Step-Lover (7 page)

CHAPTER TEN

THEN – ONE YEAR EARLIER

“Are we going to stay in this room all weekend?” I groan, stretching on the bed.

“No, we are not, Ally.”

I chuckle at his use of my made-up name. “Then what are we going to do, Dante?”

He smirks at me, and I take a moment to study him. His sandy-blond hair is falling over his forehead, framing that gorgeous, chiseled face. His eyes are more blue than gray today—absolutely stunning. I reach up, moving a strand of hair from his eyes. He smiles down at me, and that dimple makes my heart flutter.

“We’re going for a run.”

I blink. “Oh no, we’re not.”

“Yeah, we are,” he says, jumping up and taking my hands, pulling me with him.

“You’re not serious,” I cry as he spins me towards a shopping bag in the corner. “What’s in there? You said you went and got pastries!”

He laughs, wrapping an around my shoulders and pulling me back against his chest. His skin is warm against mine, and his muscles bunch and move against my shoulders as he leans over and whispers in my ear, “I lied.”

I grin. “You’re not a very nice person, and this is the point where I inform you that I don’t run. Ever. Not ever.”

“I can make you run.”

“Nope, not possible.”

He squeezes. “Is that a bet?”

“Yep. I don’t run. Besides, why do we need to run? Why, I say?”

His laugh rumbles through my body. “Because we have eaten so much food I feel fat.”

“But you’re not.”

“But I feel it.”

I spin in his arms so I’m facing him. “But you’re
not.”

“I run everyday.”

“And?”

He leans down close. “You’ll be fine, trust me. When we get back, you’ll be rewarded.”

“Nope. You can’t make me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Can’t.”

“Can.”

I turn and hurry towards the bathroom but he catches me around the waist, hauling me back. “Consider it a date.”

“I don’t know you. We have no reason to date.”

“Darlin’, I’ve had my dick inside you.”

I snort. “And what a wonderful dick it is, that doesn’t mean we’re dating. I’m still not convinced you’re not a serial killer.”

“Most charming killer out there,” he mumbles against my shoulder.

“I’m not running, buster.”

“You are running, darlin’.”

“This could go all day. You go, I’ll stay. When you get back, we’ll eat more food and make you feel fat again.”

“Nope,” he says, pushing me towards the bag. “Now get dressed or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’ll dress, but I won’t run.”

I open the bag and find a pair of cotton shorts and a tank, plus a pair of sneakers. Not really running clothes, but I can definitely run in them. But I won’t be, so it doesn’t matter. I’m grateful he got me these clothes, though, considering I only had one pair when I decided to spend a damned weekend with him.

It’s been a nice weekend, too. I called Melanie and she squealed with delight, promising to go along with my story that I’m staying with her for the weekend. This has ensured it’s been quiet and peaceful, which has been nice. It’s Sunday now, which means today everything will come to a close. Still, I have no doubt we’ll see each other again, which makes me happy.

I’ve never clicked with someone the way I do with . . . er . . . Dante.

I can’t wait to hear his real name.

“Get dressed,” he says, slapping my ass.

With a huff, I disappear into the bathroom to get dressed. When I’m done, he’s already changed into a pair of running shorts and a tight tee that does really great things for his muscles. Damn him for being beautiful. He takes my hand and leads me out of the hotel. I don’t protest about this, purely because it’s a gorgeous day outside and I need fresh air.

When we hit the sidewalk, he pulls me across the road towards the beach. People are everywhere, running down the long path beside the white sand, eating at restaurants along the roadside and playing with their families. I can’t fight the smile that spreads across my face as we step onto the soft sand. The water is really blue today, and waves crash softly against the shore.

“Come on, solider,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me.

“No . . . seriously . . . I don’t run.”

“If you don’t run, I’ll throw myself on the ground and pretend you’re beating me.”

I huff. “You will not.”

