later.

I snorted. "What stepbrother? Do you have a secret kid somewhere?"

Mom sighed in frustration. "Dona, I told you about this already. Peter will be moving in soon, and he's coming with his son."

My hand froze mid-slice, “What?” I gasped. "Wh... Who the FUCK?!"

"Language!" She looked over her shoulder like she hadn’t just casually ruined what was left of my good morning.

"Who.... in God's name is my stepbrother?"

“A nice boy, and he's joining us for breakfast this morning.” My mother waved a flippant hand around.

“Since when do I have a stepbrother?” I asked. "You guys aren't even married!"

“Well, we'll get married eventually. You’ve always had a stepbrother, you just haven’t met him.” She sounded really serious, and I couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Has Peter proposed?"

My mom shrugged, but I got my answer in the tightening of her shoulders.

“And his son is suddenly showing up now?” I asked.

She returned her attention to the pan and flipped the eggs, “I have no idea honey. All I knew about Peter when we got together was he has an estranged son, but I guess things have cooled off between them now. They're coming over to say hi to us, and then they'll move in tomorrow."

Blinking rapidly and trying hard to wrap my head around her words, I raised my voice, “And you’re telling me this now?!”

“I didn’t think you’d take it well.” My mother sighed and turned to me with an apologetic look on her face.

“You think?”

“Look, Dona, I know it’s a lot." She explained calmly. "But this is his home now. I'm going to marry Peter, you're going to meet his son, and you’ll get along just fine once you meet him.”

Tossing my knife on the table, I leaned against the counter. “I don’t know this guy. Why should I care?”

“You don’t have to care, but you do have to be civil. He will be family soon.”

“Not to me.” I ratted out as I picked the knife and started to chop faster. I had to get out of here before my so-called stepbrother came in.

But as if my mother had read my thoughts somehow, she muttered. “You’re staying home to meet him.”

"Like hell, I am!"

"Language, Dona!"

"I am an adult, Mom." I grumbled. "I have plans."

“With who? Of course, it is Piper. You always use her as an excuse when you want to escape me.”

I pushed the plate off sliced tomatoes off the counter, fuming with anger. “I’m not staying home for some stranger, Mom.”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s your brother…”

“Stepbrother,” I cut in sharply. "Barely, anyway."

“Still, he’s part of this family and you have to meet with him.” She said with an air of finality, while I crossed my hands on my chest. Then with a pleading voice, she added, “I’m asking for one thing, Dona. Just this one thing.”

I groaned. "Mom, don't even try to butter me up."

"I wouldn't dare." Placing her hands on my shoulders, she peered into my eyes, "But you have to be here when he arrives. You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to smile, just be here. Okay? Please?"

I stared into my mother's pleading eyes. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him, whoever he was. I already had enough of my own.

“I’m not playing house,” I muttered.

“I’m not asking you to.”

And before I could argue further, the doorbell rang and we both turned our heads in that direction. Our new family was here.