Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (12 page)

I didn’t know the woman staring back at me in the mirror.

She was a traitor I needed gone.

I wrenched my hair into a loose knot, then turned on the shower. Beneath the too-hot spray, I tried scrubbing my body free of my stepbrother once and for all, but how could I when my need for him consumed me? Had
always
obsessed me? When the love I’d thought banished had roared back with frightening intensity? What happened was wrong on so many levels, yet given the chance, I’d do it all over again. But I couldn’t.
Ever.

This had been an accident. A horrible mistake brought on by years of loneliness and pain. It wasn’t him I’d craved, but sex itself. I’d been horny—nothing more.

But if that were true, then how come tears hardly felt held at bay? Like if I surrendered to them, to the honest depth of my feelings for him, they might never stop? All of a sudden we were back on that Turks and Caicos beach, only instead of him denying me, we’d rewritten history and he’d tucked our temporary ward into her crib and then carried me to his bed. Every ounce of the emotion I’d felt for him not only then, but the years before and after crushed me beneath their cumulative weight.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the comfort of my watery cocoon.

But then the shower door opened, and Garrett was towering over me. Naked and honed.

My lips were already swollen, but I all but hurled myself against him, ready for another round. Never again, I promised. Once more, and that would be enough to exorcise him forever from my system. I would once again make Cook my top priority and honor Chad’s memory by keeping myself pure.

Our first kisses were frantic, as if we only had moments to quench a lifetime’s thirst.

But then he lifted me against him, onto him, and the pace slowed.

Warm water streamed over and between us and I clung to him as if he was the sole answer to my every prayer. His kisses turned unbearably tender when he slanted his mouth against mine. I moaned with every sweep of his tongue. Our union was wrong, yet nothing had ever felt more right.

His every thrust awakened the long-sleeping woman in me. I’d forgotten the singular satisfaction of being filled by a man, probably because no one had ever made me feel anywhere near as full as him. Pressure rose and swirled in an agonizing vortex of pleasure and pain. The first time I’d been with Garrett could be blamed on liquor and the excitement of the night. The second time was about two grown adults satisfying a mutual itch.

But this time…

I’d run out of excuses.

This time, Garrett was inside of me for one simple, terrifying reason. Because I couldn’t bear for him not to be. I loved and adored him—always had. And I feared I always would.

My climax came too fast, and I could have wept again at fate bringing this most special occasion to its inevitable end.

He stiffened and pumped deeper, filling me with his seed. For a woman who’d already had one pregnancy scare, what special brand of fool I must be to invite the same sort of trouble all over again? I was a doctor. At the very least, why hadn’t I asked him to use a condom?

The darkest part of my heart volunteered an answer.

I hadn’t wanted to risk stopping for protection, because I’d been afraid allowing even that infinitesimal sliver of reality would give either of us time to regain the sanity needed to put an end to this abominable act. He might not want to recognize the two of us as being brother and sister, but like it or not, that was exactly how society, our family, and friends viewed us ever since we’d stood with our parents at their marriage altar, serving as their best maid and man. Moreover, he’d killed my son’s father. Accident or not, it was an act we couldn’t escape.

I clung to him until he kissed me for what I sensed by his fervor to be our final time, then he set me on my feet. He took my peach body wash, poured some into the palm of his hand, and then washed me, all of me, while I quietly sobbed with my hands in his hair. Emotions I didn’t understand spilled from me. All at once, as if a highlight reel of my greatest joys and sorrows played in my heart, I saw him at his high school graduation, and again at mine, handing me not a bouquet of flowers like other family members had done, but a clumsily hand-crafted bouquet of fast-food and iTunes gift cards so I could feed my body and soul while away at college. To anyone on the outside looking in, the gift would have seemed silly. As the only daughter of one of the richest men in the state, I was never hurting for money. But it had been Garrett I’d turned to on far too many occasions to admit I’d forgotten my wallet. Along with the cards, he’d given me a Chanel wristlet to store them in. I still had it, tucked at the back of my underwear drawer. I saw him again and again, coming to my rescue after a flat tire or failed test or bad haircut. I only just now realized how much I’d missed and needed him. But that didn’t mean I deserved him. Or that no matter how much I wanted him, I could never again know him in this particular way.

When the water ran cold, he turned it off.

He reached for a towel, presumably to dry me, but I took it from him. “Let me.”