He flattens a hand to his chest. “God dammit, please don’t!” he cries so loudly people stop and stare.

I shove his shoulder and laugh loudly. “Fine, you asshole, but you owe me.”

He winks. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Taking my hand, he starts running down the sidewalk. Grudgingly, I follow him. It’s actually, dare I say it, quite nice. I don’t get far, before he decides he’s bored with running and wants to play. He spins suddenly, and puts his hands up. “How do you feel about a public tickle attack?”

My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

He wiggles his fingers. “I so would.”

I turn and flee, running hard and fast. Trails of laughter flow from my body, no doubt travelling back to him because I can hear his laughter too. He chases me down the sidewalk and people stop to watch us. When he catches me, his arms go around my waist and we topple to the ground. We roll a few times across the grass, before he pins me on my back.

Then he tickles me.

I’m ashamed to say I snort-laugh, a lot. People around us are smiling and kids laugh right along with us, no doubt reliving the joy they felt when someone tickled them. When we’re both out of breath, Mystery Guy rolls to his side and flops down onto his back. Something inside my chest expands. This feels amazing. So damned good. Dating this man would be a real experience, that I know.

“Told you I could make you run,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah, you win. Do you do that to all the girls?”

He snorts. “No.”

I roll towards him. “Do you do this with any girls?”

His brows shoot up. “What? Have fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

“For an entire weekend?”

He narrows his eyes. “Never had the need, but sure, if I wanted to I would.”

Something twists inside my chest. “Oh, right.”

We’re silent a minute, then he says. “I’m not tryin’ to be a dick, but I thought we were both clear on what this was.”

I nod, fighting back the pain in my chest. The intense disappointment. “Sure,” I say in a chipper voice.

“You want to get some breakfast?” he says.

I guess that topic is closed.

“Sure.”

He jumps to his feet and reaches down, pulling me to him. Something in his face has changed; the playfulness is gone. He’s made his message loud and clear, even without words. This is just a bit of fun, and should be read as nothing more. I can’t deny that it hurts, but he never promised me anything different.

I guess I was just holding onto hope.

I was wrong.

~*~*~*~

NOW

The next week passes with no drama. We all settle into the house, and the heavy awkwardness that was lingering in the air is gone. We’re comfortable, we’re getting to know each other and it feels pretty good. I’ve avoided Blade except during family situations; if he’s around I run out the door before he can catch me. I know he’s noticed and I know he doesn’t like it, but it’s for the best.

I’m not going to keep playing his games.

Tonight we’re having a get together; Mom and Jack insisted that we make a fire and all sit around, bonding. This means that I can’t escape Blade, even if I want to. No matter, there are enough of us that I think I can avoid him without too many problems. I’ve invited Bryce, to Mom’s pleasure. He and I have spent a few days together, and he’s nice. I like him.

I don’t have that same bond with him, as I did with Blade, but I like him and that’s a damned good start if you ask me.

“I can’t decide what to wear!” Melanie moans from my bed.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts, and turn to my best friend.

“It’s a cookout with my family. You don’t need to look amazing, Mel.”

“Brody is there.”

I snort. “Dude, Brody has been here the whole time.”

“Yes, but he avoids everyone. Tonight he’s going to be sitting there, watching . . .”

“Mel,” I say gently, “I don’t think even then he’ll notice.”

Her face darkens slightly, but she quickly wipes it away. It reminds me that sometimes Mel isn’t as bright and bubbly as she lets on. She’s a truly compassionate person, who has her own demons. She feels something when she looks at Brody and that something is pushing her to want to help him, even if he isn’t willing to let her.

“He’s just so . . .” She looks away. “. . . broken.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “He is, but I don’t know if a pretty dress will change that, honey. I think if he wants to open up to someone, he needs to trust them first.”

“You’re right,” she says. “I know what I have to do.”

“That sounds . . . alarming.”

