HUGE STEPS

by Stephanie Brother

  The photo is perfect.

  “I remember that day so clearly,” Sammie says from over my shoulder and I jump because I hadn’t realized she’d come so close.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I was so damn happy…I felt invincible.”

  “You were something alright,” I say and she elbows me in the ribs.

  “Watch it, Bran,” she says grinning.

  I raise my eyebrows and nod back to the kitchen. “Those steaks aren’t gonna cook themselves you know.”

  “Are you ordering me back to the kitchen? Caveman!”

  “Hey, you promised me a home-cooked meal…don’t try and wriggle out if it now that I’m standing here salivating like a dog!”

  “Okay, okay,” she says, strutting off.

  I get a lump in my throat when I spot a photo of my mom and her dad on their wedding day. Mom’s looking at the camera with shining eyes and a smile that’s just like mine. Sammie’s dad is in profile, gazing at Mom like she’s his dream come true. The moment snapped in time seems like a dream. Happiness has always seemed like a fleeting thing to me. It’s never stuck around for very long and afterwards, when things are back to their usual greyness, I wonder if it’s me, if I scare the good times away or somehow don’t deserve them for more than a moment.

  I hear the sizzle of oil in the pan and turn to see Sammie lowering two big slabs of meat into a skillet. She’s put her hair into a messy bun and is wearing an apron tied tight around her middle. It’s the picture of domesticity and so damn weird for me to see.

  “How’d you like your steak?” she asks, turning with tongs in her hands.

  “Rare.”

  “I’d have guessed well done.” She laughs and shifts the steak around so it doesn’t stick.

  “Why well done?”

  “I don’t know. I remember you always eating the most burnt chicken from the grill.”

  “Your dad burned all the chicken. He was a terrible outdoor cook.”

  “Yeah.” Her mouth is soft when she says it, her expression warm. “He still is.”

  “Is he doing okay?”

  “He’s getting a bit forgetful but he’s good.” She studies me for a second and I can almost see her mind working, considering whether to say what she’s got brewing in her brain. “You know he’d love to see you.”

  I shake my head.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s just better this way.”

  The frown lines are back on her forehead and she turns back to the stove, turning the steaks and then dressing the salad. I run my hand over the marble counter, the coolness soothing against my skin, but inside I’m burning. All the frustration is there, eating away at me. I have this urge to slam my fist hard against the rigid surface, to split my skin open again and let out some of the seething fury I’ve been suppressing. I’ve never wanted the life I ended up with. I’m like a square peg in a round hole most of the time, but I’m in too deep to get out unscathed.

  “You wanna beer?” Sammie asks and I nod, pushing it all back down again. I gulp down half the bottle and tell myself I’ll get through dinner and then make my excuses and leave. And when I’m out of Sammie’s door I won’t look back again. It’s too hard being reminded of the past when your present is a grind and the future isn’t somewhere you want to travel to.

  Sammie puts our delicious looking meals on the counter and we sit on bar stools. Everything she’s put together in ten minutes tastes amazing and I barely talk outside of a compliment until the plate is clear. She’s watching me when I put the cutlery down with a satisfied expression.

  “You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, don’t go cooking for any old idiot unless you want him to fall in love with you.”

  She blinks and then blushes and that swell of awkwardness is back between us. I kick myself for my stupid mouth as she gets up to put our plates near the sink.

  “Can I show you some stuff?” she asks.

  “What stuff?”

  “Call it a trip down memory lane.” She starts walking towards a door in the back corner of the den and I follow into a short hallway and further into a bedroom. I know it’s hers because it smells of the perfume I keep catching on the air around her. The bed is huge and made up with white linens and a chunky grey blanket. The floors are dark wood and match the dark wood of the furniture. It’s not very girlie but I hadn’t expected pink cushions or hanging butterflies. Even her childhood bedroom was painted blue.

  She goes to the closet and disappears inside, emerging seconds later with a box. She sits on the bed, cross-legged, and motions for me to join her, the box between us.

  “What is it?” I ask as she lifts the lid. Inside it is a mess of papers and photos and trinkets. She pulls out the things on the top and shuffles through them, handing me a picture. It takes me a moment to realize it’s something I drew when I was about ten years old. A lioness curled up around her three cubs with my attempt at the arid landscape of Africa in the background. It’s childish but detailed. I look up as she passes me more, all things I’d drawn and left behind. All pictures of things that had fascinated me as a child, and maybe still did. Not that I’d admitted that to myself in years.

  She passes me a packet of photos, and her expression is worried. “What?” I say, suddenly nervous of what I might find inside.

  “They’re just pictures,” she says. “Family pictures.”

  From her tone I know that she’s concerned about how I might react but I can’t tell her I don’t want to see. I have only one picture of my mom and me as a child, and none of Sammie and her dad. I open the packet and start to flick through. The more I look, the greater the burning sensation at the back of my throat worsens. We all look so damn happy and I can’t stand it. I can’t bear remembering all that contentment because it’s gone and it’s never coming back. The packet wobbles in my hand and I drop it onto the comforter and walk out of the room, needing time to steady my shaking hands. I stand at the window in the den looking over the city that has housed us both for years and kept us apart so well.

