Vain: A Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

Chapter 27 Happy ending – Sam

Mick and I have just welcomed
our first child into the world, Tobin Anderson, II. He is a beautiful baby boy,
and though it is a little tough, sometimes, we make it through our days
together. When I return from my maternity leave, I will continue to teach
people how to love surfing.

         
Mick still teaches there sometimes, but he has taken on Blane as a client in
his new business representing and protecting surfers. Several other surfers
have come to him, asking him to represent them, so that occupies most of his
day. Our life is now a simple one, by design. We live in a small house by the
water and enjoy the sunsets together, the three of us.

         
Our love is strong and continues to grow every day, without love we are
nothing.

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Don’t forget to read the bonus
chapters of my next book below.

Run – Chelsea Hunter

Chapter 1 - Run

I watch the gravel pathway disappear beneath my feet evolving in to a dirt
road. My feet dodge the rocks as if they have a mind of their own. Here, the
wind is cool on my feverish skin. But the foggy environment seemed to be
competing with my muddled thoughts. I continue to push myself to run faster.  The
familiar sound of the leaves crunching beneath my feet allowing me to slip in
to my comfort zone. The melodic chorus of a dozen birds singing, serve as a
proof that it won’t be long before dawn breaks. The faster I run, the closer I
get to the sense of freedom and the welcome distant feeling detaching myself
from the world.      

          My
mind wanders, there was that late June afternoon I would never forget.  I
remember my mother being awfully quiet that day. I knew she had a fight with my
dad the previous night, but that wasn’t new or even mildly surprising. Something
was different that day and I knew it.  There was a calm I wasn’t used. It was
completely the wrong affect for the moment. Sure, my parents fought a lot but a
new day would always be a new start. They would always go back to stealing
kisses when they thought I wasn’t looking, mother giggling like a teenager at
some cumbersome joke my dad would always seem to make. My dad would go to work with
a smile on his face leaving my mother with the same smile.  She would continue
her routine singing 80s melodies in a soft tune. Before that day I had never
seen him leave without my mom standing at the door, waving goodbye, a smile
adorning her freckled cheeks. Before that day I had never heard the front door
slam so hard, that it caused the windows to shake and almost shatter.  Yes,
this was a silence that was most certainly different.
          I would not receive the news that they had decided they were going to
get separated until much later, but it was the unusual silence and knowing that
something was very different in a bad way, that initially convinced me to run.
For that was the first day I laid my feet on the pavement and ran. I ran as
hard as I could in hopes of leaving the silence behind. My long blonde locks
whipping carelessly in the gusts of wind attacking me now and again. I must
have looked ridiculous running relentlessly, never stopping to calm my racing
heart. I can’t remember what caused me to stop, or what possessed me to start
running, but running was the only thing that gave me the feeling that
everything was going to be ok, if only for a short while.
          I thought back to the images of my dad with someone else besides my
mom.  That though started to blur into the fee notices from college and having
to trek from one job to another, just to make it by. Nobody gives you a job
that pays nicely straight out of high school. After my mom died and my dad got
remarried, asking him for help was out of question. Working shifts and student
loans was the only way I had to get by.

