Hard: A Step-Brother Romance

by Sosie Frost

  A resounding yes, and Zach would be gone.

  The SEALs were his life. He trained specifically for their demands and literally rebuilt himself after the mission that nearly killed him. Students changed majors because a textbook gave them a paper-cut. Zach was hospitalized for months, and he would have sewn his body together with fishing line just to get back to the fight.

  He’d be the most romantic, sexy, and unbelievably noble man…if he hadn’t broken my heart. In a few months, he’d be gone. And then?

  No matter how wonderful our nights were together, I had to prepare for him leaving. It wasn’t worth letting him into my life if it’d be torn apart once he deployed.

  “And now, Shay, you want to start a charity?” Beth tapped her water glass. “You realize investments are much safer and can guarantee a solid return on your money.”

  I nodded. “Well, yes, but I’m not looking for a return on my money. I want to begin a charity or a program of some sort. Something like a tutoring or afterschool initiative for kids. Or even a camp. I’m open to ideas.”

  “But the investments—”

  My stomach flipped.

  Not again.

  I didn’t have time for an excuse. I rushed to the bathroom, humiliated myself, and accepted the soft words of the attendant who offered me a mint this time.

  I staggered to the table just as Beth chuckled to the men.

  “A children’s program. Can you imagine? She’s obviously never had a baby.”

  Click.

  And just like that, it clicked.

  It wasn’t a good click. More like the starting gun to a new course of nausea and confusion and about a billion different complications.

  No way.

  Not possible.

  William called my name. “Shay, are you feeling well? Maybe we should postpone the charity talk for another day. I’ll call around for representatives of like-minded programs. They might wish to meet with you for investment opportunities.”

  We shook hands, but I bolted, nearly forgetting my purse at the table. I didn’t remember making it to the parking garage, and I only remembered the limo once I circled the lot looking for my car.

  The humid, smoggy air did wonders.

  Just because I was a little nauseous didn’t mean I was…that. I didn’t want to say it, especially since the pack of pills in my purse were part of my morning ritual…even if the time I took them shifted as I occasionally overslept…

  I counted the days in my head and didn’t like the answer. So I did it again until I missed a number, found the error in my favor, and decided to stick with it until I was safe and secure and strapped into the limo.

  I rapped on the glass, forgetting the driver had a speaker button. He was accommodating and dropped me at a nearby drug store, no questions asked. I couldn’t say the same for the cashier. I covered the test with a candy bar, but she still price-checked it. I should have thrown up on her pristine floors just for her snotty look.

  The driver delivered me to the estate, but I wasn’t sure how to dismiss him. He accepted a flustered goodbye as I tripped over myself into the mansion and rushed into the nearest bathroom.

  I didn’t recognize the blue tile.

  Had I ever been in this powder room before?

  It didn’t matter. I locked the door in case Zach finally decided to show up and ripped open the box. The contents flew everywhere like a piñata chalk-full of unfortunate surprises.

  This was silly. I was on the pill. Even if Zach and I got a little too close for comfort without a condom, the pills worked just fine. I was overreacting, and I’d laugh about this later.

  …Because I sure as hell wasn’t laughing now.

  I could either sit and do my thing or use a small container to catch the specimen. Ew. I didn’t like the odds on me doing either of the requirements correctly.

  I opted to sit, but the quirky diagram drawn on the inside of the box made taking the test look like Olympic gymnastics. Sit, crouch, bend, flail. I wished my hands weren’t shaking so damn much.

  But then it was done, and I resolved never to speak of it again. I rested the test flat on the counter per the instructions and waited.

  My cellphone rang, and I nearly swore. I read the name. Azariah. Now was the worst time to chat with her.

  But my trembling fingers grazed the wrong button. The call connected. I grimaced and cradled the phone.

  “Hey.” I checked the call timer. Two minutes to go. “Can I call you back? I’m kinda busy.”

  Azariah had none of it. “Look, girl. You know I love you.”