  I hear Sammie’s bare feet padding on the hardwood but I don’t turn. I feel her hand rest lightly between my shoulders and all the love I feel for her seems to spill out of my heart and into my chest, pulled by that small touch of her palm against my t-shirt covered skin. I swallow and it’s so damn quiet in the room that it’s audible.

  “Bran,” she says rubbing my back. “It’s okay.” When I don’t turn she places her other hand against my cheek and draws me until we are facing each other. I can’t hide anything from her. I never could. Sammie’s always been my best friend and my home. We stare at each other, her eyes so sad and filled with a yearning that I know is reflected in mine. It’s like the threads that had bound us together when we were kids are fusing back together. She licks her lip and the sight of her tongue makes my dick prickle. It’s a tiny reaction but it freaks me the fuck out. But then she’s got her hand around my neck and she’s pulling me towards her and we’re hugging and it feels so good, so perfectly right. She soothes me with her hand that rubs up and down my back and her words that she whispers in my ear.

  “It’s okay, Bran. You’re here now. We’re back together. Sammie and Bran Bran, best friends forever,” she says just like she used to. But it doesn’t feel like friendship when I’m distracted by her soft breasts pressed against my chest and the curve of her hip under my palm. When her lips graze my ear I think it’s an accident. She’s whispering close after all. But the soft feel of it, that little graze, makes me sigh and then she sighs too and I know it wasn’t an accident. “I love you, Bran,” she whispers, her mouth now so close to my neck I can feel the wetness of it against my skin.

  The air feels alive with something. It’s our history swirling around us like a vortex that’s drawing me closer to her when I know I should be pulling away. Fuck. None of this was part of the plan but I can’t stop the way my hands want to feel the skin of her back and sli
p inside her blouse. Her hand grabs at my shoulder, molding the muscle there as if she needs something firm to keep her grounded. I can hear her breathing hitch as I stroke across the silkiness of her back. With my face pressed into her neck I can almost pretend this isn’t really happening. It feels like a dream, a fantasy that will be gone when I open my eyes. She’s like an angel visiting me in purgatory and her sweetness and strength just make me want more.

  I know I shouldn’t.

  I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong in her perfect life.

  I shouldn’t want her. She’s my stepsister and it’s wrong.

  I shouldn’t. But I do and I can’t stop myself.

  Chapter 5

  Samantha

  Oh my god. I can feel Bran shaking against me. He’s trembling like a leaf as his fingertips graze my spine. It feels so good to be in his arms, so right. It’s like slipping into your most comfortable clothes, like a custom made suit. He feels perfect but it’s Bran, my stepbrother, and we shouldn’t be doing this.

  But I want to. Like the song, my minds telling me no but my body has other ideas.

  His breath gusts against my skin and he’s gone still as though he’s warring with himself too. I feel like I’m standing on a ledge and just one little step is gonna take me into oblivion, and it’s scary but I want to fall into him. I want him to catch me.

  “Bran,” I breathe and his lips graze my bare shoulder, revealed by my silky blouse. “Oh god,” I say.

  “Sammie,” he says, like he’s in a dream, but this is real. It’s so, so real when I inhale the scent on his skin and it explodes something in my mind. Everything about him is familiar but different. I can’t get a grip on what’s happening.

  His fingers are running up my side, thumb slipping around the front of my ribs, so slowly I can’t take in air. One move and he might stop. One move and we might both come to our senses.

  Oh, I don’t want him to stop.

  I know the moment he realizes that I’m not wearing a bra. His thumb grazes the underside of my breast and he goes totally still again. Seconds tick by, a siren passes outside at a distance, and we exist like mannequins in an erotic window display. I’m panting and the sheer want I feel inside eclipses all restraint and sense.

  I’m lost.

  “Don’t stop,” I say, kissing his neck and running the very tip of my tongue over his skin.

  His thumb runs upwards until it finds its goal; the very tip of my nipple. He’s so still again and I can feel the skin puckering and my breast aching for more. When the tingling has stopped he presses down hard and it feels so good I moan. His hand grips my flesh, squeezing, kneading as his chest rises and falls against my palm. He feels like a coiled spring. Inside, I am too. Ready to unfurl and surrender at any second.

  “Oh, fuck,” he mutters as I slip my hand under his shirt, marveling at the swells and dips my hand discovers. He’s like a rock, a beautifully sculpted hunk of mountain.

  My mind is going crazy. Brandon has his hand on my breast and his mouth on my neck and I’m pawing at him like I’ve been starved of men for years. I suppose I have really. No boyfriend I’ve had has come near to the level of closeness I felt with Brandon. I’ve never loved anyone like I love him.

  “Tell me to stop,” he whispers and he sounds like he’s in real pain. Is this hurting him? The desperate tremor in his voice pierces the fierceness of my drive for more. All I want is for Brandon to be in my life again. If this feels wrong to him, if he doesn’t want it, I can’t take him somewhere that might drive us apart. I couldn’t bear for that to happen.