          It
wasn’t all bad, but at times things would seem so impossible that I sometimes
had to find a place away from prying eyes to scream to the world to give me a
break! These are the times that running becomes something significant for me.
To be able to clear my head and let the noise of the wind in my ears calm me
down enough to sort out my conscious feelings and thoughts.
          I slow down to a moderate pace as the clearing comes into view.  I
avoid the wayward branches protruding from the natural opening and duck down to
enter. Standing upright I take a deep breath and let my eyes adjust to the
alluring view of the landscape before me. The meadow was a part of me that had
remained constant since my very first breakdown that day. That was the day I
found this place.  
          I was frantically running through the forest, trying to force my
parents cutting words out of my mind.  Trying to forget the lack of apology and
foreboding silence afterwards. I recall panicking, scared for my life as it
seemed I had come to a dead end. But then as if to lead me to the place I
needed a squirrel dashed in to what seemed like a network of interlaced branches.
Following him I discovered the entrance to the meadow nestled in bushes, as if
purposefully hidden from the world to preserve its beauty.  It was everything
you would imagine to be in a fairy-tale and yet everything that you would never
dream of ever finding in the New York City. I let this be my own secret,
something that came out undamaged in the years that the world crippled my
innocence and naivety. I lay down to breathe in until the erratic beating of my
heart returns to a more reasonable pace. The air is gently brushing my damp
skin cooling and calming as it goes. At times like these I let myself dream of
a better world, a world without worry or responsibility. The very first
glimpses of the sun rays are enough to melt my eyes shut, allowing me to lay in
state for several minutes. 
          As I begin to drift off to sleep I remember my day is just beginning
and my bills will not pay themselves.  Jumping to my feet, I take one last look
at my urban oasis and turn to run home.  I always feel when I leave this place
that it is watching me leave, with sadness.  Somehow I feel as though this
place is a part of me. 
          Not soon after I leave the beauty of nature I am back on the hard
concrete streets.  I pass a couple alleyways taking the cobblestone lined route
to the subway. Only in New York will you see people lining up on the subway at
the crack of dawn. I go through a back alley to finally reaching my apartment
block. The apartment itself is just adequate enough for survival. The looming
building, as described by my landlord has a historical significance.  I think
that is just his way of not having to fix it. Apparently it was originally
built as a hotel around the 1930s as a place for gangster and prostitutes and
any other sort of 1930’s characters. Some say Albert Einstein himself had
stayed there on more than one occasion perhaps making phenomenal discoveries or
maybe just getting laid. Sincerely, to me these seemed like stories made up in
order to convince people to live in this otherwise dilapidated building.

          I
take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Going down the hall I stop
in front of a black wooden door, the gold plaque glinting in the light from the
hallway number 21 standing out proudly. Quietly I take out the small key hidden
in my back pocket and twist softly after plucking it in to the lock. The door
opens with a subtle click and I shut it delicately as to not make much noise.
          I turn on the lights to be welcomed by a messy living room very much
in the same condition as I left it an hour ago. The door to Sarah’s room was
closed shut letting me know she was still asleep. I catch a glimpse of myself
in the Victorian styled mirror which hung in the wall near the entrance.
Covered in sweat from head to toe, I do not look even slightly presentable. My
hair is still huddled in a tight pony tail on top of my head, now disheveled
from the run.  My pale skin was standing out even more because of the prominent
blush on my cheeks, undoubtedly from running. I had my mother’s huge sapphire
colored eyes and blonde hair. My straight sharp nose was the only feature I
inherited from my father. Everyone always thought I resembled my mother way
more than my dad and even after she died they would associate me with her. It
was something I liked, a connection to her that no one else had.  However, after
she passed away looking at the mirror became a bitter reminder of her death. I
missed my mother a great deal and am not sure if I will ever be able to
reconcile my feelings about her passing.

           I
take off my shoes and flop down on the recliner. When Sarah and I were
decorating we both agreed to have as little furniture as possible in the main
room. We convinced each other it was because it made the room look bigger, but
really we had no money for much else. The recliner and two couches with a glass
table pretty much sums up all the furniture in the living room including a 32
inch LCD TV. Hardwood floors lined the whole apartment.

          When I first looked at this apartment, the flooring combined with
some insistent words from the agent caused me to finally seal the deal. Easy to
clean and overall they gave the place a more modern look. We decided to not
personalize the living area much so we just ended up putting up a few framed
pictures of us together and a wall clock. Picking up my phone from the coffee
table, I hunch back my shoulders to be able to hold it up while lying down on
my back. I check my email as my phone rings abruptly. The phone falls from my
hand and hits me in the face, making me grunt and rub my nose. I scramble to my
feet pick up the phone and quickly and check the caller ID. ‘DAD’ it says in
block letters. The shrill sound of the phone ringing dies as I pick the call
up. The familiar voice of my dad comes through from the other end.

