The Ultimate Sick Leave

My cousin Sierra was dead set on being with Jessea bleach-blonde guy her parents considered a walking red flag. The result? Uncle Gerald locked her in the house. Total lockdown. No exit privileges.

I had an epiphany. Apparently, falling for a blonde delinquent was a valid excuse to become a shut-in.

So, I went home and dropped the bomb on my stepbrother. "Brooks," I said, breathless. "I think Im in love. Hes well, hes got this bleached hair and"

Brooks didn't flinch. He just poured me a glass of hot water, his smile terrifyingly pleasant. "Is it cold out there? Here. Drink this. Warm up first."

I felt a twinge of disappointment at his lack of reaction. I took the cup, took a sip, and decided to double down on the script. "You can't judge him, Brooks. Hes not like other guys, he"

The floor tilted.

My vision blurred.

Darkness.

When I surfaced, there was a cold, heavy weight on my ankle. I blinked. A silver chain, glittering under the bedroom lights, tethered me to the bedpost.

Brooks was sitting there, his fingers tracing the metal links with a gentle, obsessive rhythm. "Cassidy," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You have no idea how filthy men out there can be. Until you forget him Im not letting you leave this room."

My brain stalled for a second. Then, I threw myself back onto the mattress, channeling my inner martyr. "Then Ill rot here! Because I will never forget him!"

Chapter 1

I yanked the duvet over my head, turning my back on him.

Brooks went silent. He didn't yell. He didn't try to reason with me. Just as I started to panic that maybe Id oversold the 'lovestruck idiot' performance, a heavy sigh cut through the tension. Footsteps. The click of the lock. He was gone.

I sat up, feeling a microscopic pang of guilt. He probably couldn't wrap his head around why his sisters rebellious phase had hit so late and so hard. But honestly? I would rather be chained to this bed frame than trek through the arctic tundra to get to the office. The snow this morning had been apocalyptic. My life as a corporate drone was miserable.

Hed confiscated my phone. My iPad and laptop were gone, too.

I scrambled out of bed and raided the closet for the coat Id worn home. Brooks is smart, but he missed one crucial detail: I buy mens parkas. The pockets are deep enough to smuggle a small country. I dug past the lining.

Jackpot. My burner phone.

But that wasn't the only treasure. Buried beneath the phone was my survival kit: a pack of crackers, a sweet roll, and three massive chocolate bars.

I powered up the burner and scrolled to Sierras contact on text.

Me: So, hypothetically once you get locked up, how do you make sure they don't let you out?

Sierra: Are you mocking me?

Me: No. I admire your commitment to defying authority for romance. I need to study your technique.

Sierra: Theres no technique. You don't understand love, Cassidy. Im doing this because I have to. I went on a hunger strike. Id starve for him.

Starvation. Right.

I looked down at the chocolate bar in my hand. I carefully slid one of the bars back into the depths of the pocket. I had to hoard them. These were my future survival rations.

The dinner tray Brooks had left earlier sat on the nightstand, untouched. He brings the food in. He takes the untouched food out.

Once I was sure he was gone, I snapped off a square of chocolate and popped it into my mouth. The rich sweetness melted on my tongue, flooding my system with dopamine. I told myself that this suffering was necessary. It was the price I had to pay to avoid the daily grind.

Mom and Dad had left us plenty of money. It was Brooks who had this sick obsession with me having "structure" and a "career."

Well. Checkmate, brother.

Chapter 2

Day two of the hunger strike.

Brooks walked in carrying a bowl of seafood chowder. The smell hit me first. Salty, rich, savory. My salivary glands betrayed me instantly, flooding my mouth.

He lowered his gaze, watching me closely. "Still refusing to eat?"

I kept my face rigid, muscles tight. "As long as you keep me locked up, I keep my mouth shut."

Then, a spike of panic. What if the pressure is too much? What if he caves and kicks me out? I needed to double down. "Ive made my choice," I declared, voice trembling with fake conviction. "For love? A little hunger is nothing. I can take it."

He closed his eyes. A laugh escaped himabrupt, dark.

A chill skittered down my spine. I stared at him, bewildered. Please don't tell me you're actually touched by my devotion to a fictional bleach-blonde delinquent.

