Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (15 page)

My cell rang. Knowing there was nothing more to be done in regard to Garrett, I dashed to the office to answer. Once I saw the caller was Canton, my plan was to let it go to voice mail, but then I changed my mind. I needed a friend.

“Hey, girl,” he said when I answered. “I didn’t think I’d catch you.”

“I’m glad you did. What’s up?”

“I haven’t heard from you in a few days and wanted to check in. You good?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No particular reason. Are we still on for Thanksgiving at your folks?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too. And look…” Long pause. “I probably don’t even have to ask, but Garrett’s not going to be there, right?”

Geez.
I rolled back my desk chair to drop my forehead to my desk.

“I mean, I know Dick and Delilah are his family, too, but I’m not sure my mom could handle seeing him.”

“I understand.”

“Of course, you do. I admire the way you put our family first. You’re a good woman, Savannah. I see why Chad loved you. You’re a woman who would be all too easy to love.”

“Thank you, Canton.” Warning bells pealed in my head. He wasn’t making a pass, was he? “Someday, you’re going to make a lucky lady very happy.”

“What if it’s you I want to make happy?”

What in the world could I say? I couldn’t exactly blurt the fact that if I were dead honest with myself, there was only one man on the planet who’d ever truly make me happy—the same man who’d killed his brother, my fiancé, my son’s father.

“Savannah? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Canton. I did. And I’m flattered, but it’s too soon. As much as I’m enjoying our new friendship, please know that my heart still belongs to Chad.”

Liar!

Why had I said that? The falsehood might temporarily put off my pseudo brother-in-law, but it wouldn’t fix the fact that I was madly, undeniably, wholeheartedly in love with my stepbrother.

“Of course,” Canton said. “I understand.”

“Do you? You’re the last person I’d want to hurt. Since we’ve started really getting to know one another, I can’t tell you how much your friendship means. Not just to me, but Cook. Thank you.”

“Sure. Any time.”

“Canton? I meant what I said about a girl being lucky to land you. You’re a keeper.”

He snorted. “Right. Only the one woman I care to catch wants to toss me back in.”

He ended the call, and I now felt worse than when our conversation had started. I’d made such an incredible mess of everything. If I’d kept my distance from Canton, if I’d never allowed my attraction for Garrett to reach its current fevered level, everything might now be okay. Instead, I felt as if I wasn’t just walking on eggshells, but the slimy yolks. There was no safe place to land where I wouldn’t slip and fall flat on my ass.

“And the goat family lived happily ever after. The end.” I set the book on Cook’s nightstand. Midway through, I thought he’d drifted off, but he stared at me through dark eyes that I was glad looked nothing like his father’s. If he had more closely resembled the man I’d killed, I was afraid I wouldn’t now feel such affection for him.

“Uncle Garrett?”

“Yes?” I pulled his comforter up to his chin.

“Are we like the goat family?”

“I suppose. Would you like that?” The story revolved around a herd of goats that weren’t related by blood, but had formed a family nonetheless. On the surface, I got that the author was trying to send a message to children about blended families, but on a deeper level, considering this was the fourth or fifth time Cook had chosen the story, I had to wonder if he was the one sending me the message.

He nodded, then bolted upright, wrapping me in a chubby-armed choke hold. “I love you. My friends have dads. Could you be my dad?”

Talk about a loaded question…“You know what, I’ll be something better than a dad.”

“What’s that?”

“Your uncle—duh.” I landed a noogie on the crown of his head. “If I were your dad, I’d have to punish you when you’re in trouble, make you eat brussels sprouts and do homework and chores. But as your uncle, all I have to do is make sure you’re safe and happy.”

“Oh…” He cocked his head like I sometimes did when trying to make a point. “I guess that sounds good.”

It did. But I greedily wanted more. With him, I wanted to be the total package. I wanted to guide him into manhood by teaching him to avoid my mistakes. If I had any say about it, he’d never spend so much as a single day in boarding school, and every weekend until he grew into a teen and was sick of me, would be spent together—fishing or building a new fort or watching college football. If those activities included his mother, all the better.

“Uncle Garrett?”

“That’s me…” He giggled while I turned off his lamp and turned on his night-light.

“Will you stay with me till I fall asleep?”

“Absolutely—under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If it’s all right with your mom, after school, I’d like you to help fix up my house. I’ve got a couple jobs that are way too hard for me, but would be perfect for you.”

“Cool! But can we do it now? I’m too excited to sleep.”

I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Try.”

He giggled and wriggled, but eventually succumbed to sleep.

He was a beautiful child. But then considering Savannah’s beauty, it would be impossible for her to have anything but a perfect son. My mind wandered to the possibility of her one day having a daughter. What a prize she would be. Rosy-cheeked with her mom’s raven’s wing–colored hair. I shook my head, as if I were a human Etch A Sketch, clearing myself of the image.

