Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (13 page)

“Mom, is Uncle Garrett dead?”

“No, sweetie…”
But if he ventures much further down his current path, he might be soon.
Luckily, by the time I’d reached the strip club, he’d already barfed most of the pills he’d taken and booze he’d drank. He was lucky Grady called me instead of the paramedics, and helped me get him to my place. Chad’s parents were ridiculously well-connected, and itching for Garrett to mess up. They’d admitted as much during our circus weekend.

Thankfully, Canton had cut them off before they’d really gotten out of control.

My stepbrother now rested comfortably in the downstairs guest bedroom where Suzette slept when she came to town. If she knew he was in my house, let alone in what she and Theo considered
their
room, she’d have a stroke.

I was in the process of cleaning his hand, and wishing he’d gone to me or a plastic surgeon for his stitches, when Cook rested his palm against Garrett’s forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Checking him for fever.” He scrunched up his face in concern. His sweetness tugged at my heart, and made me feel worse than I already did. Suzette struck me as emotionally fragile. Learning her grandson had become fast friends with the man who’d killed his father wouldn’t sit well, and might even bring on a full mental breakdown. More than anything, I wanted to scold Garrett for being so reckless. Didn’t he know how much I needed him? How much I cared? Even if we couldn’t be together in the biblical sense, that didn’t mean I didn’t love him.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?” I’d finished cleaning Garrett’s wound.

“Can we keep him?”

“Uncle Garrett?” The question brought on instant heartburn. I’d love nothing more than to hold him hostage on an exotic island of our choosing, where the three of us could live judgment free. But what would happen when Cook grew old enough to ask specifics about his father? What would happen when he learned the uncle he adored had been responsible for him never meeting his own father? It was an unconscionable situation to land my son in.

Cook nodded. “He’s cool. And he looks a lot like me, don’t you think?”

“Not really.” But strangely, he did. Of course, logically, their resemblance was only in my head, which only hurt more. If Cook was Garrett’s son, it might have changed everything. Granted, our parents may not have spoken to either of us again, but at least Cook would have a dad and I would have—No. I was done spinning fairy tales that would never come true.

With luck, Daddy—Dad—would get Garrett’s license reinstated, and then my stepbrother would be on his merry way. The last place I needed him was in my house, where he served as a constant reminder of how I still wanted him. My smashed shower wall was reminder enough. Until I found a tile repairman, I put a black plastic trash bag over the hole, and sealed the edges with duct tape. It was a lovely souvenir of how trashy I felt about our act. At the time, nothing had ever felt more beautiful or right, but then reality hit like a concrete block to my forehead, and the multitude of reasons why we could never be together rushed at me like an ever-rising, inescapable wave.

“Mom, Uncle Garrett’s dead. He’s not moving, just like SpongeBob when he died.” May he rest in peace. Poor Sponge had been Cook’s goldfish who’d lived to a ripe, old age of two months. In goldfish years, that was like two thousand.

“Sweetie, let me show you a trick so you can check if people are alive. See Uncle Garrett’s wrist?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Put your middle finger over it like this.” I showed him the proper placement to check his uncle’s pulse.

“Mrs. Hinkey said not to use the middle finger or we hafta sit in the poor decision corner.” He delivered this bit of news with a grave expression.

“Usually, she’s right, but when you need to check your patient’s pulse and you don’t have any of the fancy equipment like I have at my clinic, then it’s okay to use your middle finger all you want, because your other finger has its own pulse.”

“Huh?” He scrunched his nose.

“Never mind that last part, and just feel here…” I placed his chubby fingers over my stepbrother’s strong pulse. The simple act squeezed my heart with the strength of a pair of forceps. “Feel that?”

Cook’s brown eyes widened. “Yeah…”

“That’s his heart. If he was
really
sick, it would be slow, and you’d hardly feel it at all. But since he’s going to be okay, his heartbeat feels nice and strong.”

“Oooooh.”
He nodded. “Good. Because I like him lots.”

While Cook continued monitoring Garrett’s pulse, I applied a clean bandage to his hand, and then shooed my son out of the room.