He set the chowder on the nightstand without a word and turned his back. He walked out.

I let out a breath

He walked back in. Holding a coil of rope.

"What are you doing with that?"

"Open."

"You can't justmph!"

"Shut up. Swallow."

The spoon forced its way past my lips. I was forced to swallow the chowder, spoonful by aggressive spoonful. At first, he was clumsy. Warm chowder dripped down my chin. He paused, his thumb wiping the spill with agonizing slowness, the friction rough against my skin. Then, a rhythm established itself. Spoon. Mouth. Swallow. Smooth.

The bowl was empty.

He finally untied me. He stood there, holding the empty porcelain bowl, his voice terrifyingly mild. "If you prefer dining this way, Cassidy, we can certainly keep doing it."

I channeled pure humiliation, glaring at him. "I won't give in. Not for him."

Internally? Fist pumping. This was the perfect scenario. I didn't actually have to starve, but Brooks was definitely not letting me go. The 'force-feeding' was just a bonus service.

Brookss lips pressed into a flat line. His eyes went black, void-like, fixing on me. The hairs on my arms stood up.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, despite the sudden drop in room temperature.

"You love him that much?"

"Brooks, you've never been in a relationship. You don't understand what love is."

He looked down, his fingers tracing the rim of the bowl. Obsessive. Rhythmic. My muscles locked up.

Then, the mask clicked back into place. The Good Brother returned. He smiled. "Get some rest. You need energy to keep fighting me, right?"

I watched him leave. The door clicked shut.

I collapsed against the pillows, tension draining out of me like water from a cracked tub. The pressure coming off him just now was insane. But you know whats scarier? A 9-to-5.

I slid off the bed, grabbing the ankle chain to stop it from rattling. I crept to the door, pressing my ear against the cold wood. Silence. Then, the click of the hallway lights turning off.

I dove into the closet and retrieved the burner phone.

Me: Okay, starvation phase complete. What's the next move?

Sierra: Now? Psychological warfare. Isolate everyone. Show them how disappointed you are in their existence!

Chapter 3

I initiated a total freeze-out. I refused to speak to Brooks.

He didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed to thrive on the routine. Three times a day, like clockwork, he brought trays of food into the room. Sometimes, Id sleep in. Id open my eyes to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, just watching me. Silent. Unblinking.

When I stirred, he would unlock the silver anklet, escorting me to the en-suite bathroom to brush my teeth while he heated up the food.

On the third night of my one-sided cold war, the door opened unexpectedly. I shoved the burner phone under my pillow, heart hammering against my ribs, and snapped my head toward the door.

Brooks stood there. His hair was wet, dark strands plastered to his forehead. He was wearing pajamas, but water dripped from his ends, soaking into the collar. The fabric clung to his skin, turning translucent against his collarbone.

My eyes snagged on the wet spot. I forced my gaze away, my throat suddenly dry.

"Master bath's shower head burst," he said, his voice carrying a note of helpless amusement. "Mind if I borrow yours?"

My brain was still buffering, stuck on the image of the water droplets clinging to his hair.

"Whatever."

I thought I heard a low chuckle. When I looked back, the bathroom door was closing. A moment later, the sound of the shower filled the room.

I pulled a book from the nightstand, staring at the pages. The words blurred. The only thing real was the sound of the water running a few feet away. Splash. Hiss. Thud. I stared at the illustration of the comic character, but my mind drifted.

Wait. Brooks had walked in empty-handed. Oh.

Right on cue, the water cut off. A silence stretched, heavy and humid. Then, his voice came through the door, low and embarrassed. "Cassidy? I forgot to bring a change of clothes. Can you hand them to me?"

I looked down at the silver chain glittering around my ankle. It gave me the radius of a dog on a short lead. "Im tethered to the bed, Brooks. Where exactly do you want me to get clothes from?"

"Then how do I come out?"

"Put your wet pajamas back on."

"You know I can't do that," he said, the distress in his voice sounding genuine. "Its unsanitary. I cant wear dirty clothes."

Does he realize he is a man?

I sighed, dragging myself to the wardrobe within my reach. I dug through the pile of laundry I hadn't sorted. Strange. Buried in the back was a pair of grey sweatpants. His sweatpants. How did these get in here? I grabbed them and a spare flat sheet.

