Fade Back (A Stepbrother Romance Novella) (6 page)

"
B
ecka
, sweetie, baby, doll, are you sure you want to keep drinking? I mean you've always been so proud of knowing when you need to stop.”

"Maybe I have, and maybe I haven’t? Whatever. I'm cool. I'm just like, feeling crazy tonight, I don't know whassup..." Jerome and Becka were collapsed on a bench together, sipping at water bottles and pretending to sober up a little.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, heartbreaker, I know it. But come on Becka, I think you’re done for the night. You’re drunk.”

"Sexy drunk,” Becka mumbled and sipped her water. 

“Yes honey, I can't stress this enough, you're drunk and you will be wishing you’d quit now when you have a massive headache tomorrow. I would be a bad friend if I didn't point out that fundamental fact at this dangerous juncture." Jerome, further proof of his status as an aberrant freak of nature, somehow managed to become more articulate as he got drunker. To an inebriated and still confused Becka he spoke like a perspicacious blur, and she really couldn't take on board anything her nice friend said about anything.

"Look, Jere, it's okay, for real, it's fine."

“You spent half the night babbling about that tattoo guy of yours and the other half grinding yourself against practically every guy here, and now you're drunker than I’ve ever seen you. This is bizarro world. We are entering a twilight zone from which we may never emerge the same again. This could end worlds,” Jerome enthused, his eyes like saucers, and Becka laughed in her hand and spat water over the floor. 

"Shaddaaaaaap, it's only fucking vodka. What's the problem? Okay… I felt like a dick storming out on Fitz like some princess, but this'll make me feel better and I think, you, as my friend, should just, y'know... whatever." 

"Hey, I'm not going to stop you. Whatever, I'm just warning you not to come crying to me tomorrow when you roll over and realize your hangover is the size of Texas.” Jerome laughed and Becka nodded along, still dumbly oblivious to the sincere truth at the heart of her friend's flippantly theatrical warnings. She was aware she wasn't thinking coherently, and a tiny part of her suggested going home right now, and eating a whole cheese pizza. But whenever Becka got drunk, she remembered that feeling of being a teenager, and nerdy and so lonely and unable to do anything about it. With the right amount of alcohol, she regressed to that girl so filled with loneliness and did what she would have done then. She was driven tonight toward that decadent oblivion by feeling confused about Fitz’s reappearance in her life, and she was proving she was a grown-up. She could make stupid decisions. She could make mistakes.

Becka was proud of this thought and tried to tell it to Jerome, but it came out like this: ”I want to make my
mssstakes
all over that guy’s face tonight." And she couldn't understand why Jerome wouldn't stop laughing. Whatever. It was a long night.

Jerome scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Allllright. Lessgo." 

The two hot young things burst into the chilled night air and hailed a cab, pouring themselves into the back seat and passing out the minute they landed, so the driver could only stare stony-silent in the front the whole ride. He tossed a bottle of water at them when they reached Becka’s place, waking them up long enough so they could make it through the front door. 

W
hen she woke
up the next morning, Becka felt more certain of what she really wanted, certain that Fitz was the one for her, despite their step-relationship. It wasn’t illegal, right? She was confident that she could get her dad on her side, once he was back. Eleanor was going to be a different story—Becka had no clue how her stepmother would react. She would find out soon enough. What she was certain of now was that she could say she loved Fitz. It took some wild, crazy, and probably unnecessary partying, but Becka could finally understand why Fitz had only had four girlfriends at his sage age of thirty. She totally got it. And now she wanted to show him. Thank goodness she didn’t go home with some guy from last night. Thank goodness for Jerome.

In a few hours, she'd call and explain her sudden disappearance, she'd apologize for her broken appointment and beg for another chance. What mattered now was their future, not the unfortunate fact that their parents were married to each other. She'd show Fitz she knew what love was now.  

While these thoughts and more jumped the fences of Becka’s waking mind, Jerome rolled in her bed next to her, fully clothed—just like she was. And, cradled in each other’s arms, the two best friends fell asleep again for a few more hours.

I
t was
mid-morning when Becka woke up again and shifted her sleeping bedmate from her arm, shaking out the pins and needles. She stepped into the shower, and with the hot water way up, letting the swirling mists swallow the old Becka and have her emerge like new, scrubbed herself clean and ready for a new kind of life, with a new kind of person.

"Hey, Jere, you want some breakfast?" she called down the hallway, nonchalantly strolling back into the bedroom after her shower, wrapping a towel around her skinny frame. Then she froze. In a twisted tableau vivant of yesterday's horrifying scene, Jerome was trawling through her phone, a surprised look on his face, a tweezed eyebrow raised, and a slapable smirk twisting his pretty lips. He glanced up at Becka, who was still stunned and aghast in the doorway, and continued scrolling. 

"You had a LOT of messages from Fitz last night. And from your dad. How come you didn’t tell me that Fitz was your stepbrother?”

“Whoa, wait-wait-wait! I texted with my dad last night?”

“Yeah, you told
him
, but you didn’t tell
me
, girl. I’m offended.”

“Shit. Now he’s going to tell Eleanor, and Eleanor might say something to Fitz. Although, they don’t really talk…” Becka was trying to concentrate through the fog of her hangover. “What did my dad have to say about this? Let me see myself.” She grabbed the phone from her friend’s hand. Furiously scrolling over her drunken texts to her dad, which began with asking him about Jerry and then transitioned into more and more lurid and inappropriate territory, she finally came to the end of the string of messages.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. And there, glowing green like a toxic fire, was her father’s reply.