  Oh, Christ, she had that tone. The settle-in-I-need-to-tell-you-how-bad-you-fucked-up-don’t-you-raise-your-voice-to-me lecture. I headed her off.

  “It’s fine.” The panic rushed my words out, and I wasn’t sure they spouted in the right order. “I already accepted your apology. We’re fine. Heaven can piss off, but we’re fine. Seriously. I need to call you back. It’s fine though.”

  “You’re saying fine a lot.”

  “That’s fi—okay.”

  “Look, Shay, I still feel shitty, and I know how to make it up to you.”

  A time-machine? A condom? I was so not worried about what my friends thought of my money now.

  “I got your party all organized,” she said. “Forget the blowout. We’re doing what you want.”

  “That’s thoughtful.” Thirty seconds down.

  “We’re calling caterers and waiters. Getting the real deal here, girl. Formal dress. Linen tablecloths. String quartet.”

  One minute left. “Sounds great. I gotta go.”

  “I just want you to know we are happy for you. I know I am.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And if that step-brother of yours does it for you, then fine. We all need a little vanilla sometimes.”

  Oh, I had a bit too much vanilla now. I swallowed. “Thanks.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Dangerous question. I stilled. “I—?”

  “Come on, now. Don’t front with me. Are you in love with him?”

  Not the best question to ask a woman holding a pregnancy test. Traditionally, the answer would be of course! Other acceptable responses included Oh, Fuck! and When did that happen?

  Not, I might be feeling something other than rage for the man who caused me to piss on a piece of plastic.

  The indicator was ready.

  “Azariah, I’ll text you later.”

  The call ended. I knew what the test would say before I read it.

  I took a breath and turned it over.

  Pregnant.

  And now was the appropriate time for a freak-out of epic proportions. The type of freak-out that began with confetti cannons shooting unused condoms and ended with banners reading What Did You Think Would Happen.

  Of course I was pregnant.

  At the time, rolling with Zach on the floor of the library was one of the most wild and uncontrolled nights of my life. It was passionate. It was romantic.

  And Zach was exactly the type of super-strong, he-man, rough-and-tumble cowboy who would be super fertile. Able to jump tall buildings in a single bound and overcome every advancement of modern medicine just to get his girl.

  Here I thought the rug burn on my knees would be the mistake of the night.

  Nope.

  Mega wrong.

  Oh, so very wrong.

  I sighed and held my head in my hands. Then I grimaced, threw the stick down, and washed my face.

  This wasn’t good.

  Pregnant.

  Holy shit.

  What was I supposed to do now?

  I asked myself that question in a fancy powder rooms with imported tile, marble vanity, and beautiful fixtures. The bathroom was so big I could deliver, raise, and lose a baby in the room.

  The worse part was that I freaked out in only one of the extravagant bathrooms in the mansion. Hell, I had two closets larger than my room in Momma’s apartment. The garage even dwarfed my old apartment. I could
fill the estate with hundreds of babies and still have space left over.

  I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  My chest tightened. My hands trembled, but I swallowed a quick sob.

  It wasn’t the room that scared me. Or the money. Or trying to take care of it. Him? Her?

  It was Zach.

  I could handle the heartache of him deploying, heading back into combat, leaving me for good, but what would it do to an innocent baby? I remembered what it was like growing up without a father.

  I hated the thought of anyone else—especially my own baby—feeling the same.

  “Figures.” I pitched everything in the garbage and covered it with two dozen Kleenex. I considered flushing the test, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. It was a plastic stick, not an unfortunate goldfish. “Now what?”

  The door slammed.

  Oh, shit. That was what.

  Zach.

  Well…he was the one person who probably also deserved to hear the news. Generally fathers liked to know they were fathers. Most of them. The good ones, at least. Not that I knew any great fathers, but I really, really thought Zach might have turned into one.

  If he even wanted to be a father.