"Its gonna be breezy, but it beats streaking," I called out. "Make it work."

The bathroom door cracked open just an inch. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of cedar and soap. A hand reached through the gapfingers long, skin flushed pink from the heat. I felt the heat radiating off him as he snatched the bundle. The door clicked shut again.

I moved fast. I pulled out my phone, set it to video mode, and propped it up behind the lamp on the nightstand. The lens was angled perfectly at the bathroom door. I leaned back against the headboard, smoothing my expression. Let the show begin.

Chapter 4

Silence hung heavy in the room. Then, the doorknob turned.

I braced myself, ready to cackle at whatever ridiculous toga situation hed concocted.

The laughter died in my throat. Strangled.

He had the sweatpants on, slung low on his hips. But the sheet wasn't wrapped properly. It was draped loosely over his shoulders. The fabric fell open at the chest. Water droplets traced the sharp line of his clavicle, sliding down into the deep V of his torso. Shadows clung to the ridges of his abdominals. He looked like a fallen angel whod just stepped out of a storm.

Brooks paused. He seemed to catch the direction of my gazeglued to his chestand a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. He reached up, pulling the sheet tighter, sealing the view. "I'm going."

My brain was buffering. Processing speed: zero.

"Okay," I stammered, the words bypassing my filter entirely. "Be careful. Don't don't catch a cold."

He paused. A low laugh vibrated in his chest. He turned and walked out. The door clicked shut.

I stared at the wood grain for a full ten seconds before my lungs remembered to inhale. I gasped, sucking in air. Stupid. I was supposed to be icing him out. Since when does a cold war involve worrying about the enemy's body temperature?

I scrambled off the bed and engaged the deadbolt. I dove for the burner phone. Emergency protocol.

Me: Okay, the silent treatment is a bust. It's not working. Whats the next level of escalation?

I am not a heartless woman. When a man like Brooks stands in front of you, half-naked and dripping wet, biology takes over. You worry about him freezing. Its evolution.

Sierra, however, was getting suspicious.

Sierra: Why are you digging for details? Are you a mole? Are you feeding intel to my parents?

Me: Do I look like a snitch to you?

Sierra: Fine. I believe you. Look, starving didn't work. The silent treatment didn't work. I cried until I was dehydrated. So, I decided to run.

Me: What? Weren't you scared youd actually get out?

Sierra: ?

Me: Wait. Typo. I mean, how did you plan to run?

Sierra: Don't ask. Total failure. I cut up my bedsheets. Tried to rappel from the second floor like I was in a movie. Mom and Dad caught me before I hit the grass. Now they're watching me like hawks. But this won't break me. I failed once, Ill try again. I love him!

I nodded slowly at the screen. So, attempting to escape results in tighter security. Good to know.

Chapter 5

I played possum until noon.

Brooks hovered in the room for a solid thirty minutes before I cracked an eye open, feigning a groggy awakening. Routine protocol: he unlocked the ankle monitormy silver chainand cleared me for bathroom usage. I hit the washroom first. Then, I heard the tell-tale clatter of cookware. He was in the kitchen.

Perfect.

I threw on a jacket, not bothering to zip it, and tiptoed into the hallway. I reached the front door. The handle turned silently.

Now, the dilemma. Run too slow, and it looks staged. Run too fast, and he might actually lose me. I needed the Goldilocks of escape attempts.

I hesitated on the threshold until I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

Showtime.

"Cassidy!"

I bolted.

I skipped the elevator and hit the stairwell, my slippers slapping against the concrete. I was being considerate, really. Brooks ran Division I track in college. I was afraid he wouldn't catch the elevator.

I made it down three flights before a hand clamped around my bicep. I was hauled back, slamming into a hard chest.

My lungs burned. My vision swam with black spots. It had been way too long since Id done any cardio. I gasped, fighting the urge to dry heave. "Let let me go."

Brooks wasn't smiling anymore. His face was a mask of granite. "You want to get to him that bad?"

My stomach turned overnausea, not emotionbut I scrunched up my face and delivered the line. "You caught me this time, but Ill run again! Ill keep running because I love him!"