He arched his head back and closed his eyes while I ran the soft terry cloth over his every muscle. Before, caught up in the physicality of our act, I hadn’t had time to fully appreciate his assets, but now, I worshipped him, the powerful swell of his calves and thighs, his impressive size even while flaccid. The sexy-as-sin, V-shaped cut in his lower abdomen formed by hollows on either side of his obliques that led smoothly into six-pack abs and pecs that I lingered over and kissed. I dried his impressive arms, and then circled to his backside, which was equally as impressive as his front.

I dreaded finishing, because I knew it had to be goodbye.

He turned to face me, gifting me with a kiss that was simple and pure. “Let’s pack up Cook and run away. I have money. We’ll go wherever you want. Warm, cold—doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’ll be together.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said. “What about Cook’s grandparents? I have patients and my food bank. Hundreds—maybe even thousands of people depend on me. Mom and Dad depend on me—and you. Daddy—
Dad—
could survive your return to California, but what if your disappearance brought on another heart attack? How could you live with yourself? I know I couldn’t. Could you?”

Lips pressed tight, he punched the walk-in shower’s wall hard enough to break the glass tile. Blood rained from his shredded knuckles. But he didn’t cry out or even flinch.

His only reaction was to stare at me.

Instantly in healing mode, I wrapped his hand in the towel, and then tried leading him out of the shower, but he brushed off my attempt to help.

“Garrett, don’t be stubborn. Let me get you dressed, and then drive you to my office. You probably need stitches.”

“Don’t bother.” He’d brought our clothes up with him. The sight of our entwined pants legs returned flashes of what we’d shared. A look. A kiss. The flick of his tongue against my nipple. Heat rose in my cheeks, pooling between my still naked legs.

The doorbell rang.
“Mom!”

Next, came banging on the door. Repeated ringing.

“Coming!” I untangled my jeans from his, and tried pulling them on, but my legs were still wet and the denim refused to budge. “Shit.”

Garrett just stood there, naked, leaning against the white marble counter. Blood had already seeped through the towel. During my residency, I’d seen blood practically all day every day, and it hadn’t fazed me. But now? Seeing Garrett’s blood? My legs felt about as solid as a pair of Rice Krispies Treats.

“Mom!”
More banging.

I hopped in a futile attempt to wrangle on my jeans. Though the wet denim refused to budge, my cell flipped out of my pocket, clattering to the tile floor. It thankfully hadn’t broke, so I called Kenya.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m having a bit of a situation. Could you please take the kids for ice cream, and we’ll talk in about an hour?” I sucked in my lower lip, clamping down with my upper teeth.

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Is that some kind of code for you needing police? Did Garrett hurt you?”
Not in the way you might think.
Of course, he’d hurt me, but not purposely. I’d invited the pain. I’d eaten the proverbial forbidden fruit and it had turned right back around and eaten me. Now, I was stuck with a bleeding, pissed off and naked, hot-as-fuck stepbrother in my master bathroom with nowhere to go that wouldn’t announce to my son and best friend that I was a whore. “Give me a sign, and I’ll hang up and dial 9-1-1. Say cupcake and I’ll do it. If your situation’s more dire, I could break a window, or—”

“Kenya, stop. Really, I’m good. Just take Cook and Mary and even sweet, old Grady if he’s still around, and go get ice cream or a hamburger or I don’t know—tacos. Just, please, buy me time to—”

“
OMG.
You had sex with him, didn’t you? Right now, you’re upstairs naked and—holy shit. Yes. I’m loading up the kids and Grady and will see you in an hour with two bottles of wine.” She disconnected.

I turned off my phone and set it on the counter.

The brief conversation with my best friend returned what little remained of my sanity. I kicked off my jeans, took the time to dry myself, then tugged them back on. Still topless, I tried unwrapping Garrett’s hand, but he wasn’t having it. While I’d been on the phone, he’d dressed. He grabbed a fresh towel from a pile on the counter, and wrapped it around the one he already had, then strode out the bathroom door.

“Garrett, wait.” On the off chance Kenya hadn’t yet left with the kids, I pulled my shirt on before following him down the stairs. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Let me get you a juice box, and then patch you up at my clinic.”

“I’ve been in prison for five fucking years and you wanna get me a juice box?” He shoved his feet into leather flip-flops, then froze with his good hand on the front door’s thumb-latch.

I could see out the front window that Kenya’s red Fiat was gone, so I hugged Garrett from behind. “I’m sorry. I know you can take care of yourself, but what if I don’t want you to have to? What if I want to help?”

“If you wanted to help, you would have agreed.”

