Crude: A Stepbrother Romance (43 page)

I’m walking towards her with a grin on my face, ready to pull her away from all of this and just lay it all out, when mother-fucking
Chet
swoops out of nowhere with Donald tailing behind him like a puppy dog. And then it’s just a repeat of the previous day, where I’m gritting my teeth and trying to keep my cool while this asshole cracks stupid jokes and mugs for the cameras next to Reagan, using every ounce of my willpower to try and ignore the fact that he keeps
touching
her on the arm.

And really, it’s not even
Chet
; it’s the thought of
any
guy putting their hands on her that makes me rage inside. The thought makes my fists clench up and brings me right back to where I was, drunk and fucked up in whatever shit-hole third world slum we were in at the time back then. I can’t help but think of
my
hands on her;
my
hands running down her sides, feeling the curve of her hips and the heat between her legs.

Fuck,
I mean I was so close to everything one time, and not just the prospect of fucking her, but I mean
everything
. That last time we were both here, I know it was something more and something deeper than just the idea of banging a chick. It was fucking
way
more than that, which is why five Goddamn years later I still can’t get it out of my head and still can’t get
her
out from under my skin. I think I even knew back then that when I kissed her for that first time, I was just
done
. With her, there was light, and peace, and finally a fucking
silence
to the blaring of my memories that scream through my head. I was so fucking close to
knowing
her, and letting her in before I ruined it.
 

I realize I’ve been zoning out again as I hear Chet’s
horrible
little weasel laugh.

“So I say,
that’s
how you putt a par-three, baby!” Donald erupts in laughter right along with him, and even Reagan is humoring him with a smile; the kind of smile I’ve barely seen tossed my way in days.

“Am I right, Hudson?” Chet winks at me; “Yeah this guy knows what I’m talking about!”

I have no fucking idea in the world what he’s talking about.

“Hey so Hudson, remind me what it is you
do
over at Archer Holdings? You were a fighter pilot or something, right?
Currahee!
” Chet pumps his fist in the air like he’s at a football game or something.

Seriously, punching this asshole in the face right here and right now would be an act of mercy.

“I was a Marine, actually. And Currahee is the 101st Airborne; Army.”

Reagan gives me a look, and I begrudgingly plaster a nicer, totally disingenuous look on my face; “I make sure the money flows in the right direction at Archer and just pretty much fix problems.”

Chet grins and elbow’s me in the arm like we’re buddies; “Fix things, huh? So, you think you can
fix
this girl’s phone so she can call me back sometime?” Chet laughs hysterically at his own joke, with Donald right there with him clapping him on the back.

No, but I can fix how fucking straight your teeth are in about five seconds, dickwad.

But Reagan is laughing too, even though I
know
she can’t stand this clown either. She’s touching his arm and leaning into him, and I wince as a photographer flashes a quick shot of the two of them like that which I’m
sure
will end up on some stupid blog somewhere involving “romance on the campaign trail” or some other bullshit that Donald and Erika cook up.

I
want
to hate all of this; all the fucking pageantry and the concocted narratives, and I
definitely
want to hate Reagan having her picture taken with
this
fucking guy. But deep down, I get it. I look around at the college volunteers clearing chairs from the front lawn; I see the campaign posters with her face on them, and the boxes of buttons and t-shirts with her name emblazoned across them, and I
get it
. Chet’s obnoxious, and vanilla, and a total talking head, but he
fits
the part.
This
is who she should be with, I think darkly to myself; not some fucked up broken toy soldier like me, with all the shit I’m still carrying around on my shoulders. This girl is fucking incredible, but her being with a guy like this just makes sense, and I’m fucking delusional to think otherwise.

She laughs again at something stupid he says - the sound so perfect and so pure and good - and I can’t; I’m just done.

I’m barely aware of Donald asking me where I’m going as I just walk away; away from the lights and the camera and Reagan and Chet.
 

P A S T

I’m still trying to breath; still trying to get my racing heart to calm down enough for it to drop out of my throat and back into my chest where it belongs, even five minutes after he went back inside.
I just kissed Hudson
; I mean,
holy shit.
And not
just
any old “kiss” either; not some chaste princess-movie kiss, but a searing-hot, gravity-defying kiss that still has me grinning like an idiot and trying to feel the floor beneath my feet. Or did
he
kiss
me
? Does it matter? Does anything else in the
world
matter right now after that?

Ten minutes after, I’ve calmed myself a little more, but I’m biting my lip nervously as I start to wonder about what comes
next
. I mean am I
really
going to do this with him? I mean it’s not like I’m a virgin or anything; well, not
technically
at least. That dubious technicality involves a spectacularly brief encounter with my date to senior prom. But this is
Hudson
we’re talking about; Hudson with the dangerously charming smile, Hudson with the practically legendary history of women trailing after him. I’ve been drinking, but I’m hardly
drunk
anymore; maybe from that kiss, but not from wine. But I’m worried now that there was a boldness and a confidence in me that I’m not used to when I pretty much dragged him up here, and now I’m starting to wonder how much longer that boldness is going to last me without his lips on mine.