Downstairs, we emptied the dishwasher, and while Cook played a racing game on my iPad, I paid the November batch of bills. The tasks were mundane, yet my still-racing pulse hadn’t gotten the message that it was okay to calm down. Realistically, it probably wouldn’t until Garrett left the house. If and when he left the state would be the relaxation equivalent of a week at a spa.

My conscience asked,
Who are you trying to kid?

I wouldn’t have real peace until I figured out how to stop loving him as a man instead of a brother. Kenya kept pushing me to come clean with him about my true feelings, but why? What good would a big confession do? Beyond the obvious issues I’d been over ad nauseam were the especially tricky bits. What happened if Suzette flipped and declared me an unfit mother before demanding joint custody? Her husband was a legal mastermind. What if he pulled out the really big guns and somehow sent Garrett back to prison? It was a long shot, but with Theo, anything could happen. The pain of never truly being with Garrett would be nothing compared to what I’d feel if I lost my son. But then wait—Suzette had already lost her son. Irrevocably.

I paused in the middle of paying the natural gas bill to indulge in the simple pleasure of watching my child. He still had his summer tan, and a few freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His hair was on the long side, and probably needed a cut. Crazy, but he really did look like his uncle. He had Garrett’s dark eyes, chin, and attached earlobes. And sometimes when Cook smiled, he cocked his head like Garrett so much that I doubted the results of Canton’s paternity test. But then sanity returned. At the time of Cook’s birth, Canton’s suspicions about the child not being his brother’s had been strong enough to act upon. If the test hadn’t turned out in their family’s favor, what would he have to gain by lying? It made no sense.

“Mom?”

“Uh-huh?” I closed my laptop.

“Can we have spaghetti for dinner?”

“Let me see if we have all the ingredients.” I checked the freezer and found a pound of Italian turkey sausage. In the pantry, we didn’t have spaghetti, but fettuccine, and plenty of canned tomatoes. I’d use leftover hot dog buns for garlic toast. “We do. Are you going to help?”

“Yep.” He hopped up from the table looking so cute that my eyes stung. My whole life, my conscience had been my guide, so why not now when the most serious moral test I’d ever faced stared at me from across the kitchen island? For Cook’s sake, why couldn’t I exorcise Garrett from my life? “Want me to wash my hands?”

“Yes, please.” I watched him scamper toward the downstairs hall bathroom, and then caught sight of my reflection in the window. I hated myself. Lately, I felt as if my whole life was one, giant lie. Only at the moment, the person hurting the most from my constant denial of how I truly felt about my stepbrother was me. Sure, down the road, once Cook was older, telling him what Garrett had accidentally done wouldn’t be easy, but I had a few years before tackling that problem. Then there was the not-so-small matter of Suzette and Theo considering me to be their daughter-in-law. Truthfully, if there were no one’s feelings but my own to consider, maybe I wouldn’t have been so hasty to turn down Garrett’s offer. Maybe nothing would make me happier than to vanish from my every responsibility in favor of simply existing. Of letting life unfold. No more worrying about keeping up appearances for my parents and almost in-laws. I’d have nothing to do but love and be loved.

“Mom! Come here! I checked Uncle Garrett’s pulse, and it’s gone!”

I ran to the guest bedroom, terrified at what I might find.

The scene actually unfolding was maybe worse in some ways than anything medically life-threatening I might have imagined.

Cook had helped himself to the stethoscope I kept in my medical bag, and held it to Garrett’s elbow. He also wore a disposable emergency surgical mask, coat, and of course, shoe covers over his blinking sneakers. I probably should have yelled at him for getting into my equipment, but he looked so adorably intent on tending to his uncle that my heart melted.

“Sweetie, put the stethoscope on Garrett’s chest. Like this…” I showed him the proper placement, and his eyes widened.

“He’s got a loud heart!”

“See? I told you he’ll be fine.” As for myself, I wasn’t so sure…

I woke to find myself in a soothing, sun-flooded blue room. A cool breeze fluttered gauzy white curtains, and a doctor no taller than a hobbit stood over me, pressing a stethoscope to my chest. Upon closer inspection, I recognized Savannah’s son, Cook, then vaguely remembered her and Grady getting my belligerent ass to her house.

