Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (16 page)

“You didn’t have to come,” Savannah said that night at her food pantry. It was a little past seven, and from where I stood with a mover’s dolly on the loading dock, it looked like half the town had turned out to donate to her holiday food drive. “I know you’re busy with your house.”

“It’s okay.” I hefted a couple cases of granola bars onto the dolly, followed by three cases of peanut butter. “My construction crew already left for the holiday, and our mom pretty much threatened me with no seat at her Thanksgiving table if I didn’t show up to help.”

“Sounds like her.” Her laugh made me inexplicably happy. Which, if I were to listen to my parole officer, was not a good thing. But honestly, now that I’d had time to get over the initial shock of being slammed by the article, I was over it. If that was the best the Ridgemonts had to throw at me, my only worry was figuring out how to ensure neither my stepsister, nor family, ever saw the magazine. I was done playing by society’s rules. From here on out, my life would be lived my way. As for Savannah, if I’d known all it took to please her were a few canned goods, I’d have let her know a long time ago that through my accountant, I’d been a secret benefactor for years. Not that I’d spill my secret now, but don’t think that for brownie points, I wasn’t sorely tempted. “But seriously, G, seems like we can never have too many hands on deck at these things. I appreciate you being here.”

Not nearly as much as I appreciated my view down her prim white blouse. She’d added a hip-hugging plaid skirt and thigh-high stockings that fed into my every naughty schoolgirl fantasy. “What do you make of those two?” I nodded toward Violet and Grady who’d been in their own private world in a shadowy corner ever since my friend had caught sight of her.

“Kenya said they used to be high school sweethearts. Then Grady went to jail, and that was that. I guess Violet was so upset that she barely managed to finish her senior year, then she stayed with relatives in Atlanta before coming back here to work for your dad. Mom said Grady’s starting to be a regular at their house, visiting Violet most every night.”

“Good for him. Glad someone around here is happy.”

“You’re not?”

The tabloid cover flashed before my mind’s eye, but I torched it. At the moment, I had a more pressing issue. “Let me put it this way, Dad told me Chad’s parents and brother are invited for Thanksgiving, and our mother thought everyone could put away their hostility for one day. I guess it’s a tradition so neither family has to be without your munchkin?” I wheeled the dolly toward the open loading dock garage door.

“True. I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but…”

“Yeah. I was looking forward to spending time with everyone. Any chance of the Ridgemonts staying away?” I stopped in front of a long table where an assembly line had been set up to create complete meals in cardboard boxes and bags. There was another whole crew driving around town, distributing the meals to folks in need.

“Maybe? I mean, I can ask. But Suzette wouldn’t take it well.”

“I don’t care. You and Cook? I want you to be mine.”

“G, you can’t say things like that.”

The hell I couldn’t.
She glanced over her shoulder as if checking to see that no one else was within earshot.

“Why not? Because it makes you realize you want the same?” She refused to meet my gaze, so I tucked my hand beneath her chin, drawing her face to mine. “Fuck it. I love you. Always have. Let’s stop pussyfooting around and do this thing.” Because as much as I didn’t give a shit about what that tabloid said, deep down, I was scared to death she would. What if she used it—and god forbid, more articles like it—as an excuse to sever all ties? The mere possibility had me looking over my shoulder to check if some sleazy photographer was hiding behind a car or bush. Just in case, I dropped my hand. “Savannah, talk to me. Please.”

“I can’t. Not here. I’ll do what I can about getting the Ridgemonts to skip Thanksgiving, but don’t get your hopes up. Suzette’s on a new antidepressant and the last few times I’ve spoken with her, she hasn’t sounded
right.
”

“Of course, she doesn’t.” I loaded case after case of canned green beans and corn. “Can you honestly say you’d rather have some head case around your son than me?”

“Stop. This isn’t the right time or place for this conversation. In fact, maybe it would be best if you—”

“Uncle Garrett,” Cook called on his way inside. “Look how many I lifted!” He and Kenya’s daughter, Mary, had been doing their part to help. Cook held four cans in his arms, and had a box of stuffing tucked beneath his chin. I couldn’t have been prouder of him than if he’d been my own son. God, he was a great kid. Chad would be proud, but I couldn’t go there. Not now, when I was literally fighting for my own life, because Cook and Savannah were my life.

“That’s impressive, bud. Mary, you’re doing great, too.”