“To run away with you? Garrett, that’s crazy. You and I both know it.”

We walked out onto the porch. During our interaction, the sky had turned dark.

I flipped on the porch light, then chased him across the yard. “At least let me get you a bottled water. You’re probably dehydrated.”

I hadn’t put shoes on, and stepped on a pebble on the sidewalk. Pain shot through my heel. In the time it took me to hop to soft grass, his long-legged stride had already carried him halfway down the block.

Happy, laughing families were everywhere.

A guy I assumed was a single dad stood across the street snapping pics of a walking Rubik’s Cube.

I caught movement in my peripheral vision, and turned in time to watch a ghost and bunny run up the stairs to ring my doorbell. “Trick or treat!”

Lord…
I swiped at silent tears with the backs of my hands, sniffed, then forced a smile for Donnie and his little sister, Tabitha, my neighbor’s children from two doors down. “You two look precious.”

“Thank you,” Donnie said, “but I’m supposed to be scary.”

“Oh—you are,” I assured him, opening the front door to reach for the bowl of candy I’d set earlier on the entry hall buffet. My socks and sneakers were still at the foot of the stairs, glaring. “You’re super scary.”

I was going to be sick.

I scooped half the candy into Donnie’s paper sack, and the other half in Tabitha’s.

“You two have fun. And be careful.”

“We will. Thank you!”

The moment they left the porch, I turned off the light and closed and locked the door.

What had I done?

A slow tremor hit me from inside out. I felt cold and hot and every temperature in between.

In the moment, I couldn’t have imagined being anywhere but Garrett’s arms. Now, however, I realized the gravity of our actions. I wouldn’t even try denying that being with him hadn’t felt incredible, but since when had I ever taken a path in life simply because it felt good? Honestly, if I had, I never would have finished college, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have finished med school or my residency.

The very possibility of being with Garrett full-time was a non-issue.

Too many people stood to get hurt.

What about yourself? Clearly, you still love him. Stepbrother or not, are you prepared to give up a possible lifetime’s happiness all because Chad’s parents and your own may disapprove?

This was about so much more than mere disapproval. Chad’s mother was unstable. His father and brother sued for sport. I wasn’t sure how they might legally sue for full custody, but if they caught me with Garrett, I wouldn’t put it past them to try. Growing up, my mother taught me love conquered all, but it hadn’t been able to save my father from dying, and it sure hadn’t done anything to heal the hole in my heart created by loving Garrett.

My head and soul hurt, so I downed two shots of tequila, took a Xanax chaser, then wrapped myself in my favorite fuzzy blanket and waited for Kenya to bring my son home.

When my cell rang twenty minute later, I raced to retrieve it from the hall table, but scowled to see Canton on the caller ID rather than Garrett.

I let the call go straight to voice mail.
Hey, Savannah. Look, Dad just got tickets for the circus Saturday night, and wants you and Cook to go. He wanted to talk to you, but you know he’s long-winded, so I figured I’d save you the trouble. Anyway, let me know.

I called him back and accepted. Cook would be thrilled.

And yes, Chad’s dad was a major windbag. I had to laugh at the fact that Canton not only realized that fact, but saved me from it. Oddly enough, I was actually looking forward to watching a circus instead of living one!

One advantage of living in a small town was the fact that pretty much everything was within walking distance. Only seeing how I was fucking sick of walking, at the end of Savannah’s street, I called one of Julep’s two cabs to take me to a drugstore, liquor store, and then my halfway house.

I locked myself in the upstairs bathroom and cleaned my hand.

Punching that wall had been a stupid move, but not nearly as stupid as some of the night’s other poor decisions. For a guy determined to never show my cards in regard to just how much I cared about Savannah, I’d done a bang-up job. As if screwing her hadn’t been bad enough, why the fuck had I asked her to pack up her kid and run away with me?

Like seriously, what the hell had I been thinking?

While pouring alcohol on my still weeping wound, I welcomed the biting pain. I deserved it for being such an idiot about a girl. And really, that’s all Savannah was, right? All these years, I’d placed her on a pedestal, but why?

I opened my scotch, intent on pouring more alcohol into me, than on me.

What had my stepsister ever done for me?

I wasn’t talking about the cupcakes she’d made or times she’d covered for me with Mom and Dad, I meant like how had she ever made me anything but miserable? From day one, she’d been a cocktease. Traipsing around, wearing nothing but a bra and panties or too-small T-shirts with boy shorts that didn’t leave enough to my imagination. For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted her to an unholy degree, and for what? What had all my adoration gotten?