“Am I going to live?” I asked the pint-sized doc.

“Whoa! You talked. I gotta get Mom.”

I held up my hands to stop him, but the kid was already gone.

Groaning, I pressed the heels of my hands to my throbbing forehead. The strip club had been a bad idea, as had the scotch. Pretty much all I remembered was wanting the hurt of losing Savannah to go away—stupid, considering she’d been right here the whole time. The whole stepsister issue made me feel as if she were radioactive, stored in a special glass case through which I could look all I wanted, but never touch. Only I had touched. And now, I wanted her even more.

Cook returned with his mom in tow. “Look, Mom! I saved him again!”

“Thanks.” I held out my hand for the little guy to shake. “You did a great job. But do you have any Advil?”

He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that?”

“Sweetie,” Savannah cupped her son’s shoulders, and turned him toward the hall. “Could you please check to see if the bird feeder needs food?”

“Huh?” He looked up at her and cocked his head. “We weren’t even talking about birds.”

“I know, but they’re probably hungry.” She winked in my direction.

“Okay, Mom.”

“He’s a cutie.” Once he tore off, I ran my hands over the day’s stubble.

“You’re a moron.” Hands on her hips, she asked, “Since when does it seem like a good idea to mix a practically full bottle of scotch with pain meds?”

“Speaking of which, got any? Pain meds? My head and hand hurt.”

“You can’t be serious?” Even her scowl was sexy. Don’t get me started on the way her black yoga pants hugged her ass. “You could have died from that blend. Happens all the time.”

“Yeah, well, clearly I’m still ticking, so I’m going to need more—of both.” I sat up, but my head protested in the form of stabbing pain behind my right eye.

Urging me back down, she slipped one hand behind my back, and her other against my chest. “Take it easy. I know you like to come off as Mr. Tough Guy, but your body’s telling you to slow down.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to quip something smart-assed about her not being my doctor, but since at the moment she was, in fact, my doctor, I kept my mouth shut. Plus, I did feel a helluva lot better with my head back on the pillow.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

I nodded. “Got any Perrier?”

She laughed. “I’m fresh out, your highness, but could probably find you a Sprite.”

“That’ll do.”

“Mom!” Cook returned. I winced at his volume. The kid apparently had healthy lungs.

“I’m right here,” Savannah said. “No need to shout.”

“Okay, but the birds have food.”

“Good. Now, could you please get Garrett a Sprite?”

“Yeah…” Still wearing the no-longer-sterile booties over his sneakers, he skated down the hardwood hall. “I’m fast, Uncle Garrett!”

“Thanks, bud.” I figured because the boy had Chad’s DNA, he’d be a little douche like his father. Actually, I liked him. He looked nothing like his dad, and from everything I’d seen Savannah was a great mom. “Aside from Jennie’s crew, I haven’t been around many kids Cook’s age, but he seems cool.”

“Thanks. I’m almost afraid to ask, but how are her children? Have you talked to Luke since you’ve been home?”

“We shared a quick call. Kids are fine. His new bank job’s fine. Fine, fine, fine except for the fact that my stupid sister went and killed herself, leaving him without a wife and her babies without a mother.”

“G…Don’t talk like that. Jennie couldn’t help her depression.”

“She could have tried…” My eyes welled and I looked away. Damnit. It wasn’t like me to get emotional, but when it came to what Jennie had done, I was still pissed.

Savannah crawled into the bed beside me and just held me. Her comfort served as a warm blanket, hot cocoa, a crackling fire on a snowy night. She was all I’d ever needed and more.

She cupped her hand to my cheek and our gazes locked.

She leaned closer, as if planning to kiss me.

Anticipating her landing, I stopped breathing.

But then she pulled away, scrambling from the bed as if remembering I had become an infectious disease. I already felt like shit. Yay, her, for instantly making me feel worse.

“Maybe now is the wrong time to bring this up, but it would probably be best for you to start keeping your distance—especially with Cook.”