“Hello.
Isabelle?”

“Hey dad is
everything okay?”

“Yes.
Everything’s fine. I wanted to invite you to the dinner we are hosting tonight.
Will you be able to come?”

“Yeah sure I
get off from Lindsay’s at six. I’ll be there by seven”

“Ok honey.
And make sure to dress up properly alright? Not like last time. Now I have to
go. I love you “

“Sure” I am
about to say I love you too but the dial tone confirms he has hung up.  My
father always had a way of insulting me unintentionally that was just the way
he was.

Chapter
2 - Reunion

I sit in quiet contemplation regarding the prospect
of a family reunion.  A family reunion for our family is a far away concept, a
myth that may occur once in a blue moon. Honestly speaking, they are not my
family.  They are a family I was married into. For them, the Fosters, family
reunions could only mean one of the two things depending on how successful you
are in your life. Either it could be a great opportunity to brag about your
perfect job and career or it could end up being a dreadful evening filled with
merely disguised remarks criticizing your life choices from people who have
never so much as picked up a phone to wish you a happy birthday. The latter was
the fate of those with a mediocre job or career. I never felt worse at these
events and could only take solace that it would be only for one night.

          I lay down on my back and start counting to calm myself down. It
doesn't work, it rarely does.  More internet mumbo jumbo. I close my eyes and
sigh loudly. Now don't get me wrong, my dad wasn't a person who would purposefully
try to make anyone's life miserable let alone his own daughter's. He may have
refrained from inviting me in the first place if he actually knew about my
living conditions, if I had actually told him about them. A swift click
followed by the creaking of the door hinges announces the arrival of my
housemate and best friend Sarah Finn.
          I don't bother to turn around as she drags herself to the couch and
settles down holding her head in her hands, with her hair ruffled and a mighty
frown causing her expression to contort into one of displeasure, she looks like
she is in extreme discomfort. The action is so absurdly recognizable that it
makes me crack a smile.

          "Nursing a hangover again,
Finn?" I say in a tone that screams I told you so.

          "I hate you too, Foster"
she spits out.

          I chuckle on her not so smart comeback before making my way to the
kitchen to get her an Advil and some water. Sarah has a weekend routine. She
stays up until late partying and getting wasted and wakes up the next day with
a vow to never drink again, between her throwing up and getting migraines,
suffice to say just witnessing her in this condition has killed any desire I
might have ever had to get drunk.

          I enter the kitchen which follows the same color scheme of red and
tan as the living room. Furnished with stainless steel cabinets and marble
countertops, it looks like any other American kitchen you would see anywhere
else, just another thing that conflicts with the supposedly antique background
of the building.

Back in the living room, I hand over the
Advil to Sarah. She smiles gratefully at me before gulping down the water with
the tablet in one breath.

          "Why do you look like someone
just killed your cat?" She inquires raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at
me.

          I roll my eyes at her inquisitive
demeanor. Sarah is studying to be a lawyer, even if she wasn
’t,
she has always been a
great observer; meaning
that it's impossible to hide anything from her for long.

          "Dad called. He's hosting a
family dinner" I mumble not even pretending to sound like I was happy
about it.

          "Ah, that explains it. Do you remember the last time?"

         
Her
question is immediately followed by a howl of laughter and then a series of
failed attempts to speak between her chortles. I fix my eyes on her with an
impassive glare which quickly transforms into an amused smile.