I left Cook’s room, being extra stealthy when closing his door behind me, then drifted down the stairs. I needed to go. The longer I stayed here, the more I wanted to stay. On my way to the front door, I passed Savannah’s home office. She sat behind an ornate desk, working at a laptop. Her hair was a mess and her makeup long gone. I’d never seen her more beautiful.

She must have sensed my presence because she looked up. “Is he asleep?”

I nodded.

“Thank you for reading to him. I needed to catch up on paperwork. The dirty secret med school keeps from its students is that actual patient treatment ranks at the bottom of your daily to-do list.”

“Sure. No problem.” I hooked my thumb toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“G?”

“What?” There was so much more I wanted to say—always.

She opened her mouth, and for the longest time stared, but then dropped her gaze.

“What, Savannah?”

“Sorry. Nothing.”

“Right.” Story of my life. Our lives. But I was done playing.

I was tired and without saying another word, left.

Dealing with Savannah was tough enough, but now that Cook had entered the picture, I no longer had the luxury of freezing her out. With my law license a pipe dream and months of probation keeping me in the state, I felt trapped by my feelings for her, and now, her son. The son of the man I’d killed.

Outside, a light mist fell. Sweet wood smoke filled the air.

A neighbor stood outside snapping pictures of his car.

Walking down the street filled me with unexpected pride. I was part of this community.

The home I was renovating would better the lives of whoever eventually lived there. Many more homes needed work. What if I did them all? I had the money and time. What if I never returned to California? But how could I live a life beside Savannah without her being mine? And now, I selfishly wanted Cook, too. They were a package deal—unavailable at any price.

The thought was as sobering as it was depressing.

I hustled the rest of the way to my house. The mist turned into rain, and by the time I reached the porch, I was soaked. I’d switched out the skeleton key for a legit dead bolt, and used a regular key to let myself in to the cavernous space.

The home was ridiculously big—built for a family of nine. After the war, the former owner, Mr. Buckley, had run the largest sawmill for six counties, and provided the wood for a huge amount of reconstruction. The last remaining Buckley died in 2005, and the house had sat vacant ever since.

I flicked the switch on the entry hall lights, but nothing happened. Not a big surprise, considering my electrician’s quote had been in the tens of thousands. I felt my way to the kitchen for a flashlight, then trudged to the basement to try changing a fuse. That did the trick, and when I got back upstairs, the lights were on.

The room I’d picked for my personal use was on the third floor. It featured a private bath, balcony, and three walls of paned windows. My stepmom helped me buy a bed through some catalogue, and even arranged for it to be delivered and set up—right down to the comforter, sheets, and pillows. It was a great bed. It would be even better with Savannah snuggled beside me.

Just thinking about her produced wood.

I rubbed one out beneath a hot shower’s spray, the whole while trying to forget the images burned into my brain of her all soap slick and in a category beyond sexy.

In bed, I stared at the twelve-foot ceiling, holding my favorite photo of the two of us against my chest, listening to the rain patter against the windows. Every day, I tried keeping myself so busy and working myself so hard that by the time I eased between the sheets, I was too tired to think of what might have been were Savannah not my stepsister. But on this night, my brain refused to shut down.

In my work for Liam, running probabilities and what-if scenarios had been a favorite game. Now, my mind had grown rusty, but hadn’t completely shut down. I ran scenario after scenario of ways Savannah and I could be together without tearing our family apart or risk riling the Ridgemonts. Sadly, the only conclusion I arrived at was that there was no way in hell Dickey and Delilah were ever going to be okay with their son and daughter being an
item.

Which then begged the question, what would I have to do to make Savannah want me enough to not care what anyone thought about our being together? What if she grew to care about me—
us—
more than she feared public condemnation?

The rain was really coming down. The roof needed replacing. Judging by the steady drip in the corner by the bay window, it might be my new top priority.

Out of bed, our Derby Day photo tucked safely between the pages of the leather-bound Bible I never opened except to look at her, I wandered through the house searching for a bucket. I ended up using a Styrofoam cooler one of the four-man carpenter teams had used for bringing shrimp up from the Gulf. The damned thing reeked, but it worked well enough to keep water off the original cherry floors.

In the time it had taken me to find one water-holding vessel, two more leaks had sprung. In the kitchen, I found an old cast-iron skillet in the pantry, and then borrowed a plastic veggie bin from the relatively new fridge. Home ownership in Palo Alto had been a lot more user-friendly, but something about this old girl compelled me to save her. As for saving myself?

Yeah…that wouldn’t be quite so easy.

While I was in the kitchen, since clearly I wouldn’t be seeing Savannah anymore tonight, I grabbed a bottle of scotch to keep me warm.

“Garrett, I’m sorry, man, but you’re looking at miles of cloth wiring.” On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, my electrician’s prognosis wasn’t giving me much to be thankful for.

“How long will it take to replace?”

“I’ve got two jobs ahead of you, but—”

“I’ll double what they’re paying.”