Becka gasped and sputtered with rage, her eyes wide and teeth exposed at the menacing text splayed across her screen. Her vitriol was barely contained by her narrow frame, the veins in her temples throbbed, and her red-rimmed eyes bugged out, bruised and defiant against the ghostly pallor of her skin. 

“Oh, Jere, what am I going to do now?”

B
ecka thought
about making coffee but she was too shaken up already. Instead, she paced for a bit, then paced again after sending the hungover and unhelpful Jerome home, while rereading her dad’s messages. It wasn't over with that first horrible message. There were more.

And the most upsetting thing about it was that Becka was too drunk last night to form coherent or meaningful responses. Just a string of crude emojis and several mortifying 'lols', so out of keeping with Becka’s normal texting style. Now her dad was never going to take her seriously.

Becka couldn't bear it. After a while, she stopped pacing and started cleaning, then realized she'd cleaned her apartment top to bottom yesterday and she still didn't feel any better about this whole situation. She needed to make this right, and not just in her usual way of not thinking about it until the problem went away. She didn't want this problem to go away. She didn't want this person to go away. She wanted to see Fitz, not just today, and not just for her tattoo. She didn't want some other artist filling in the color, admiring the work, and moving on. Becka wanted Fitz to finish what he started with her, and that meant tattoos and a lot more. 

She was getting dressed, determined to march down to the Emporium and wait until Fitz would see her. She didn't care if she had to watch fifty fat guys get skull tattoos across their flabby mid-sections! Why, she’d—

Her phone was ringing. Becka scrambled across her kitchen to grab it before it stopped ringing, nearly crashing over her open dishwasher drawer thanks to her slippery socks. She saw her dad’s photo glowing on the screen and composed herself for a second before placing the receiver to her ear and breathing deeply.

“I…”

"Before you say anything, Rebecca, please, let me speak." Becka breathed out sharply on hearing her father’s strict voice, but the hint of coldness stopped her dead. “I discussed this situation with Eleanor. This is completely unacceptable, kiddo. No way. You two are almost siblings, and what happened between you was okay, since you ostensibly didn’t recognize each other—though both Eleanor and I find it hard to believe. But it has to stop. Now. Your stepmother tried to reach Jerry too, but he didn’t answer, so she sent him a long text, she said.”

Becka was silent, too stunned to do anything but breathe. She thought she'd be dealing with harsh remarks about her inebriated state last night, with defusing the upsetting phrasing of the text and the crude comments about her sex life. She was like an idiot child playing at grown-up emotions.

“Yes, but dad… I really like this guy!“

"Well that's just... that's just an unfortunate thing, Becka. You cannot be with him. Eleanor and I do not see how this would be appropriate on any level at all.”

"I really didn't think you'd be this upset..."

"Upset? You’re practically siblings, for chrissakes!” 

“I… but what about
my
feelings, dad?” Becka wanted to curl up and die. She sounded so stupid. She heard her father sigh, a heavy, sweet, pained burst of breath hissing across the airwaves and piercing Becka’s heart with sorrow. It sounded like he didn't expect to hear more protests from his daughter, and realizing this, Becka felt, for the first time in her short life, true fear. Fear of losing the first guy she’d ever truly loved.

"No, Rebecca, no. Just no.”

"Well... I better go, dad. I can’t talk to you right now. Not anymore.”

“Why do you think it's acceptable to date your stepbrother? Jeez, Rebecca, what kind of a daughter did I raise?” Her father was starting to sound heated; the flare in his voice was threatening, the sarcasm biting, and Becka just wanted to curl up in her bed and make everything go away somehow. But something in her knew this wouldn't be that easy. That nagging voice, back in full force, told her nothing worth having ever is. She bit her lip and sniffed back the tears she felt edging their way down her drawn cheeks.

"L-look, dad. I'm sorry. I gotta go.“ She pressed ‘End call’ before she could hear any more of her father’s protests, so when the phone rang again, almost immediately, she reluctantly answered without looking at the screen. She’d never before hung up on her dad.

But it was Fitz’s voice on the other end.

“When did you know, Becka? Before our date? Or only when you found those photos on my phone?”

“What? You’re crazy. I didn’t recognize you at all. How many years has it been? Plus, you look completely different now, and so do I. I only realized it when I saw those pictures on your phone. And I wanted to talk to you about it, I did. I was just too shocked. I didn’t think our parents would put up this much fight against this.”

"No. No, you couldn’t predict their reaction. Look, I think maybe we should just take a second and take stock, you know? I’m as confused as you are, but… I think we should listen to our folks. We’re practically siblings, Becka.” She felt her heart squeeze so tight she almost passed out. “I want to finish your tattoo, too. And don't worry, I'm an adult and a professional. It will be exactly what you paid for. I finish the things I start. Set up a time when you've calmed down a bit.” And he hung up.

Becka’s screen went blank, damn phone not even giving her the comfort of a dial tone to cling to. She was left in silence, leaning against the kitchen island bench, holding herself in her own shaking arms, finding little comfort in the slack grip. She'd always wondered what lay beyond this life she'd enjoyed up until now, and she'd finally glimpsed it for herself. She wanted it back. She wanted Fitz back and while she didn't know how she was going to do it, she knew she was going to give it everything she could to make things work with the low-voiced drifter who saw life in such bright colors and who burned with a fire that warmed Becka’s very soul. Even if he was her long lost stepbrother. And even if everyone in the world seemed to think that their being together was a terrible idea.

She had to find a way to get him back, somehow...