Stepbrother Dearest (25 page)

I needed to bite the bullet.

I walked over to her and barely got her name out. “Greta.”

She hopped up nervously like my saying her name had lit a fire under her ass. She stuttered a little.

“I…I’m so sorry…about Randy.”

Her lips trembled. She was discombobulated—a mess, I told myself. I didn’t want to admit that she

was even more beautiful than I remembered, that new highlights in her hair brought out the gold in the

hazel tone of her eyes, that I’d missed the three small freckles on her nose, that the way her black dress
hugged her breasts reminded me of things I needed to forget now.

I couldn’t move, just stood there taking her in. The familiar scent of her hair was intoxicating.

My body flinched when she reached out to hug me. I had really tried not to feel anything, but here in

her arms was the epicenter of it all. Her heart was beating against my chest, and mine immediately

responded by matching the rhythm. Our hearts were communicating in a way that our egos wouldn’t allow

with words. The heartbeat is the purest form of honesty.

I put my hand on her back and could feel the strap of her bra. Before I could even process what that

did to me, Chelsea’s voice snapped me out of it as Greta ripped herself away from me. The space between

us felt infinitely vast.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening: my past colliding with my present. The one that got away

was face to face with the one who got me over it.

Greta’s left hand was bare; there was no diamond. Where was her fiancé or husband? Where the fuck

was he?

Engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t even hear what they were saying to each other.

Clara saved the day when she walked in with food, and Greta went to help her.

Greta reentered the dining room and started placing the silverware down around us. She was so tense,

and pieces kept slipping and clinking around as she fumbled with them. I wanted to joke and ask her when
she started practicing playing percussion with spoons. I didn’t.

When she finally sat down, Greg asked, “So, how did you kids meet?”

Greta looked up from her plate for the first time as Chelsea explained how we met at the youth center.

When Chelsea leaned in to kiss me, I felt Greta watching it, and the mood became very uncomfortable.

The subject changed to my mother, and Greta was back to pretending she was engrossed in her plate.

My body stiffened again when Chelsea asked her a question. “Where do you live, Greta?”

“I live in New York City, actually. I just came into town a couple of days ago.”

“I” came into town, not “we.”

I wished I had a camera to capture the look on Greta’s face when Chelsea suggested we visit her in

New York.

The mood got quiet again, and I’d snuck some glances in when she wasn’t looking. When she caught

me, I shifted my attention back to my plate.

“Elec never told me he had a stepsister,” Chelsea said.

I wasn’t sure whom the statement was directed toward, but I wasn’t touching that subject with a ten-

foot pole. Greta still refused to look at me.

Sarah spoke up. “Elec only lived with us for a short time back when they were teenagers.” She looked

at Greta. “The two of you didn’t get along too well back then.”

For some reason, the uncomfortable look on Greta’s face got under my skin. She was still looking

down and not acknowledging her mother’s statement, not acknowledging me. An unexplainable need for

her to acknowledge to me, to acknowledge what we had, overtook my better judgment. I reverted back to

my old ways for a moment and started to taunt her to get her attention.

“Is that true, Greta?”

She looked frazzled. “Is what true?”

I lifted my brow. “That we didn’t get along.”

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes never left mine as they silently warned me not to push it.

Finally, she said, “We had our moments.”

My voice lowered to a gentler tone. “Yeah, we did.”

Her face was turning red. I’d pushed it. I tried to do damage control by lightening the mood. “What

was it you used to call me?”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Stepbrother dearest,’ was it? Because of my glowing personality?” I turned to Chelsea. “I was a

miserable fuck back then.”

I was for a while…until Greta made me want to be a better person.

“How did you know about that nickname?” Greta asked.

I laughed to myself, remembering how I used to snoop in on her phone calls to her friend.

It was good to finally see her crack a smile as she said, “Oh, right. You used to eavesdrop on me.”

Chelsea was looking back and forth at us. “Sounds like those were some fun times.”

I wouldn’t take my eyes off Greta. I wanted her to know that those days were some of the best of my

life.

“They were,” I said.

***

The only good thing about focusing on my unresolved feelings for Greta was that it took my mind off

of Randy.

When I escaped to be alone in the backyard after dinner, though, the fact that he was gone started to

hit me.

He and I would never have a chance to make amends now. It was interesting how making amends

never seemed to matter when he was alive, but in his death, it was haunting me. At the very least, I’d

wanted to prove him wrong, make something of myself. Now, he was somewhere in another dimension

possibly coming face to face with Patrick.

Thinking about it without distraction for too long fucked with my mind. I grabbed a cigarette and tried

to just meditate. It didn’t work because my emotions had only gone from sad to angry.

I heard the glass door sliding open and footsteps behind me. Don’t ask me how I knew it was her.

“What are you doing out here, Greta?”

“Chelsea asked me to come talk to you.”

What the fuck were they talking for? It just rubbed me the wrong way. Chelsea could not find out

about what happened between Greta and me. I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, really.”

“Yes.”

“Were you two comparing notes?”

“That’s not funny.”

It wasn’t, but my classic protective mechanism of acting like a bastard in times of stress had come out

in full force. It was too late. And dammit, I wanted her to acknowledge us.