She flashes me a smile. “Trust me. Now, what are you wearing? You have Bryce coming, so you totally have to look nice.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I was thinking of Ugg boots and jeans.”

She scrunches her top lip. “You did not just say that.”

I nod. “I really did.”

“You’re going to wear something nicer.”

I cross my arms. “No, really, I want to wear jeans.”

“Fine, you can wear jeans but they’re going to be stylish jeans. I have a great halter top you can borrow. It’s hot.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

There’s no point in arguing.

Mel always gets what she wants.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NOW

Bryce’s arm is around my shoulder and he’s pulling me close to his side. I was worried about having to deal with Blade, but to one up me, he brought Peyton along. She’s giggling like a schoolgirl every five minutes when he whispers things in her ear. Mom and Jake are cuddled up to my left, on a blanket. Ripley and Brody are sitting on a log to my right and Melanie is in front of me, legs tucked to her chest, eyes on the fire.

It’s a beautiful, crisp night. There’s a cool breeze blowing past, occasionally rustling my hair. Bryce takes those chances to tuck those strands behind my ears again. An affectionate, yet subtle move. It helps take my mind off Peyton and Blade. I feel a certain level of calm sitting here, I must admit. Everyone seems at ease, and happy. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.

“So Aria,” Peyton says, causing my head to jerk up, “Blade told me you’re studying.”

I nod. “Yes, Medicine.”

“What kind?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s cool,” she says, snuggling into Blade. I want to smack her face.

That isn’t even warranted. I’ve lost it.

“Did you have a boyfriend back home?” she goes on, as if Bryce isn’t sitting beside me with his arm around me.

Classy, Peyton.

“Ah,” I say, letting my eyes flick to Blade who is watching me closely, “not really.”

“There was a guy,” Melanie pipes up. “But he was a complete twat.”

“Melanie.” Mom laughs softly.

“He was, Nancy. Not to mention his problem . . .”

I want to kick her.

“Problem?” Ripley asks, suddenly intrigued.

“He has an exceptionally small penis.”

She’s shooting daggers at Blade, who is shooting them at me. Everyone bursts out laughing, even Mom. Her and Jack stand, announcing they’re going to get more drinks. This isn’t a good thing, because it means Blade is free to fire back at me like the asshole he is. And he does.

“Maybe you were just sloppy and clingy,” he mutters.

Ripley glares at his brother. “Ease up, Bro.”

“Or maybe,” Blade goes on, “you were just too damned easy. No man likes a girl who just opens her legs.” He turns to Peyton. “You wouldn’t be so loose, would you sweetheart?”

My heart twists. It twists so hard it fucking burns. His words are like a slap to my face. Melanie fires back, because even if I wanted to, there are no words. “She’s got a whole lot more class than you, fuck face.”

Brody actually snorts, which makes everyone go silent.

I’d laugh, I’d even cheer that he made some sort of sound, but I can’t. My heart is aching so much I want to vomit.

“Leave her alone, dude,” Bryce finally says. Oh, it takes him this long to defend me. Well done, Bryce.

“What’re you goin’ to do?” Blade snarls.

“Excuse me. I’m not feeling well,” I whisper, pushing to my feet.

I rush up to the house, not looking at any of them. His words hurt, because they were true. I was easy. I just jumped into bed with him, for my first time, without hesitation. All because I didn’t want to be the virgin in college. Now I’m a joke. He was looking for an easy lay and a weekend of fun, and I gave it to him.

“Where are you going?” Mom calls and I jerk.

I didn’t even see them heading towards me. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to bed.”

She stops when she reaches me and takes my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I nod, avoiding her eyes. “I think a lie down will help.”

“Okay, call me if you need.”

I nod and rush past and up into the house.

When I reach my room, I lock my door and climb into bed. There, I cry myself to sleep for the first time in a long time.

Damn Blade.

He’s breaking my heart all over again.