Brooks stared at me. Dead eyes. Then, a sneer curled his lip. Cold. Cruel. "You don't know shit about love."

I blinked. The ringing in my ears paused. Excuse me?

Before I could retort, the world tilted. Brooks bent down, hooked an arm behind my knees, and hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Blood rushed to my head. I gripped his waist to stabilize myself.

"I'm an adult! Who are you to tell me what love is?"

Brooks took the stairs three at a time, the impact jarring the breath out of me. "If you knew the first thing about love," his voice came out raspy, raw, "you would have seen"

He cut himself off. Silence. He didn't say another word.

He carried me back into the room and dumped me onto the mattress. He didn't look at my face. He grabbed my ankle, his grip bruising, and snapped the lock back into place.

I stared at the top of his head. My feet were freezing from the stairwell concrete. His hands were scorching hot. He didn't let go. His thumb pressed into the delicate skin over my pulse point, grounding me, trapping me.

I tried to kick him away.

His fingers tightened. A vice grip.

This was the moment. The script called for defiance. I should have screamed, Why must you stand in the way of my true love?

But the air in the room was suffocating. Heavy. Dark.

My courage evaporated.

"Brooks?" I whispered, my voice trembling for real this time. "Are you mad?"

Chapter 6

Brooks has never been a source of fear for me. Never.

Even at Mom and Dad's funeral, when the extended family circled like vultures, picking at the carcass of our inheritance, Brooks was the wall between me and them. He held my hand. He told me to breathe. He was my emotional bedrock.

Now? I looked at him, and my stomach dropped.

"What is it?" Brooks asked, his voice deceptively calm. "What do you like about him?"

My brain short-circuited. Sierra left that part out of the script. What exactly does one like about a bleach-blonde delinquent?

I stalled, searching for a generic answer. "Because well, because he loves me."

Brooks closed his eyes. A sharp exhale escaped his nosea laugh that wasn't a laugh. "Is that it? You're that starved for affection, Cassidy? What have I been doing for you all these years? Chopped liver?"

I bit my lip. Okay, fair point. Hes been father, mother, and guardian. Calling myself "starved for love" was a slap in his face.

I scrambled for a pivot. "It's not that. His love it's just different from yours."

Brooks went still. His eyes snapped open, pinning me to the mattress. "So," he said, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You want his love. And you don't want mine."

A prickling sensation spread across my skin. My fight-or-flight response kicked in.

"Of course not," I denied instantly. "His is his. Yours is yours. Why wouldn't I want you?"

"You want both?"

He let go of my ankle. He leaned forward. "Don't be greedy, Cassidy."

He crawled up the bed, encroaching on my space. "Him. Or me. Pick one."

I scrambled backward, my heels digging into the sheets, until my spine hit the headboard. Nowhere left to go. Is this what Sierra deals with? This binary choice?

He loomed over me, stealing the light, stealing the air. I put my hands on his chest, pushing against the solid wall of muscle.

"If I choose him, you'll just abandon me? What kind of brother does that?"

Brother.

The word hit him like a physical blow. Brooks froze.

The dark, swirling storm in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, hollow exhaustion. He slumped slightly, the tension bleeding out of his frame. He reached out, his hand hovering before settling gently on my head. He forced the corners of his mouth up. A painful, brittle smile.

"You're overthinking it," he said softly. "I'm your brother. No matter who you choose, I'll always be the one standing in your corner."

My shoulders dropped. The air rushed back into my lungs. Safe. He was safe again.

I relaxed against the pillows.

Then, his hand slid from my head to my cheek. His voice dropped an octave, smooth and dark. "So, Cassidy tell me. Who is he? What's his name?"

Chapter 7

I didn't have a name. I just didn't want to clock in.

Then, a synapse fired. My boss. The useless nepo baby who parachuted into the company to kill time. Hes never around, never does any actual work, andcrucial detailhes blonde.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I fought it down, replacing it with a look of lovesick longing. I grabbed Brookss hand, clasping it tight.

"It's Dominic," I confessed, voice trembling. "You know him, right? He was there when you stopped by the office last month."