Five years in prison.

In retrospect, had I tried, I could have gotten off those bogus charges, but I’d chosen not to for her. She’d been pregnant. Beyond feeding my own guilt, I hadn’t wanted to put her through the stress of a trial. But what about the stress her asshole fiancé put me through?

I drank more.

I got out the picture of us that had sustained me through years behind bars. The two of us at the Derby.

With my eyes closed, I still smelled the sweet floral scent of her hair.

Did she know the guilt that came along with accidentally killing a guy, that knowing deep in the darkest part of your soul that the moment you’d seen him for the lying sack of shit he was that you’d wished him dead?

Glug, glug.

I put the photo on my nightstand.

I dried my hand, then squirted a bunch of Neosporin on it, before slapping on a few sterile pads, and then wrapping those with an elastic bandage. I cleaned up my mess, drank more, then retreated to my room, where I proceeded to get thoroughly shitfaced.

I’m not sure how long I was in there when Grady stopped by. “Garrett? You in there?”

“Sure am!” I shouted. “Go the fuck away!”

We weren’t allowed to have locks on the doors, so he walked right in. “Why are you sitting alone in the dark, when—” He flicked on the overhead light, then grabbed the near-empty bottle from my good hand. “What the hell are you thinking? There’s no booze allowed in here. You trying to get yourself kicked out?”

“Maybe. It’s kind of a dump.”

“True, but for a man trying to get back on the right side of the law, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

“Who said I was trying to do anything other than get drunk?”

“What happened to your hand?”

“Life.”

“Give me a straight answer. You’ve got blood all over your bed. Probably need stitches.”

“Fuck stitches.”

“You’re damned lucky Phil’s at a Halloween party, or you’d get busted for sure. Come on…” In an effort to get me on my feet, he wedged his arm behind my back. “Where’s your fancy phone? I’ll call a cab to take your sorry ass to the urgent care over in Morristown. Let’s grab your fat wallet, too, ’cause I’m for damn sure not paying to have your ass patched up.”

Six hours later, Grady and I shared a cold, concrete bench while waiting for a cab outside the clinic he’d taken me to. I was far too sober, and had twenty-three stitches in my hand.

He lit a Pall Mall. “You never did tell me what possessed you to punch a wall. What’d that sweet Miss Savannah do that got you so riled up?”

“Nothing.” I was as sick of waiting for transportation as I was of walking. License or not, as soon as I woke up in the morning, I was buying a car. “Who said I was even talking about her?”

“Nobody, I s’pose. Just trying to connect some dots.”

“Yeah, well, do me a favor and keep your dots away from mine.”

He chuckled, then took a drag from his cig. “Will do.”

We sat in blessed silence for a few minutes. The crickets were the only sound louder than the automatic doors swishing back and forth each time a kid who was up way past his bedtime stepped in front of the sensor.

“What did you think of Miss Kenya?”

“She’s a looker, but seems a little young for you.”

He smacked me. “Watch yourself. She’s young enough to be my daughter. I just thought she was a real nice girl.” He took a few more pulls from his cig, then said, “I sure did enjoy strolling down memory lane. Back in the day, her aunt Violet was a wildcat. She was the only black girl I’d ever seen who was into that sixties hippie shit—used to put all different colors of flowers in her afro.” He whistled. “She was really somethin’. I took her to prom, and had just asked her to be my steady when I got messed up in that robbery. I wasn’t even s’posed to be there. She came to visit the farm once—brought me the best damned oatmeal cookies I’d ever had—back in the day, the pen was a lot more lenient about gifts. I told her I was gonna marry her, but hell, I was nineteen and convinced I’d get let go early for good behavior.” He pitched his cig on the ground, tamping it with his tennis shoe. “We both know how that turned out.”

“Have you talked to her since you’ve been back?”

He snorted. “You saw the way she looked at me when we showed up at your fancy house. Besides, what would an old ex-con like me even have to offer?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said. “You’ve always been good to me. When I get my house renovation going, I’ll hire you to be on my crew. Once you’ve got a nice bankroll in your pocket and get sprung from our current less-than-ideal digs, you should try hitting her up again.”

“We’ll see…”

Five years earlier, if someone had told me I’d envy Grady and our family housekeeper, I’d have told them they were crazy, but I did. With my help—or hell, even without—Grady had as good a chance at winning Violet’s attention as anyone else. He might just marry her, and buy a nice house. It was probably too late for kids, but Violet had always been close to her niece, so that was kind of the same thing.