  If he hadn’t already pledged to return to his overseas missions. Dangerous missions. He nearly died on a battlefield only a year ago. My stomach lurched, but this fear tasted different than my usual nausea. Distance wasn’t the only problem that would separate my baby from her father.

  Zach could get hurt.

  He could die.

  That was a little too much to take in right now, especially when most of my insides were trying to heave upwards and escape. Twenty-one years old, and I was pregnant.

  The revelation knocked me on my ass and saw fit to keep me there. How the hell was I supposed to tell Zach if I hadn’t even come close to processing it yet?

  I needed some time to think. The house was big enough for me to hide in. I’d find a cozy place for the afternoon, make some tea, and I’d…figure it all out. Child-rearing 101 for the woman who just flunked out of college.

  Oh, that didn’t help the stress.

  I snuck out of the bathroom too slowly. Zach rounded the corner as the door creaked. Thirty-thousand square feet and not a single can of WD-40 for the hinges.

  “Hey,” he said.

  My shock turned to annoyance. For days he had been completely and totally absent—rushing around doing God-knows-what to get everything ready for his deployment. I called, texted, even made a couple dinners with extra servings for when he got back.

  Apparently Zach was super-fertile but not super-considerate.

  “Where have you been?” My voice edged a little too harsh.

  I inwardly groaned. My anxiety released in a bitchy herald. I didn’t want to start an argument. I took a breath. “I’ve been worried.”

  Zach shrugged. “Had something to take care of. I’ve got a headache. I’m going to lay down.”

  Another headache? He did look pale, and the sharpness of his green eyes dulled. He hadn’t smiled yet.

  All I needed was a flash of his dimples. If I could just have a moment with my light-hearted, goofy Zach, everything would have been okay.

  But he didn’t give me that. Even his voice turned gruff.

  What was wrong with him?

  And if he was already in a bad mood, what would a pregnancy do to him?

  I crossed my arms, inadvertently hiding my tummy from him, like now that I discovered the baby I’d suddenly balloon to the size of a watermelon. As far as I knew, women didn’t do that.

  I hoped.

  “Wait,” I said. Zach hesitated before heading upstairs. “I…I have something to tell you.”

  “Can it wait?”

  He bit the words. I frowned. What a way to welcome a child into the world. Hey, I’m pregnant, with a resounding response of Fuck. No one deserved that, even a little peanut sized surprise that complicated everything.

  He’d said he wanted a chance, just a shot to be with me. And he promised what I felt for him was a good thing and not the mistake of my lifetime.

  Or worse—a mistake of the baby’s lifetime.

  “I would really like to talk to you now,” I said.

  Zach rubbed his face, tugging his hand over the blonde scruff on his chin. “What is it?”

  He did not need to take an attitude with me. I snorted. I wasn’t about to shout I was pregnant at him in the same tone I’d yell for him to pick up his laundry. We lived in a mansion for Christ’s sake. The money to our name almost required us discussing a child over a candlelit dinner of lobster and caviar while we thought of names like Chet and Muffy.

  My heart fluttered. I could blame Zach’s miserable mood all I wanted.

  But it wasn’t him. It was me.

  I chickened out.

  “I…” The words stuck. I gave up. “I talked with my attorney and investment partners. I can get the trust released to me early if you agree to change the terms.”

  “You had to ask me that?”

  “You’re named in the will, so…yep.”

  “Whatever you need, you got it.”

  Zach rubbed his temple and turned toward the stairs. That was it? No jokes? No smiles?

  My stomach flipped again, but it wasn’t the baby. I didn’t want him to go. I sucked in a breath.

  “I think it’s a good idea.” I spoke just to gain his attention, trying to work up the courage to brave the real conversation. “I’ll get my program up and running. Meet with some potential groups to invest. You know, to spend some of this money.”

  He frowned. “Most people would kill for your money.”

  “That’s why it doesn’t feel right taking it.”

  “Why?” His voice sharpened. I didn’t appreciate the tone, and it didn’t help me build up the courage to consider mentioning the baby.