“Thank you.” Kenya’s daughter had been shy the first few times we’d met, but the more we were together either here or at Savannah’s for game night or dinners, the more she’d thawed.

Once the kids went inside, and I’d finished loading the dolly, Savannah pressed her hand to my forearm. “Cook adores you.”

“Good. I like him.”

“No…I mean,” her expression turned wistful, almost as if she wanted to say more. “I’m pretty sure he loves you like he would a father.”

And? What the hell was this polite speech supposed to accomplish? The last thing I needed was to be reminded a kid I loved, and who loved me, would never be mine.

“You can’t know how much I appreciate you being in his life. Obviously, when you first got back in town, I thought it was a bad idea for the two of you to be together, but I was wrong. I will talk with the Ridgemonts, but not this soon. At this late date, they wouldn’t understand me asking them not to come for Thanksgiving. But maybe Christmas? You and I could share that. Not as a couple. But you know what I mean. Cook needs you. You’re as good with him as you are with me.”

I froze midway into the building, well out of earshot from the other volunteers. “Am I good with you, Savannah?” A sharp laugh escaped me. “I mean, hell. What does that even mean?”

I’d never been the philanthropic sort, and all of this hauling reminded me of my pseudo-relationship with her. We were all buddy-buddy, but to what end? From where I was standing, what would our friendship produce other than a perpetual hard-on and bitterness? I waved my arms to take in the depressing warehouse surroundings. “What does any of this mean? You’re handing people free food, but it’s like poking your finger in a fucking dam. You’ll never single-handedly fix the issue.”

“Did I ever claim I could?” Tears shone in her eyes, and I was selfishly glad. For once, I wanted her to hurt the way I hurt. Fuck the Ridgemonts locking me out of my own family’s Thanksgiving. “If I save one person from being hungry, that’s good enough for me. It allows me to sleep at night, knowing I at least tried. What do you try for, Garrett?”

She didn’t know?
You, Savannah. Everything I am is all for you.
And I was sick of it. Maybe the whole time I’d been playing nice, my anger had quietly built. Or maybe the fact that I wouldn’t be welcome at my own family’s Thanksgiving table or that folks around town like Skeet thought I was a piece of shit. Whatever the cause, my frustration was ready to blow.

“Tell me,” she pressed. “What do you wake up for in the morning?”

“You can’t be this oblivious?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She took my hand, tugging me into one of the warehouse’s unused back rooms. Save for moonlight streaming through dirty, two-story windows, the split-level space was dark, but not dark enough that I couldn’t see silent tears glistening on her cheeks. “I thought the whole issue of you and me had been settled?”

I laughed.

“How is that funny?”

“Because you’re a grown adult—a fucking doctor—yet you’re worse at playing hide-and-seek than your five-year-old son. Can you honestly tell me that if I bent you over that stair rail and pounded you from behind that you’d object? That you’re so indifferent to me that every time we’re together, you don’t crave a repeat performance of our playtime on the stairs?”

She folded her arms and raised her chin. “Don’t be crass. You don’t mean any of that.”

“The hell I don’t.” I kissed her hard and fast, punishing her with angry sweeps of my tongue. She could have launched the slightest protest and I’d stop, but she groaned in what I could only assume was consensual pleasure before grabbing for my fly. But I was done playing by her rules.

As promised, I spun her around, bending her over the pipe rail. I shoved up her good-girl plaid skirt to reveal black lace panties that I tore off in a single pull. With my right hand, I freed myself from my fly. With my other, I shoved my hand up her blouse, pushing up her bra to palm a breast and pinch a nipple.

I rammed my dick into her waiting pussy with punishing force, and she took it, covering my hand that was still on her breast, then bringing it to her mouth, alternately biting and sucking my fingers. Adrenaline surged. I was out of my mind with anger and need and frustration that it had to be this way.

I felt the force of her climax when she clenched around my dick and bit my finger to keep from crying out. I fell after her, and it was a long way down. I pumped harder and harder, filling her with my pain. I was a disgusting animal for taking her this way. My apology was to thumb her clit until she came again.

We stayed like that for a lifetime. Our ragged breathing rose above the corrugated metal walls’ creaks and moans. Muted voices spilled over from the main room and the reality of what we’d done in a potentially very public setting shamed me.

Shit. How were we even going to clean up?

Still inside her, I jerked my T-shirt over my head. When I pulled out, I wiped her clean, then myself.