“Why?” Sure, I was technically an ex-con, but considering the fact that I’d gone to the big house on bogus charges, she couldn’t claim I was a bad influence. Like my stepmom had earlier mentioned, it might even be good for the little guy to have a man in his life. I know it would do me a world of good being around him. I couldn’t bring Chad back, but I could sure as hell do right by his son.

“Well…” Her gaze darted to the opposite side of the room as me. Body Language 101 told me she was holding back.

“Look,” I perched on my side. Lowering my voice, I said, “If this is about…
you know…
those scenes on the stairs and shower? Won’t happen again. You were right—first and foremost, we’re a family, and with Dad’s heart condition, let’s keep things civil.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, but…” She bit her lower lip. “There’s something more you need to know. I should have told you a while ago, but the timing never seemed right. Garrett…the way I feel for you, it’s—”

“Here!” Savannah’s son reappeared. He wielded a Sprite can as if it were a gold bar. “I found this for you, Uncle Garrett. Want me to shake it so it fizzes good?”

“No!” Savannah and I cried in unison.

Too late. He must have jiggled it the whole way from the kitchen because the instant he pulled the tab, soda spewed like Krakatoa. I shot into action to grab the can, but my efforts only succeeded in dowsing me with the syrupy drink.

“Cook,” his mom scolded. “You know better than to do that inside.”

“Sorry.”

I ducked into the attached bathroom, trying not to notice how the simple brush against Savannah’s backside felt so good.

Towels in hand, along with a few wet washcloths, I returned to the guest room. I handed one to Cook, whose chin touched the Incredible Hulk on his green T-shirt. “How about helping me dry the carpet, and everywhere you see Sprite—like the wood parts of the bed, and the nightstand? Go ahead and clean those with the wet rag.”

“Okay, Uncle Garrett!”

While he wiped, I used the dry towels to daub the beige carpet.

“We make a good team,” I teased.

“I’m cleaning real good!” Cook grinned over his shoulder. “Right, Mom?”

“You sure are, sweetie.” Savannah stood watching with the oddest look on her pretty face.

“What about me?” I asked more because I was probably still buzzed than for any practical reason. At least that’s what I wanted to believe. The only other option—that I genuinely cared about Savannah’s opinion of me—was not on the table. As for what she’d been on the verge of confessing? I didn’t want to hear. I could only imagine the tone of her well-meaning speech:
I’m attracted to you, G.
Big surprise.
But we’re brother and sister and shouldn’t like each other like that. You understand, right?
Fuck no. I didn’t understand and was starting to no longer care.

Her answer to my question was a glare.

We finished cleaning in a few minutes, and then she put her arm around her son, hustling him off to stir dinner—spaghetti that smelled damned good.

The slight exertion made my hand and head hurt worse, but I ignored the pain in favor of following mother and son.

The kitchen was bright and airy, with plenty of tall, paned windows, white cabinets, white marble counters and stainless steel appliances. Sunny yellow curtains and the three baskets of potted mums that marched across the center island provided cheer to what might otherwise have been a sterile space. A ceramic rooster collection flocked above the cabinets.

“You should go back to bed,” Savannah said from the stove. “Better yet, since you’re sober, your friend, Grady, left the keys to your ridiculous new ride on the table by the front door.”

“Is that a thinly veiled hint to go?”

“Was it veiled?” She didn’t look up from snipping fresh basil from a windowsill herb garden.

“Mom?” Cook had scrambled onto one of four island barstools. “Can Uncle Garrett stay for dinner?”

“No.” She cut a glare at me as efficiently as she’d snipped her herbs.

“Why come?” he persisted.

“
How come,
is the correct way to ask, and it’s because Garrett needs to rest.”

“He doesn’t look tired.” Cook spun three times on the swivel stool. “You’re not tired, are you, Uncle Garrett?”

“Cook! I said no, and I mean it. Now, please take all the dirty towels and washcloths from the spilled soda to the laundry room, and then wash your hands.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With his chin drooping again to his T-shirt, he scampered off to do his mother’s bidding.

“Damn, I never figured you for the strict parent.” During the exchange, I’d leaned against one of a pair of floral upholstered wing chairs that faced a weathered brick hearth in the open-spaced plan.

“Shut up.”

“Ouch.” I clutched my chest. “Babe, you’re killing me with this awful bedside manner.”

