The Stepdad Diaries: CH. 10

CHAPTER TEN: FIGURE IT OUT

I DON’T MOVE.

For a second I just stand there with the door half open, my hand still on the knob, like if I don’t say anything this whole thing might reset itself and go back to normal.

It doesn’t.

Jeff’s standing right in front of me, close enough that I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are set like he’s holding himself in place. He looks like he’s been thinking about this all day—and still doesn’t know how to start.

“Harrison,” he says again.

I swallow, nod once.

“Yeah.”

Behind me I hear Trey shift his weight, the floor creaking just enough to remind me I’m not alone.

“This about the food or should I—” he starts.

“Give us a minute,” I say, not taking my eyes off Jeff.

There’s a beat.

Then Trey lets out a low whistle like he just got front row seats to something he wasn’t supposed to see.

“Copy that,” he mutters, backing off toward the kitchen. “I’ll… supervise absolutely nothing until whatever this is…is over.”

The door swings wider and I step out onto the small landing, pulling it halfway closed behind me. Not all the way. Just enough.

Jeff watches the movement, then looks back at me.

Neither of us speaks right away.

It’s quiet out here. The kind of quiet that makes every little sound feel louder than it should be—the hum of a streetlight, a car passing somewhere down the block, the faint noise of Trey moving around inside.

Jeff exhales through his nose.

“You left,” he says.

It’s not an accusation. Not exactly.

Just a statement.

“I did,” I say.

Another pause.

He shifts his weight, runs a hand over the back of his neck like he’s trying to find the right version of this conversation.

“You didn’t say anything,” he adds.

“I packed a bag in front of you,” I reply. “I said plenty.”

His mouth tightens at that.

“That’s not the same thing,” he says.

I tilt my head a little, studying him.

“Then what is?”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to answer, then stops. Whatever he thought he was going to say doesn’t quite make it out.

“I thought we were figuring this out,” he says finally.

There it is.

I let that sit between us for a second.

“Yeah,” I say. “So did I.”

His eyes flick up to mine.

“And then?” he asks.

I let out a slow breath.

“And then I realized you and I aren’t figuring out the same thing.”

That lands.

I can see it in the way his expression shifts—subtle, but there.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says.

“It means,” I say, keeping my voice level, “you’re trying to keep everything open. Options. No labels. No pressure.”

I take a step closer, not aggressive—just enough that he has to actually hear me.

“And I’m not.”

Jeff’s brow tightens.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he says.

“Then what are you doing?”

The question hangs there.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Because he can’t.

I nod once, like that tells me everything I need to know.

“That’s what I thought,” I say.

“Harrison—”

“No,” I cut in, not raising my voice, just steady. “I’m not doing this halfway.”

His jaw flexes.

“I’m not asking you to,” he says.

“You are,” I reply. “You just don’t want to call it that.”

He shakes his head, frustrated now.

“I’m trying to be real with you,” he says.

“Then be real,” I shoot back. “What do you want?”

That stops him cold.

The silence that follows is different this time.

He looks at me like he’s searching for the answer in my face instead of his own.

And that right there—that’s the problem.

I step back.

“I’m not one of a few,” I say. “I’m not something you try out while you keep everything else the same.”

His expression hardens a little.

“That’s not fair,” he says.

“It’s exactly fair,” I reply. “You don’t get access to me while you figure yourself out.”

The words land clean.

No takeback in them.

Jeff exhales, sharp, like something in his chest just got pulled too tight.

“So what,” he says. “You’re just done?”

I shake my head slowly.

“No,” I say. “I’m not done.”

That catches him off guard.

“I’m just not doing it like that.”

He watches me, trying to read the space between what I said and what I didn’t.

“Then how?” he asks.

I hold his gaze.

“Figure out what you want,” I say. “Then come find me.”

There’s a long pause after that.

The kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

Jeff looks like he wants to say something—like there’s a version of this where he gets it right.

But whatever that version is, he’s not there yet.

I nod once, more to myself than to him.

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

Then I turn, push the door open, and step back inside.

The door clicks shut behind me before he can answer, the sound sharper than it should be, like it seals something in place. For a second I just stand there with my hand still on the wood, feeling the echo of it travel up my arm. My stomach drops low and hollow, not pain exactly—just that sudden absence where something used to be. Everything in me feels exposed, like I just peeled back a layer I can’t put back on.

Trey’s standing a few feet away, watching me in that quiet, careful way people do when they know better than to crack a joke. There’s something like disappointment on his face, or maybe it’s just the kind of hope that didn’t pan out. I had it too. I wanted Jeff to step up. To say the one thing that would’ve made all of this make sense. To meet me where I was instead of circling it.

But he didn’t.

And maybe he couldn’t.

I lean back against the door, the cool surface pressing into my spine, grounding me just enough to keep my thoughts from running off. My chest is tight, not from regret, not exactly—just from the weight of knowing I meant every word I said.

On the other side of the door, his voice cuts through, closer than I expected.

“Wait!”

My eyes snap up and I’m already moving before I think better of it, hand finding the knob, pulling the door open again.

Jeff is right there—closer than before, like he didn’t go anywhere, like he was waiting for that exact second. His eyes are locked on mine, steady in a way that feels different. Decided.

“You,” he says, matter of fact.

My brow pulls together. “What?”

His jaw tightens once, like he’s bracing himself, and then—

“I know exactly what the fuck I want.”

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