She straightened, adjusting her bra and skirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what happened.”

With the backs of her hands, she swiped at more tears. What was she thinking? Did she hate me? I hated me. What if that photographer was lurking? Why wasn’t she talking? I needed her absolution of my guilt.

How was I even going to leave the warehouse with no shirt and my dick still hard?

Facing me, she cupped her hand to my cheek, then pulled back and slapped me, but then reeled me back in, kissing me every bit as hard as I’d kissed her. “We’re
never
doing this again.”

“I know,” I said during a brief pause for air.

Our kiss went on and on until Kenya called for her, and then Savannah was shoving me toward a back exit.

I stumbled out the door, and somehow made it to my car. Five minutes later, I was home, only inside was dark and lonely and just a big empty house with no soul.

Kind of like me.

What Garrett and I had just done was in a category beyond depraved.

I should have been furious with him, but truthfully, I was more upset with myself for wanting more. At any time, I could have stopped him, but I hadn’t. I’d wanted that down-and-dirty fuck from the moment I’d bought thigh-highs from my newest Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

I was a tease. I’d asked for trouble and gotten it. But now what?

For a few minutes, I hid out in a restroom no one ever used. I stared at my image in a dusty, cracked mirror and felt as broken as my likeness. After what my stepbrother and I had done, how could I go back out to greet my volunteers? Surely they would know just by looking at me what we’d done. I still tasted him, smelled him, felt him pounding away at my every resistance. If I wasn’t a mom, if I wasn’t in charge of this entire charitable event, I’d still be with him, engaged in the sort of sordid acts I’d only read about in racy novels.

Of course, he was angry about Thanksgiving. He had every right to be. Mom and Dad were also his parents and Cook wanted to be his son. Somehow, someway, I had to fix the horrible mess I’d made of all our lives. But how?

“Savannah? You out here?” Kenya was calling.

I forced a deep breath and smiled. “Coming!”

“What are you doing out here with the spiders?”

“I thought I heard a noise, but it must have been the wind.” Garrett was right. I was too good of a liar.

“Well, come inside. I have news—seriously crazy news.”

“Good, I hope?” Now that we were both under bright lights, I saw that she wasn’t her usually put together self. Her hair was a hot, rummaged-through mess and her complexion looked streaked as if she’d been crying. “You’ve got me worried.”

“I’m not sure how I feel.” She took my hand, and led me into the relatively quiet office. “You’ll need to sit down. I know I did.”

“Now, I’m kind of scared.” Had she somehow found out about me and my stepbrother’s extracurricular activities?

She shut the office door. “You know how my aunt and Garrett’s friend Grady have been seeing each other again?”

I nodded, then released a long, slow exhale upon realizing the whole world didn’t center around Garrett—just mine did.

“Turns out the reason she left town right after high school graduation was that she was pregnant—with me. She’s not my aunt, but my mother. Grady’s my father.”

I raised my hands to cover my gaping mouth. “But your parents are in Atlanta. You grew up there.”

“Only because with Grady in jail, my grandparents didn’t want Violet raising me as a single mother, so she gave me to her married sister to raise as her own. How crazy is that? When we met Grady on Halloween, there was the strangest connection—as if I’d known him forever. He just proposed to Violet and she accepted.”

My head was spinning.

“All this time, you’ve been afraid of your true feelings for Garrett, but look at how much time you’ve already wasted. When I think about all the years I’ve missed with my dad I’m just sick. Even though Grady was in prison, I had a right to know. And I’ve always had a soft spot for Aunt Violet, and sometimes felt disconnected from my own mom—or, at least the woman I thought was my mother.”

“Wow.” I hugged her. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know, but I had to tell you. Your love for Garrett has always weighed on you, but see? I’m proof that there’s no need to keep it a secret anymore.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but Grady isn’t Violet’s stepbrother. And Grady didn’t accidentally kill your son’s father. Suzette, Theo, and Canton will never understand. As for me and Garrett sleeping together…” I sliced my fingers into my hair. “Mom and Dad also won’t be amused.”

“Who said they have to be?” She put her hands over mine. “You and Garrett aren’t related in any way other than on paper. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I half-laughed, half-choked. “Try telling that to the fine, upstanding citizens of this narrow-minded town. Look what lengths Violet went to. She had to give up her child to save her family’s reputation. Yes, you were raised in a wonderful, loving home, but look how much her sacrifice caused her—both of you—to miss.”