“What’s it going to take for you to leave?”

I tossed my cards all in. “A kiss.”

“Stop.”

I shrugged. “You asked. Take it or leave it.”

She stirred her sauce. “I’m not even going to try denying we share chemistry, but that doesn’t change anything. Dad still has his heart condition, Chad’s parents still consider me their daughter-in-law, and you killed Cook’s father…” She stopped stirring to bend over the counter. The bastard in me went right to the gutter. That guy wanted to send Cook outside to play with a neighbor, while I jerked down Mommy’s yoga pants and rammed myself into her. The good guy in me went to her, but hovered a respectful distance behind, keeping my hands to myself.

“If Dad’s heart was fine,” I asked, “and Chad’s parents were out of the picture, are you saying you’d at least consider being with me?”

“No.
Yes.
” She groaned. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s all complicated, and I’m tired. Ever since Chad’s death, I’ve felt like every day’s a struggle, and I’m exhausted. My job seems like it’s more about jumping through insurance company and bureaucratic hoops than helping people. Being a single mom is no piece of cake, and if she had her way, Suzette would have adopted Cook to raise as her own son. She ignores personal boundaries and tells everyone I’m her daughter-in-law, but Chad and I were obviously never married.”

“Come here…” I held out my arms to her and when she willingly stepped into my embrace, I felt like the luckiest man on the planet. “Everything’s going to be okay. Cook’s a great kid. It’s obvious you’ve done an awesome job with him. And now that I’m back, for real, I promise to never make another pass at you. Just let me be part of your life—Cook’s life. That will be enough.” It had to be, because like she’d already pointed out, we had no other options. One thing was for certain, regardless of whether we were friends or lovers, I needed her in my life. Even at the strip club, in my mind, every woman was her. I buried my face in her hair, deeply inhaling the jasmine scent. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll get my law license back, maybe set up a practice here. For Chad, I can be the man Cook needs—do the whole Little League and scout thing. Show up for his school plays. Whatever the two of you need, I’ll be your guy. No strings attached.”

At least not for her.

But the longer I stood in her kitchen, holding her, reassuring her, and making her promises I prayed like hell I’d be able to keep, the more I recognized that instead of achieving the forward momentum needed to forge a new path for myself, all I’d really accomplished was to fall deeper under her spell.

“Stay for dinner,” she said softly into my chest.

“Of course.”

“And while I make a salad, please find Cook. When he’s quiet for this long, it inevitably means trouble.”

“Will do.”

Savannah hadn’t been kidding about her kiddo having a penchant for finding trouble. I found him in the laundry room, dumping an entire bag of Tide pods into the washer.

“Look, Uncle Garrett! I’m surprising Mom.” He stood atop an overturned laundry basket. “I did the washer all by myself!”

“That’s awesome, Bud, but hold up.” In my Palo Alto house, my housekeeper had done my laundry, but back in my college and law school days, I’d done my own enough to realize it didn’t take an entire bag of detergent to wash a few towels. “Let’s read the directions. Can you do it for me? I’m sure I’m not as good a reader as you.”

He frowned. “I only know part of my letters.”

“Oh, well, in that case, let’s see if we can sound it out.” We leaned our heads in close enough to read the package together. As I said the words, a strange tightness squeezed my chest. I felt drawn to this kid. I couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to even try. All I knew was that he was as amazing as his mother, and I wanted to spend more time with him not just to ease her load, but to give back in a way I never thought I was capable. I finished reading, then held up one of the detergent pods, “What do you think?”

“Probably we only need one. Can you help me get the rest out before Mom comes in and gets mad?”

“Absolutely.”

We made a game of it by me holding him by his ankles to lower him giggling into the washer. His laughs were contagious, and the little guy’s antics soon had my cheeks hurting from smiling.

“What are you two doing?” Savannah stood in the laundry room door with her arms crossed.

“We’re washing, Mom!” Still holding Cook by his ankles, I raised him all the way out, then gently lowered him onto his head on the floor, where he giggled and wriggled onto his back and then feet. “Uncle Garrett taught me. We’re gonna help you do all the washes!”