I put my cigarette out. “You think she would have sent you out here to talk to me if she knew the last

time before today that you and I were together, we were fucking like rabbits?”

The color drained from her face. “Did you have to put it like that?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? She would freak the fuck out if she knew.”

“Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell her, so you don’t have to worry. I would never do that.”

Greta’s eye started to twitch, which proved I was having an effect on her. Old habits die hard. I was

addicted now.

“Why are you winking at me?”

“I’m not…my eye is twitching because—”

“Because you’re nervous. I know. You used to do that when I first met you. Glad to see we’ve come full

circle.”

“I guess some things never really change, do they? It’s been seven years, but it seem just like—”

“Like yesterday,” I interrupted. “It seems like just yesterday, and that’s fucked up. This whole situation
is.”

“It was never supposed to happen.”

My eyes somehow landed on her neck, and I couldn’t pry them away. I knew she noticed it. I felt

possessive all of a sudden, something I knew I had no right to feel. I still needed to know what the fuck
was going on.

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Your fiancé.”

“I’m not engaged. I was…but not anymore. How did you know I was engaged?”

I had to look down. I couldn’t let her see the effect hearing this news had on me. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story, but I was the one who ended it. He moved to Europe for a job. It just wasn’t
meant to be.”

“Are you with anyone now?”

“No.”

Fuck.

She continued, “Chelsea is really nice.”

“She’s wonderful; one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, actually.”

She was. I loved Chelsea; I did. I could never hurt her. I needed to convince both Greta and myself

that Chelsea was it for me. It was still fucked up that hearing Greta say there was no other man had now
riled me up.

Greta quickly changed the subject to Randy and my mother.

It was starting to rain, so I used that as an excuse to tell her to go inside.

She wouldn’t leave.

Then, her eyes started to water.

All of a sudden, my heart felt like it was breaking. I needed to fight these emotions, and there was only
one way I ever knew how to do that with Greta: by being an asshole.

I snapped at her. “What are you doing?”

“Chelsea’s not the only one who’s worried about you.”

“She’s the only one that has a right to be. You don’t need to be worrying about me. I’m none of your

concern.”

My heart was pounding faster in protest of what had just come out of my mouth because deep down, I

wanted her to care.

She was hurt. I’d hurt her again, yet I needed to fight these feelings.

“You know what? If I didn’t feel so sorry for what you’re going through right now, I’d tell you to kiss

my ass,” she said.

Her words had gone straight to my dick. I had the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. I had to nip

this in the bud.

“And if I wanted to be a dick, I’d say you were asking me to kiss your ass because you remembered

how much you fucking loved it when I did.”

What the fuck had I just said? I needed to leave before I did something even more stupid, although

that one would be hard to top. As I walked past her, I said, “Take care of your mother tonight.”

I left her standing in the garden. When I opened the door, I pulled Chelsea into the hardest kiss I’d

ever given her in a desperate attempt to obliterate Greta from my mind.

***

The wake had been tougher than I even expected in more ways than one. I refused to look over at the

coffin. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t belong there.

Voices blended together. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I was counting the minutes until I could be

back on that plane.

Chelsea was keeping me standing.

The only time I ever felt pain was when I’d look over at Greta. The single instance I left to escape

everything, I’d ended up running into her downstairs in the basement of the funeral home. She tried to

pretend she didn’t see me after she exited the bathroom, but I knew it was my one chance to apologize for
my earlier behavior.

I hadn’t expected her to use that moment to tell me she still had feelings for me.

It had broken all my resolve. Everything about this day had weakened me. Her hair was up, and at one

point, I wrapped my hand around her neck. The trauma of this whole experience had totally clouded my

better judgment. It felt unreal, almost like I was dreaming. But there was nothing I needed more in that
moment.

Chelsea’s footsteps interrupted my trance. She’d come down to check on me, but she didn’t see

anything. I felt ashamed when I looked into my girlfriend’s loving eyes. She’d been worried about me and
meanwhile, I was in the middle of some kind of wet dream.

I hated myself.

Soon after we went back upstairs, I insisted we leave early and hitch a ride back to Greg and Clara’s

house. Desperate to wash every shred of Greta off my hands and out of my mind, I practically attacked

Chelsea when we got to the bedroom.

I told her I needed sex right then and there. She didn’t question it, just started to undress herself. That
was the kind of girlfriend she was. She loved me unconditionally even in my manic state.

The problem was…what my body really craved in that moment wasn’t in the room.

As I moved in and out of Chelsea, I closed my eyes and saw nothing but Greta: Greta’s face, Greta’s

neck, Greta’s ass.

This was the lowest thing I’d ever done. Guilt consumed me, and I stopped abruptly. Without

explanation, I ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The need for release was enormous. I

started to jerk off to a visual of Greta on her knees looking up at me as I dressed her neck with my cum. It
took me all of a minute.

I was sick.

After I’d come down from my orgasm, I felt even worse than I had before.

That night, my thoughts seemed to be taking turns obsessing over Greta and Randy. I didn’t sleep a

wink. Randy won most of the night as flashbacks of him tormented me.

Chelsea would be leaving early to fly out to California in the morning for her sister’s wedding. I