She smiled through tears. “Thank you for further making my point. If you two didn’t have the whole sibling label looming over you, how long ago do you think you would have been together?”

Because the answer to her direct question hurt too badly to voice aloud, I took a tissue from the box on her desk, and blew my suddenly runny nose. This was all too much. Screwing Garrett, discovering my best friend’s whole life had been a lie…

“Tell him, Savannah. Tell him you want to marry him and make your
own
happy family. Tell him that together, you two can conquer the world. Tell him tonight. Mary and I will stay at your house with Cook, or he can come to our house—either way, let me help you finally make this right.”

I nodded. “Can you handle everything here? Before I lose my nerve, I need to go to him.
Now.
” I managed a tremulous smile. Could we really make this work? Kenya made it sound so easy, but I still wasn’t sure. The only thing I was sure of was that Garrett and I couldn’t go on behaving like randy teens. The next time we were together, it would be in a proper bed, where I could meet his gaze while telling him I loved him more than anything in this world.

“Yes. Of course. Go.” We shared one more hug, I told Cook he was having a sleepover with Kenya and Mary, and slipped out the same back door Garrett had used earlier. Time to grow up. As much as I wanted to protect Cook from the truth of the awful events that had shaped his life, I could no longer deny I was tired of living my own life chained to Chad’s ghost. I was very much alive and thirsting for the love and companionship only Garrett had ever been able to bring. Yes, the Ridgemonts and Mom and Dad might never understand, but I could no longer live my life for them. Garrett was wonderful with Cook. If anything, because of the guilt he still felt for what he’d done to Chad, he’d make an especially great father to his son.

I pulled into Garrett’s narrow, brick-paved driveway and killed the engine.

Every light in the topsy-turvy wedding cake of a house glowed. Cold mist fell. Ground fog rose and eerily swirled as if the street’s ghostly former residents had returned. Bass from Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” greeted me at the front door. I rang the bell and knocked, but when Garrett didn’t answer, I let myself in through the unlocked door. My heart beat loud enough to drown a good portion of the violent music accosting my ears.

Scaffolding and plastic drop cloths served as the predominant décor.

My cell rang. Fearing it was Kenya, calling to tell me something was wrong with Cook, I took it from my purse. Canton. I ignored the call and set my phone on vibrate.

Old-school Metallica was up next on the playlist—not particularly music to confess by. But then why was I even labeling my declaration a confession?

At the base of the towering staircase, I forced a breath and reminded myself that this should be a happy occasion. After tonight, there was no telling how we’d tackle damage control of our world learning we were together, but that was the inherent beauty of being part of a couple, we’d now weather any and all storms with our hands and hearts intertwined.

“Garrett?” I wandered through the vast first floor, in awe of the opulence visible beyond the construction’s mess. When finished, this place would rival our parents’ or any of the other nice homes in town.

When I didn’t find him downstairs, I ventured up the wide, winding staircase. I assumed that to protect the wood, the steps had been covered in cardboard. The banister and newel posts were intricately carved with lions in the center of each. The bared fangs gave me the creeps, and reminded me of Garrett when he was in a foul mood.

The deeper the rising labyrinth led, the more I wondered how my stepbrother would react to my confession. I hoped he’d be happy and cautiously optimistic. I also hoped he’d respect my wishes to take things slow where our family was concerned—especially, with the Ridgemonts.

Rob Zombie led me through the second floor, but I still found no sign of Garrett.

From the third story came a power tool’s whiny scream. A saw? I hustled up still more stairs past windows covered with cardboard and draped with plastic. I arrived on the third floor, and found Garrett still bare-chested and wearing the same faded jeans and black leather work boots. His powerful build was made all the more attractive by the ease with which he fed a partial sheet of plywood into a table saw. Interesting that he still held his breath when he was extra-focused.

Not wanting to spook him into a possible injury by my sudden appearance, I held back until he’d finished.

“Garrett?”

He lurched, planting his hands on his chest. “Jesus…”

“Sorry. I rang the bell and knocked.”

He’d hooked his iPhone up to speakers, and now stopped the music pounding through the walls like a pulse. The sudden silence struck me as equally shocking as the former level of noise. Not bothering to look at me, he asked, “Why are you here? Who’s watching Cook?”