  I pull my hand from under his shirt and use them both to cup his face and bring his eyes to mine. They flick over me, trying to read my expression, or trying to tell me things I just can’t read. The vivid blue-greenness of them stuns me momentarily. “It’s okay,” I say. I stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, then pull him into a hug again. I feel his hand slip from under my blouse and I want to weep with frustration, but I don’t. I let him hold me tight and I tell him that I love him and that nothing would ever change that. I feel his fingers nestle into my hair and we stand like that for the longest time while inside my heart feels like little pieces of it are peeling away, petals falling from a wilting rose.

  I have this terrible feeling that when Brandon leaves my apartment I’m never going to see him again. I want him so much but everything feels jumbled. Love and sadness from our past seems to have translated itself into longing, not just for a rekindling of friendship or a sibling relationship but for something more. Maybe I should just say ‘fuck it’ and lead him to my bedroom and let him take me like I know he really wants to. I can feel how hard he is against my belly and the pulse between my legs is like a living thing. But if I do, there will be no chance of us keeping in touch. I know Brandon. He stayed away from me all this time for a reason. I don’t want to give him any more.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Don’t be,” I say. “It was me as well.”

  He pulls away and looks over the skyline as though he can’t bring himself to look at me anymore. It all hurts so much. Worse than when I watched him drive away the first time because then I believed we would be reunited soon. Now I have so little hope.

  “I should go,” he says so seriously, still not looking at me.

  “Stay,” I say. “We can just talk. Or watch a movie.” I know I sound desperate but I can’t help it.

  He looks at me then with so much sadness in his eyes that my heart crumbles. I’ve got a molten lump in my throat and a geyser of tears waiting to be let loose.

  “I need to go,” he says, reaching out and stroking over my hair. Bran looks me over like he’s trying to take a mental photograph. With the little remaining composure I have left, I smile.

  “Okay,” I say. “It was good to see you again.”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Will you give me your number?” I ask.

  He looks down at his feet and shakes his head. “It’s best that I don’t. I don’t want you getting mixed up in my life.”

  “I already am,” I say.

  He shakes his head again. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Sammie,” he mumbles and then, as though he’s finally awakened from that dream, he heads towards the front door.

  When he gets there he pauses and turns, holding onto the handle. “What was it like? The wombat?”

  “It was heavy.” I laugh, sounding slightly manic. “It was warm and wriggly with the thickest fur coat you ever saw.”

  He smiles, just a small flicker of it on his lips, and then he leaves without saying goodbye.

  I wait, watching him walk towards the elevator, taking a mental picture of my own. He’s got a swagger to his walk that I hadn’t noticed before and the longest, thickest thighs. Everything about him is strong and powerful, except perhaps his heart.

  When he’s inside the elevator he looks up at me and nods, then the doors close and he’s gone.

  In the morning everything seemed to be going so right. When I saw Brandon in that cell I thought I’d find a way to have him back in my life for good. But now he’s gone again and I just can’t hold it together anymore. I cry, not just dainty tears but terrible ugly crying because I hadn’t realized how empty I felt until he came along and filled that gap inside me so perfectly. And ripping himself out again has only made it worse.

  I slump onto my couch, hugging my big velvet cushion and wiping my face with tissues from the coffee table. But as I exhaust myself, I start to feel angry. Who the fuck does he think he is, making decisions for us and letting me have no say in the matter? He thinks he can just walk out of my life again and I’m not going to fight for him to stay. I’m feeling vulnerable, but I’m a warrior in my work life. I can battle for him. And if he doesn’t want anything more than friendship, we can be step siblings again.

  All I want is my Brandon back in my life. And I’m gonna try my hardest to make it happen.

  Chapter 6

  Brandon


  I leave Sammie’s apartment with tightness in my chest that feels fucking terrible. I know she’s crying, I could see it in her eyes, and I want to punch something with the guilt of it. What the fuck was I thinking? All the memories have me so mixed up. I love her but it’s brotherly love, isn’t it? It’s childish love. I can’t believe what we did, what I did. I should have pulled away but I couldn’t. I felt like I was underwater and everything was happening slowly. I wanted to drown in her softness. Fuck.

  I head straight over to Jackson’s Bar where the rest of my crew will be gathering, wanting to be anywhere in the world but here. It’s dark inside and stinks of beer and man. Jackson is leaning on the bar picking his teeth and I shake my head at where I’ve ended up. It’s about as far away from Sammie’s world as I could get, short of prison.

  “Brandon, get your ass over here,” Adam calls from a booth at the back. He’s nearly sixty but still insists on wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. I suppose the gym is keeping him in okay shape but his face is worn and sharp from years of bad living. I stroll slowly across, gesturing to Jackson that I want a beer. When I slip into the booth Adam’s eyes scan me as though he thinks he can read my mind just by looking. “Where you been?” he grunts.

  “I had to see a friend.” Jackson brings my beer and I take a deep swallow, needing it more tonight than I have for a while.

  “What friend?”

  “No one you know,” I say. “So, what did I miss?”

  “Connor’s gone with Tom to make the drop. I wanted you to go with him but it seems like you had different priorities tonight.”