~*~*~*~

I wake up panting. The sun is shining through the window and heating my blankets. I kick them off and sit up, clutching my chest. I had a nightmare, the same one as always but it was intense. It was so real. As if I were there all over again. Distressed, I get out of bed and rush out of the room towards the bathroom. I lock myself in and splash my face.

It’s really upset me, which is unusual. I’m not saying it doesn’t upset me when it happens—of course it does—but this one has really shaken me. My nerves are shot, my hands are trembling, and I can’t seem to control my breathing. I think a walk might help. After last night, I just need to clear my head. I get dressed quickly, and tie my hair before heading out into the living area.

I stop suddenly when I hear hushed voices and the mention of my name.

Unable to help myself, I press up against the wall and listen.

“It happens quite a bit,” Jack is saying. “Nancy said she’s been having them since she was a little girl. Some nights are worse than others.”

They’re talking . . .
about me
.

“She was screaming on and off all night,” Ripley mutters.

“Fuckin’ freaked me out,” Blade grumbles. “Why is she havin’ dreams like that?”

“Look, what I’m about to tell you stays between us. If she hasn’t told you already, she isn’t ready for you to know so you keep this to yourselves. I’m not sure if you’ve wondered what happened to Nancy’s husband and other daughter. I know you’ve heard them mentioned.”

“Yeah, I wondered,” Brody says.

Great, they’re all there. My breathing intensifies until I’m clutching my chest, on the verge of a panic attack.

“When Aria was eight, they were all travelling home after being out for the evening.”

No Jack, don’t.

“The tire blew on the car and it swerved off the road, flipped and wrapped around a tree.”

No. Please.

“Jesus,” Blade says, his voice sympathetic.

I don’t want his sympathy.
Please, Jack, stop.

Why won’t my feet move?

“Nancy told me about it just after we met. She was beside herself but, she told me it was graphic. Aria’s father was thrown from the vehicle; he died instantly.”

Daddy. God. Stop.

My knees begin to shake and my body starts heaving.

“Nancy said . . .” His voice trembles. “She said Aria was in the back with her sister, Milly. She didn’t know at the time, but after intense therapy when Aria was younger, she found out Aria saw her sister die. And boys, when I say she saw her die, I mean she saw her die, graphically. Nancy told me she has suffered from what she saw ever since.”

I gasp for air, clutching my chest.

No. They need to stop talking about her. Right now.

“It was written on file that it was one of the most gruesome accidents for a long, long time. I won’t go into details, because it’s disturbing, but I can tell you what that girl saw that day will never leave her head, just like it has never left Nancy’s. She has nightmares. You need to go easy on her.”

“My God,” Blade breathes. “I didn’t . . .”

“No,” Jack cuts him off. “Not many people, except those who are close to them, know.”

I stumble out of the hall. I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in on me and my throat is closing tighter and tighter. I gasp for air as I fall into the living room. Jack turns suddenly and his eyes widen. I look pathetic; I know I do. My hands clutch my chest and tears are pouring down my cheeks. An unknown rage swirls in my belly. How dare he talk about them? How dare he?

“H-h-h-how dare you?” I scream.

Jack flinches. “Sweetheart, you were having nightmares . . .”

“You don’t have any right,” I screech, gasping for air.

“Dad, she’s panicking,” Blade says.

They take a step towards me but I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.

“You don’t understand; none of you understand. It’s my place,” I bellow. “It’s my place to tell that story.”

My eyes turn to Blade and I see it . . . I see something I never wanted to see from him. Pity. Sympathy. He feels sorry for me. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me; I don’t want him to suddenly change because he’s too scared to be an asshole to me. I don’t want that. I never wanted that.

“I don’t tell people because of this,” I cry, waving my arms around. “I don’t want your fucking pity, god dammit.”

I turn and rush towards the door. “Don’t follow me,” I cry loudly, pained and broken.