As for me ever finding that kind of happiness with Savannah? Tonight proved that was never going to happen. I’d already known—I mean, I liked to pretend we might one day be together, but that was a fool’s game. I’d gladly served time to protect her and her unborn child. When I’d asked her to consider running away with me, she hadn’t even taken a beat to consider our options. It didn’t have to be an all-or-nothing kind of thing. Once I got my license reinstated, I could have moved to Alaska, and she could have followed later. Our parents would never have to know there was more between us. But she hadn’t even cared enough to wonder how good a shared life might be.

Saturday morning, I took a two-hour cab ride into Jackson, where I paid cash for a fully-loaded, Cadillac ATS-V Coupe—cherry red. The dealer got all bent out of shape about me having neither a valid Mississippi driver’s license or insurance, but I paid him extra to put me on the dealership’s insurance for a week until I found some back home.

The scent of my new supple white leather seats reminded me that it was good to be me. I’d allowed Savannah and the whole ugly business with Chad to beat me down, but no more. I was back, baby, and this car was just the start.

I completed the return two-hour drive in just under an hour, then pulled up to the halfway house to grab Grady. The two of us had some long overdue partying to do. My hand hurt like a sonofabitch, so the first stop we’d need to make was at the pharmacy to fill the prescriptions the doc had given me last night.

Upstairs, I found Grady folding socks. “Put up your laundry, it’s time to celebrate our freedom.”

He didn’t even look my way before asking, “Have you been drinking again?”

“No. Why would you even ask? I’m high on life. Check it out…” I cracked his window shade to show him my car. “See that beauty? She’s mine.”

“No kidding?”

“Would I kid about a sweet ride like that?”

“When did you get your license?”

“I didn’t. I’ve just got my state ID. I figure I’ll grab the real deal Monday.” I ducked into my room for the wad of twenties I kept in a box of tampons—no derelict’s checking there for treasure.

“What if you get pulled over between now and then?”

“Won’t happen.”

“You better hope not. I ain’t got time for that.”

We swung by the pharmacy for my meds, I downed two dry, then parked front and center at Knight Trips—the classier of Julep’s two strip clubs.

“I don’t know about this…” Grady looked apprehensive. “I’ve been thinking real hard on what you said about me gettin’ Violet back, and seems to me this isn’t the right way to start.”

“Look,” I killed the engine. “Consider this a training exercise. When’s the last time you even talked to a woman?”

“Last night, if that sweet Kenya counts.”

“She doesn’t. Let’s go.”

Grady grumbled all the way inside. I ignored him.

My pain meds were starting to kick in, and I needed a drink and a lap dance—stat.

Fuck Savannah. The only reason I’d ever wanted her was because I couldn’t have her. Well, guess what? I did have her, and now I didn’t need her anymore. With as many twenties as I’d crammed in my pocket, any gal in here would worship me.

I split my cash pile with Grady. His attitude improved tenfold.

Techno pounded and the only lights were on the stage and bar. The air smelled of fried food and stale carpet that no doubt suffered a nightly flood of beer and tequila. The crowd was a good mix of young and old, all intent on having a good time. If you didn’t like strippers, four different football games played on big-screen TVs.

I led Grady to the only empty table in front of the current stripper—Heidi. The only reason I knew her name was because the stripper order was listed on a video monitor. Up next—Venus.

Heidi had blond braids, crotchless lederhosen, and a stick pony she rode hard. I gave her an A for effort, but just wasn’t feeling it.

“Look at her go!” Grady cheered her on.

When she rode his way, he tucked a twenty into her garter.

I signaled the waitress and told her to bring me a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

“Didn’t you just take pain meds?” Grady asked.

“I’m still hurting,” I said above the music. What I didn’t tell him was that my hand had nothing to do with my pain. Why did I let Savannah get to me? How much booze would it take to erase her from my mind?

I didn’t know, but was about to find out…

By the time Venus and her penis-shaped rocket left the stage, I’d loosened up.

By the time Cheetah finished her lion-taming routine, I had taken another round of meds.

By the time Candy plucked a twenty from a guy’s nose using only her pussy, I struggled to make both hands come together for a round of applause. I threw money at her, and kinda remember Grady telling me I’d pissed away a grand, but it was all good. Losing Savannah didn’t hurt anymore, but I was sleepy, which worked out great since I fell out of my chair and decided to nap on the floor…