“I’m here because we have to talk. Kenya’s with my son.”
Our
son. Though obviously, Cook wasn’t Garrett’s biological child, my hope was that given time, he’d become a true father to my boy in every sense of the word.

He nodded, then hefted the five-by-four section of wood to a spot on the floor that had been bared down to what looked like new joists. “Stay in the hall. The floor in here isn’t safe. There’s been a lot of water damage.”

“Is there anywhere in here that’s not under construction? If not, would you want to come to my house? I fed Cook takeout, but I could find something for us to share for a late supper.”

“Not hungry.” He grabbed a nail gun, plugged it in, and then set to work securing the new subfloor. Each bang made me jump. The harsh sound hurt my ears and made me even more uneasy.

“Garrett, please!” I called over the pneumatic blows. “This isn’t easy for me, but I have something to tell you that I think you’ll want to hear.” He finally finished securing the wood, so I stepped into the room to force him to listen.

Ignoring my plea, he took a tape measure that had been hooked onto the waistband of his jeans, and measured the next section of joists in need of flooring.

He set a fresh piece of plywood atop sawhorses, used a carpenter’s pencil to mark where he needed to cut, then took the wood to the table saw. Talking to me seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

The saw had been loud from downstairs. But in front of it, the sound was deafening.

“I love you!” I shouted, knowing full well Garrett couldn’t hear me. “I want us—you, me, and Cook—to be a family. But for that to work, I need time.” If he was this angry about even talking with me, there was no way we were ready to announce our union to the world. But secretly? I couldn’t wait to spend nights curled into the security of his strong arms. There would be plenty of time to deal with the rest. “Please, give me space to figure it all out.”

He didn’t even look up.

Frustration manifested in the back of my aching throat.

What was I even doing here?

Kenya meant well, but maybe we’d both been fools to believe Garrett and I shared any sort of meaningful future. I was glad for her—that learning her true family lineage hadn’t freaked her out, but she didn’t know my stepbrother like I did. She didn’t know his mean streak. On one of the few occasions when Mom, Dad, and I visited him in California, we’d been given a tour of the vast Zoogle offices. To me, Garrett had always been funny and sweet and charming. But that was not the same man we’d heard engaged in legal battle. His intensity had frightened me. But then we’d entered his personal domain, and his expression and tone softened as abruptly as if he’d flipped a switch. I’d always wondered about that duality in him. To a certain extent, we all had many sides, but never had I met anyone but him who concurrently lived both existences.

I knew he loved me, and he’d made it no secret how much he cared for Cook, but he always wanted more. And maybe he deserved more. I could see him wanting to adopt Cook one day, but if he and the Ridgemonts clashed, I feared an all-out war.

My coming here had been a bad idea.

I wanted to believe in happy endings, but with Garrett and I, that would clearly never happen.

When he turned off the saw, I said, “I’m going to go. We’ll share a dinner after Thanksgiving.”

“Sure. I’ll look forward to that.” Something in his tone—a cold, cruel note, chilled me from the inside out.

I tested him. “If you want to come over, we could order a pizza? I’d still like to talk.”

“I’m sure you would.” Biceps bulging, he hefted the plywood over his head. The sight of his muscled back turned my mouth dry. Had there ever been a more beautiful man?

My nerves couldn’t take the nail gunshots, so I left, vowing to launch this conversation some other day when Garrett was more receptive, and I had enough air in my lungs to actually breathe.

I ran down the stairs and tripped over a tarp at the bottom, but caught myself before falling. I steadied myself on a stack of lumber, but then in my peripheral vision something caught my eye.
Was that Garrett and my son on a tabloid cover?

I snatched up the magazine, and sure enough, the scene I watched play out on Halloween was right there for the whole world to now see. I flipped to the story, and was even more shocked and appalled to find a photo of me hugging my stepbrother. While the picture was innocuous, the story was not. All sorts of lewd suggestions had been made regarding myself and Garrett. Only, to my secret shame, I knew every allegation was true.

How long had Garrett known about this? How could he have kept it from me? Even worse, had Suzette, Theo, and Canton seen the magazine? Our parents? My mother had never set foot in a grocery store, so she would never have seen tabloids at checkout. Violet did the shopping. Was she protecting us? Had she already somehow guessed? For months after Chad’s death, Garrett had been one of the tabloids’ favorite targets. Me, too. To think all of the negative publicity was now starting up again not only sickened me, but told me I’d have to once again deny my love for Garrett to protect my love for my son.