Brooks frowned, his brow furrowing as he scanned his memory banks. Doesn't matter if he remembers. What matters is the narrative: My 'boyfriend' is at work. Therefore, I must go to work.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" I gushed. "That mixed-race look? Those big, soulful puppy eyes? One look from him and I just melt."

I squeezed Brooks's hand harder. "I miss him so much. He must be wondering where I am. Please, Brooks let me go to work. I need to see him. Just let me go to work!"

I almost gagged. The desperation in my voice was so thick I could taste it.

Brooks looked like he was short-circuiting. His expression glitchedhovering somewhere between murderous rage and his default polite mask. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply through his nose. He gripped my hand back. Hard.

"Cassidy. You can't just like someone because of their face."

"I'm not just looking at his face," I shot back, defensive. "I'm looking at the whole package. I'm hot. He's hot. We match. I could do way worse than Dominic."

A cold sneer twisted his lips. "Are you mocking me?"

He ripped his hand out of my grip. He shoved me back against the pillows and tucked the duvet around me aggressively, like he was wrapping a corpse.

"Stay home," he commanded. "Forget about work. You're not going back there."

Forget about work.

It was the most beautiful sentence I had heard all year. But I kept my face tragic. I couldn't drop my guard.

I remembered exactly how ruthless Brooks could be when it came to my "professional development." Last year, to force me out of my rot-in-bed era, he cut the power to the house. He sat under the breaker box, calmly reading a book by candlelight. I watched in horror as my phone died. Then the iPad. Then the laptop. Then the power bank. I surrendered. The boredom broke me.

He looks gentle. He acts like a saint.

But make no mistakeBrooks is a calculating wolf. I have to stay sharp.

Chapter 8

I deadbolted the door. I tried to text Sierra for a Plan B, but the chat remained silent. Her phone was probably dead, or worseconfiscated.

One source of intel down. But Im a scholar. I believe in research. I opened my e-reader app and went straight to the search bar. I didn't hold back. I smashed every relevant tag I could think of.

CaptiveRomance Stepbrother DarkRomance ForcedProximity

I clicked on the first bestseller with a shirtless torso on the cover. The more I read, the heavier the silence in the room became.

Protagonists: Step-siblings. Check.

Background: Both sets of parents deceased. Check.

Plot: Heroine falls for a random guy; Hero locks her in his mansion. Check.

Climax: Heroine attempts to escape; Hero drags her back and proceeds to

I stared at the screen. Chapter 15 was just straight-up smut. Me and Brooks? My brain refused to process the image. Thats nope. Absolutely not.

I tossed the phone onto the mattress, traumatized. I decided to just wait for Sierra to resurrect herself.

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.

Panic spiked. I shoved the burner phone deep under my pillow and threw my body in front of it.

"Cassidy. Open up. Lunch."

"I'm not eating!"

"Then I'm coming in."

The metal scrape of a key in the lock. The click of the tumblers. The door swung open.

Brooks walked in, balancing a tray in one hand. A keyring dangled from his index finger, jingling with every step. He set the tray on the nightstand and tilted his head, studying me. "Do you want to eat like a human, or do you want me to feed you again?"

I pressed my back against the pillows, shielding the contraband. "I'm not hungry. I don't want it."

Brooks nodded slowly. "Okay."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coil of rope. "I guess you want me to feed you."

My eyes locked on the rope.

Flashbacks of Chapter 15 assaulted my brain. The knots. The bedposts. The implications. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his face.

"I'll eat! I'll do it myself!"

Brooks smileda small, satisfied quirk of the lips. He tucked the rope back into his pocket and handed me the chopsticks. "Good choice."

I scooted to the edge of the bed, putting distance between me and the pillow. I started shoveling rice into my mouth, but my mind was screaming. Is the phone on silent? Did I mute it?

I heard a sound. A low, rhythmic vibration.

Bzzt.

I froze.

Brooks frowned. His gaze lifted, drifting past me, landing directly on the pillows behind my back.

"Brooks!" I blurted out, desperation making my voice shrill. "Aren't you eating? You should eat."

He tore his eyes away from the bed, looking back at me. "I'll eat after you finish"

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

The sound was unmistakable. Muffled, but loud as a gunshot in the quiet room.

Chapter 9