“That’s a fine offer, but…” Skeet Duggar was the only licensed electrical contractor in town, which put him in high demand. He removed his camo baseball cap to wipe his brow. “You can’t just go waving around your money in these parts and expect folks to jump. Now, back in the day, for your daddy, they would have, but not you. Not after what happened.”

“Skeet, you and I go way back. How many golf tourneys did we play at the club?”

“More than I can count, but Garrett, you killed a man.”

“By accident—and in self-defense. It could’ve happened to anyone.” And I was damned sick and tired of having to defend myself. I’d served my time.

“Look…” He lowered his voice, presumably so the carpenters repairing wood rot on the staircase and railing wouldn’t hear. “Between you and me, I heard through the grapevine you killed him while protecting your sister’s honor, and can’t nobody fault you for that. But there’s an awful lot of folks around here who take their commandments literally, and ‘Thou shalt not kill’ is a biggie.”

“Sure. So where does that leave me in regard to my new electricity?” I clenched my fists, damn near ready to kill again. I guess I’d noticed folks giving me a wide berth at the grocery store and DMV, but figured it had more to do with me being a virtual stranger in town rather than people not only knowing who I was, but what I’d done.

“You’re third in line. No way around it. My advice? Keep a close watch on how much power you’re running at the same time, and for God’s sake, patch your leaky roof. Water and electricity don’t play well together.”

As if my meeting with Skeet hadn’t been fun enough, my next stop was at the parole office. The wait was thirty minutes, and the same damned
Reader’s Digest
I’d read last time was still on the crusty side table. I occupied myself by researching historic home restoration on my phone.

Apparently, my cloth wiring issue was as common as it was expensive.

The reception area was filled with a lively assortment of thieves and jittery, strung-out crackheads. I couldn’t fucking wait to get past this last legal hurdle. I didn’t belong here. But the law and my conscience said I did.

Finally, Adam stepped from his office to greet me. “Come on in, Garrett.” He closed the door behind me, and I once again took the lone guest chair. “You look pissed.” Behind his desk, he was already typing away on his keyboard.

“I’m just over it.”

“
It,
meaning the parole process?”

“Sorry. It’s cool.”

He laughed. “Not really. Don’t think I don’t spend half of every day plotting how the hell to get myself out of here. But for the other half, I try doing some good.”

“Sure.” I shifted in the too-small chair. My cramped legs felt like a pair of those old-timey folding yardsticks.

“The reason I called you in a little early this month is that I noticed you quit your job and moved out of the halfway house. What are you doing for employment and putting a roof over your head?”

“I bought a house, and I’m fixing it up.”

“Nice.” Adam nodded while typing. “I forget that unlike most of the guys I see, you have more than a couple bucks in your pocket.”

Yet I would have gladly given it all to share the kind of simple, ordinary life with Savannah—and now Cook—of which it sometimes seemed as if I’d forever dreamed.

“My daughter brought home a tabloid the other day and I caught her reading it instead of doing her homework.”

“Yeah?” I sighed. What the hell did this have to do with me?

“Imagine my surprise when I took it from her, only to find your ugly mug gracing the cover.” He fished a magazine out from under a pile of folders, and slapped it in front of me. In the corner was a barely legible picture of me handing a hundred dollar bill to Cook on Halloween. The caption read: “Killer Bribes Victim’s Kid.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I flipped through the pages for the article that basically accused me of trying to buy little Chadwick’s affections to make him forgive me for killing his daddy. Even worse, was an inset photo of me hugging Savannah. The reporter went on to imply we were involved, and that I was trying to make Chad’s son my own. “This is sick. And who the hell took the pictures?”

“I don’t know and don’t care,” Adam said. “What I do care about is the fact that you’ve gotta stay away from this kid and his mom. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of all people that his grandparents have some awfully powerful friends in high places. I get that this Chadwick kid is your nephew—his mother, your stepsister—but from where I sit, your best move is to maybe consider a move. To the other side of the county. If you’d like, I could get your parole transferred to another part of the state.”

“No. Fuck no. This is my home.” Rage didn’t begin to cover what I was feeling. If Chad’s folks were behind this, then they were monsters. What kind of grandparents force-fed a piece-of-shit story like this to a gossip rag?

Maybe the better question was what kind of man was I? The truth was that I had been trying to bribe Cook. And lord knew Savannah and I had already moved far past
involved
to downright messy as fuck. But where did that leave me?

“Can I have this?” I eyed the tabloid rag.

“Of course.” He shoved the magazine toward me and I took it, rolling it tightly enough to shove into my jeans back pocket.

“Garrett, look, man.” Sighing, Adam pushed away his keyboard and leaned forward. “I like you. You served your time and are out there, trying to put the pieces of your busted life back together. I don’t know what’s going on between you and your stepsister and I don’t care. What I do care about is making sure you stay out of trouble. And trust me, where you’re concerned, this woman and her cute kid are all-caps T-R-O-U-B-L-E.”