Fifteen minutes after he went inside, I decide I can’t just stand here out on the terrace tapping my feet, so I find myself walking back into the house. He’s not in Quinn’s room, not where I told him to look for condoms, and he’s not in
mine
, where I’m secretly hoping to find him waiting for me. Walking back downstairs is like slowly re-immersing myself into reality, as the shadowy murmuring sounds of family and mourners sucks me back into the now. I’m scanning the room for him, thinking maybe he got drawn back down for some sort of emergency or to help someone, but I’m still not seeing him.
 

His back is to me, and he’s standing with a bunch of other suits in corner of the foyer, and I’m about to go up and tap him on the shoulder when I hear it, and the floor just drops out from under me; “..A girl like that is just another place to get your dick wet.”

It’s
his
voice; the same man who just kissed me with a passion I never knew existed in the world, and who told me he’d be right back is now telling a bunch of his buddies that he fucked me. I’m backing away slowly, realizing that the pain inside my chest is the feeling of my heart just
breaking
.

“Reagan, I’m
so
sorry for your loss.”
 

I turn quickly to the woman I’ve never met before who probably worked for my father - someone else who probably knew him better than I did - and nod quickly; “Uh, thanks.”

“He was a
great
man.” She looks at me plaintively, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

“M-hmm.” When I look back, he’s gone, and I can feel the shattered pieces inside of me tumbling to the floor. I turn back to the women talking to me about my father, and it’s then that I see him. It’s right then, surrounded by the mourners and shadows and memories of my father, that I see the Hudson Banks - the man that just broke my heart - shuffling out the front door with the pretty blonde girl hanging off his arm and giggling at something he’s saying. He’s nodding quickly at the valet out front and helping the drunk-looking bimbo into the passenger seat of his car before he turns quickly, his eyes darting over the crowd quickly as if trying to make sure he’d not caught making this escape like this. He doesn’t see me - which is good because if we’d locked eyes in that moment, I’d have broken entirely - before he takes a quick breath, his face looking dark, and slides into the car. And then he’s roaring away, dust kicking up behind the car with the screaming giggle of her voice trailing out the window.

And then he’s gone.

There’s a sting; something piercing deep inside that threatens to take me to my knees right here as I realize what a
complete fool
I’ve been. And in that moment, I’m not even sure I’m mad at
him
; I’m mad at
myself.
I’m mad at being the silly little stupid girl I never wanted to be. I’m mad at letting my convictions and my armor and my sensibilities drop for just a second; only realizing now that it was just enough to get hurt.

The tears start to come then, and another person I don’t know is hugging me and telling me how it’s all going to be ok. And with this stranger’s arms around me, I realize how awful I am that I’m standing there shedding tears over some bullshit crush on some bullshit shadow of a man named Hudson instead of my father, who I
should
be crying over.
 

And then I’m tearing away and pushing my through the crowd, back up the stairs, past the Goddamn library and the terrace, and down to my room. I’m under the covers, my face pressed tight to my pillow as I sob; for my father, for me, for the pain of growing up and the bitterness of life.

P R E S E N T

“Hudson!” I’m stomping up the staircase to the second floor,
chasing
him as he storms down the hallway

“Goddamnit, Hudson where-“

“Go back, Reagan.” He’s in the upstairs library, pushing open the double doors to the terrace where that kiss happened all those years before; back to the scene of the crime. I tense myself and tighten my jaw as I stand staring at the double doors across the room where he’s just gone through, feeling the licking tendrils of the shivering cold teasing through the crack where he’s left them not quite closed. I storm across the room, fling them open and step out into the chilly night; determined to corner him here.

“What the fuck was that back there?”

He turns, his face looking tight and tense and his sharp blue eyes blazing liquid fire as they stare at me; “It’s
nothing
, Reagan; just leave it. Oh and say hi to
Chet
for me.”

I stare at him, feeling my own flame begin to churn inside of me; “You’re
jealous
? Of Chet?”

“Of
course
I’m fucking jealous.” He growls it quietly, before he starts to stalk past me back into the house.

“You know it wasn’t
just
that you rejected me and made me feel like a complete idiot.” My mouth spits the words out before my brain can stop me, and he freezes in the doorway.

He whirls around, his eyes blazing that steely blue fire as he looks right into mine.
 

“It wasn't just that you humiliated me, Hudson; after you led me on like that.” I take a shaky breath, realizing I’m about to say everything I’ve been wanting to tell him for five years; “I was young-“

“So was I-“

“You
knew
better!” The pained look in his eyes says it all, but I just can’t stop; “And you just
left me
there!” I can feel the tears begin to well up, hot and stinging my eyes as my heart races in my chest.