I tumble out and trip down the steps, landing on my hands and knees at the bottom. Too much. It’s too much. I push to my feet quickly and stumble forward. Then I start running, I run so far and so fast that when I look back, I can’t even see the house anymore. I find an old, fallen tree and drop down, panting. Tears stream down my face. God dammit, when will this get easier?

It has to . . . right?

~*~*~*~

My head is dropped, so I don’t see him approach. I merely feel his presence as he sits down beside me. I expect it to be Jack, but when I open my eyes I’m shocked. It’s not Jack, or even Blade . . . it’s Brody. I blink a few times, quite shocked. He’s the last person I expected to find me. I don’t even know why he did. He barely speaks, barely shows emotion and yet here he is.

“I know how it feels.”

I turn to him, blinking my burning, dry eyes. I’ve cried so much there’s nothing left.

“Y-y-you do?”

He nods, and reaches into his jacket. He pulls out a flask and opens it. He takes a long drink, and then hands it to me. I do the same, swallowing down the burning liquid.

Then he tells me his story.

“I was dating a girl when I was eighteen. We’d been together for two years. I loved her, but she had a hard life. She suffered from severe depression because her mom died from cancer two years earlier. She put on a brave face, but she was a girl in need of some serious help. I stood by her side because I cared. When I turned eighteen, things started going south. She became distant and fought me more than she loved me.”

He stops and takes another sip. I do too.

“I was eighteen,” he mutters. “I didn’t have the maturity to handle it. I was young; I wanted to enjoy my life. She wouldn’t let me in. I’d stood by her for two long years but she wouldn’t let me in. She was sinking. I tried to get her help, I went to therapy with her, I lost all my friends to stand by her side—I did everything I could to make things better for her.”

I take another sip this time, because I have a feeling this story is going to be horrible.

“She pulled back and I couldn’t get through. She was partying hard, so hard I spent more time dragging her home vomiting than I did just enjoying her. She refused to let me in, and eventually I just couldn’t take it anymore. I broke it off with her. Things were rocky after that; she didn’t take it well. I still followed her, tried to help her, because I felt guilty.”

God. It wasn’t his fault.

“But I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life doing that. It wasn’t fun. I was young and it wasn’t how I wanted things to turn out. I told her dad she needed help and he swore he’d get it for her, but he asked me to step back. The longer I hung around, the more she’d hold on. I agreed and stepped back. One night, about a month after, she called me.”

This is about to get bad.

“She said she was going to kill herself. Now, she’d said this at least a thousand times before, so you can understand I didn’t believe her. It wasn’t as though it was the first time. I told her she had to stop, that we were over and she needed to get help. Then I hung up and called her dad. He was out of town but he said he’d take care of it. That night, I felt uneasy . . . she’d told me she would kill herself so many times before, but this time felt different.”

My heart twists and we both drink some more alcohol.

“I decided to go and check on her. When I got to her house, it was dark. Her dad wasn’t home, so I broke in. I went into her room, but she wasn’t in her bed. I saw the bathroom light was on, so I barged in.”

He stops talking and looks away. My heart is in shreds.

“There was so much blood. I didn’t even know there was so much blood in the human body.” He gasps and I reach over, clutching his hand. “I knew it was her, even though I couldn’t see her face. I couldn’t see it because she . . . she had blown her own head off.”

Vomit rises in my throat and I struggle to push it back down. Pain shoots through me, because I know, god do I know how graphic something like that can be, and how it sticks in your mind and never, ever leaves.

“I see her every time I close my eyes. I see her face every time I even try to have fun. I let her down. I didn’t fight for her. Things got hard and I ran.”

“You were eighteen,” I say softly. “Honey, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

He turns to me and his eyes are glassy. “I loved her, Aria. I fucking loved her. I thought it was too hard, but when I saw her like that . . . it destroyed me. I let her down. I didn’t protect her when she needed me.”

I swallow back my tears. Nothing I can say will take away his guilt. He’s hurting; he’s broken and he has every right to be.