          "Oh come on! It's not that funny" I exclaim trying to force
the embarrassing events of that night away.
          It was two years ago, my dad had hosted yet another one of his
parties but this time it was in the honor of me graduating high school. There
are some memories that you want to hold on to forever and then there are some
that you want to desperately forget like they never happened and yet they stay
vivid in your mind. So it's no coincidence that I remember that day with a
striking precision. You see my stepmom loves making desserts and that day was
no different. She had baked a dazzling cake and unfortunately trusted me to
take it to the dining table. Next thing you know my 4 inch heels are slipping
from underneath me and I am falling face first on the floor the cake being the
only thing to cushion my fall. The people at the table all stared at me like I
was some bizarre species before they started laughing at my demise, all of them
except for one. My step brother.  My Step Brother’s mouth was curled in a
snarl, eyes dancing with disguised humor.
          Suddenly the puddle of lemonade on which I slipped and him being the
only person drinking lemonade in the whole room didn't seem like just a stroke
of my bad luck anymore. Needless to mention I didn't hear the end of it in all
of the dinners that followed that fateful night.

          "Yeah you're right. It’s not
funny. It’s hilarious!" She replies sobering up.

          "You're not helping" I
say reaching for the remote control of the TV.
          I turn it on to some MTV news reporter discussing about a hot hunk of
a bachelor officially becoming the youngest billionaire in the world because of
his ever extending business empire. Her voice drowns away as Sarah turns off
the TV.

          "Why did you do that? They were talking about my future
husband" 

          "Yeah right and Madonna is my
next door neighbor" She says sarcasm dripping from her voice.

          “But that’s not true...” I state
playing along.

          “Exactly, I thought we were listing
off impossible things” She says in a matter of fact tone.

          Even in yoga pants and a sweater she looked pretty. She has the same
pointed nose as me but that’s just about where the similarities end. With her
brunette hair in a pixie cut with streaks of blue and pink and her eyes
chocolate brown, we were the exact opposites. She is petite and short with an
attitude strong enough to catch attention where as I have a tall profile which
tends to clash with my rather reserved personality.

          “Alright, smarty pants” I tease
playfully. “I should get ready for work, two jobs remember?”

          “Yeah, I was thinking you should
take a day off I am going to get you ready for that dinner and once I’m done
with you, you will look amazing enough to make them forget all about your
mishap of the past”

          It took two hours of styling my hair and another one to select the
perfect dress for the occasion (not too casual, not too formal etc.) for Sarah
to be completely satisfied with my look. Now my hairs are curled to perfection
and I am wearing a very expensive white cocktail dress which belongs to my best
friend, on my way to my dad’s house. I shudder with the thought of what
happened the last time someone trusted me with something of theirs. I anxiously
glance in the side mirror to see if I looked okay. Despite my constant pleading
Sarah insisted on putting some light makeup on my face.

          “It will make you look classy and
besides it’s only fair for that gorgeous dress to accessorize it with some make
up” She said sounding like the dress was her best friend instead of me.

          I make my way to the street to catch a cab.  The cab driver shouts at
a passerby who appeared out of nowhere on the road. The tall buildings and the
hustle and bustle of the city does little to calm my nerves. The cab staggers
to a screeching halt on Fifth Avenue. I get out and shove the dollar bills in
his direction. He scurries off tires squealing as if in delight. I shuffle
towards 6
^th
street snuggling deeper in my coat.  There is a bit of a
chill in the air, but my pulling my coat in tighter is more for my own comfort.
I hasten my pace as the building comes in to view. When my dad married Emily he
moved in with her. Their apartment occupies the whole first floor of the building
which made it a great place to host parties, spacious and deserted enough to
not have complaining neighbors. I near the porch steps, the music playing
softly lets me know that the party is in full swing. I knock on the door twice.
When no one answers I warily ring the bell, still no answer. I stand there long
enough to form a resolve about going back and just telling my dad later that I
came but no one answered. The thought of getting to skip this much dreaded
dinner almost has me jumping with excitement, however, just as I turn around to
leave the door jerks open followed by an all too familiar voice.

          “Hey you Miss platinum blonde, come
on back the party just got started”
          I hear the words but I am too shocked to process what they mean. I
tell myself that perhaps it’s just a figment of my imagination, that maybe it’s
not him, that this is just a very awful dream and if I pinch myself hard enough
it will be over. But as I turn around praying I heard wrong, my suspicions are
unarguably confirmed by the face that greets me.