  “I just stumbled into this fortune. My father was a complete stranger to me.” I stuttered over the word father. Zach didn’t notice. “I wasn’t a daughter to him, I was an afterthought. He chose a life apart from me.”

  “And you think that’s actually how it went down?”

  I bristled. “I was there.”

  “You didn’t give him enough credit.”

  “What the hell would you know about it?” The last thing I wanted was to protect the jackass who walked out on me and Momma. It still hurt my heart to remember, and it destroyed me to imagine it happening again.

  “Forget it.”

  Hell no. Not with that attitude. I hardened my words.

  “My father didn’t want me,” I said. “He didn’t love me. So excuse me if this feels weird. For all I know, he never meant for me to have the money at all. Maybe I was an afterthought, or some place to stick his fortune so it wouldn’t turn over to the state.”

  “Oh Christ.”

  I didn’t let him finish. “So yes. I feel like I’m taking a stranger’s money only because he couldn’t haul it with him to the afterlife. It doesn’t sit well on my conscience…unlike other people I know.”

  Zach’s jaw tightened. “Here we go. Having the same goddamned fight every fucking week.”

  “You asked!”

  He nodded. “And it was stupid. I already knew you’d use it as a wedge between us.”

  “I’m not wedging!”

  “You’ve used any excuse you could to pull away from me.”

  I swallowed. I so wasn’t ready to talk about it. “Look, I can’t…I need some time. I can’t talk about us now.”

  “Why not?” He stood in front of me. “Let’s just do it. Get it all out in the open.”

  Did he want me to throw up on his shoes? Cause I’d do it. Nothing about his anger set right with me. I wasn’t ready to confront any of this yet. Not the money, not his leaving, not a pregnancy.

  “Zach, please.”

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  Everything. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “How can I fix it if I don’t kn
ow what it is?”

  Why did he start now? I stared at him, holding a hard gaze I didn’t recognize. God, he was handsome. Strong. He had a smile that’d charm my pants off and a mischievous side that’d steal my panties. But it wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. Not when I knew what would happen the instant I let myself feel everything for him.

  When I finally let myself love him.

  “You’re a SEAL,” I said. “A soldier. Can you fix that? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you’re going to stay here, with me, without having to leave for six months to put your life in danger?”

  “It’s a job, Shay.”

  “You asked!” I said. “And that’s my answer. I was abandoned once before, and it felt like shit. I’m won’t put myself through it again.”

  “You weren’t abandoned!”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  Zach grunted. He motioned for me to stay put, an order I immediately ignored. I marched to the library before my stomach flipped again. Zach stormed through the doors, holding an old shoebox. He rattled the contents with a frown.

  “You really think you were abandoned?” He thrust the box at my chest. “Here. Take it.”

  The box was beat up and yellowed. I knocked the lid off with a cautious finger. Bundles of pictures rested inside—a scrapbook without the book or organization or artistic talent. Each photo was meticulously labeled and dated with a little thought about the moment.

  My father’s handwriting.

  On pictures of me.

  I recognized the curly haired demon in a pink frilly bathing suit playing in a sprinkler. My dad scribbled on the back. Shay—four years old—loving the water! I swallowed. The lump in my throat kept the nausea down. Another picture—little me in a tiny yellow graduation gown. Shay—five years old—kindergarten graduation, next step Law School!

  Zach scowled. “I found those in the study. Your father put them in the fireproof cabinet so nothing would happen to them.”

  The packages of pictures dwindled the older I became. The most recent one rested on top of the pile. I trembled as I held it, like it weighed heavier than the others. I recognized my high school graduation picture, but the message meant more than the diploma in my hand.

  Shay—high school graduation—wish I could tell her she gets more beautiful every day.

  “He never abandoned you,” Zach said. “Did you see the room he designed for you here? The only reason I took the damn master bedroom was because I thought you’d like that one. Hell, he even built you a balcony and planted your favorite flowers in the garden beneath it. He wanted you here.”