Dirty Stepbrother

by Alycia Taylor

  This year had been good for us, even though things had not gone exactly as we had planned. Shawn’s father not caring about getting back into his son’s life wasn’t the only hurdle, but we had made it through and that was the important thing. After all, it was our life that we were living.

  “It’s just as I told you a long time ago, Shawn…” I whispered to him as I made my way up to the altar and stood in front of him, “and it’s even truer today than ever before.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” He smiled and swallowed hard before turning toward the priest.

  “No matter what, we’ll always be friends forever,” I replied, smiling softly.

  Then, just before the music officially stopped and the ceremony began, I heard Shawn whisper, “Yes, but starting today, we officially become so much more.”

  At that moment, I couldn’t have been happier. I turned and smiled, realizing that was the moment when it all sunk in. This was finally happening and it was then that I started to look forward to our tried and true happily ever after.

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  STEPBROTHER SUMMER

  By Alycia Taylor

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016. All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Ashley

  I pressed my foot against the gas as the light turned green, and felt the slight jolt forward as the car made its way through the intersection.

  I glanced at my GPS and sighed, thankful that I didn’t have to rely on the directions to the beach house from my memory. Because right now, I had no idea where I was. I figured that I probably should know exactly where I was, seeing how I spent every summer traveling this way from my family’s house, pressing my nose against the window, counting down the moments until I was awarded my first glimpse of the beach. But everything looked so different now. There was a large part of me that began to doubt I was even in the right place.

  Five years is a long time, I reminded myself. Plus, the last five years in particular had felt like an eternity. Between the tragedy of my mother dying, rather suddenly, trying to put my life back together afterward when it kept changing faster than the shifting sands of the dunes I sifted through the last time I was here, my existence was far from easy. And this summer was only going to compact a whole host of feelings that I didn’t wish to have.

  I dealt with my grief by compartmentalizing it. I packed it away in a space inside my mind, just like my father packed my mother’s things into boxes and stuffed them in the attic only a week after she passed away. I supposed doing the same relative concept with my emotions, I hadn’t actually worked through them. Instead, I had thrown myself into school in order to compensate for the lack of stability within my personal life. I had always been athletic and I did well in classes, but in order to get through the shock and tragedy of my mother’s passing, I had simply exited my own life, as per anything other than school and work. I lost touch with friends and stopped doing very much. Even though emotions, friends and attitudes changed, the only constant that remained was the lessons and structure of school.

  That hadn’t stopped just because my mother died. The homework still mounted, the classes didn’t change, and throughout the week, there was always a practice or game to attend for sports. None of that stopped because I no longer had a mother, and that was what I needed in order to get through it. I didn’t need a father who was always angry or depressed, or friends and other family members who now looked at me like I was some orphan. Even though my father was still around, in many ways, he was emotionally unavailable. And even though everyone else was opened to giving me the space I needed, or the shoulder to cry on, I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want their advice and I didn’t want their words of condolences. I just wanted my life to go on. In many ways, I wanted to escape and pretend like nothing had changed.

  So while it wasn’t perfect, life was still better at school, buried up to my neck in papers, tests and assignments. I worked far too hard on them just to pass the time, so that I didn’t have to face my own reality.

  When I went off to college though, it truly provided me with the new world I sought. I had friends who didn’t know that my mother had died and none of my teachers knew anything about me. I had a chance to be a normal person again and I enjoyed every bit of it.

  But all of that was over for now, and I was having a hard time coming to grips with it. I wanted the safety of school, not the memories of my past, coming back to haunt me.

  However, I tried not to think about any of that as I continued on. I glanced around the area that once was just a small town, but had seemed to grow three times the size since the last time I was here.

  I glanced around as tiny fragments of memories skated past my vision. There was the drug store that had been there, probably since before most of the current locals were even born, and the movie theater that my family used to go to when the weather was unsuitable for the beach. Yet, all around the memories from a life that I could no longer begin to fathom without tearing up, there was so much that had changed.

  Maybe it’s for the best…I thought as I came upon the bridge that would lead me back toward the shoreline. I have changed and my life has changed, so perhaps it is better that the beach I knew is left in the past as well.

  This thought, after the initial upset of not knowing exactly where I was, despite the countless memories I had formed in this area, actually brought me some peace. After all, as I had gotten older, all that happened to the life I knew was either disappearing or disappointing me when I learned the truth.

  These past five years, all I had ever wanted to do was get away. At school, I found that escape; but now, I was just returning home from my first year in college.

  Well, this isn’t exactly going home, I reminded myself, feeling a seething sense of malice burning through my body as I stopped at the next light. Years ago, I would have thought nothing about calling the beach house home; but now, the closest thing to home I had was my dorm room.

  Going to spend the summer at the beach house with my father, stepmother and my meathead of a stepbrother, both of whom I had only met once at my father’s wedding, was not my idea of a good time. After all, they were not my family. Just because my father needed someone to lay with on a constant basis and was okay with the baggage that she tugged, kicking and screaming, did not mean I had to be okay with it.

  My stepmother was all right, I guess. She was a pretty woman, but nothing like my mother. She was younger than my father and more materialistic. I cursed myself now, because I was the one who had encouraged my father to get back out there and date. I thought it would help both of us, since for the past four years he had been swallowed up in a plague of depression that was volatile and began to affect his health. When he met and married my stepmother, easily and without much consideration for how it might affect my relationship with him, I realized that I was wrong, at least, about the fact that his finding a wife might make my life a little easier. I didn’t have to worry about him anymore, which was nice. But the way he acted around her caused me to think that perhaps he had conveniently forgotten all about my mother, like a bad dream, and that certainly was not okay.

  My stepbrother was fun to look at, with his overdone muscles and enticing tattoos, but he was almost unbearable the second he opened his mouth. I didn’t care much for him from the moment I met him. I was all but dreading having
to share my sacred place with these strangers, whom my mother probably wouldn’t even like anyway.

  Plus, their existence would cause me to have to eventually come to terms with the fact that my life was now completely different. I hadn’t been able to make it over that hurdle in five years and, therefore, I doubted very highly that this summer was going to change my perspective for the better.

  That thought was illustrated almost cruelly when I made my way up to the beach house. I realized that, like a solitary piece of my history frozen in time, although things had changed around it, it had stayed exactly the same.

  With this realization, I slowed the car as I approached. I wasn’t quite sure how I was feeling. I was homesick for the school I had grown to love, even though I had only stayed there for two semesters. And I felt slightly sick at the thought of having to stay in this house with these people, since I was fairly certain I would have the same opinion I felt my mother would have of them.

  On the way to the beach house, I had tried to think about my father and convince myself that he had always done his best.

  After all, you were the one who told him that dating again would be a good idea, I reminded myself.

  However, as I saw the house in front of me, unchanged by the years, though the tide seemed to go out on the beach that I remembered and come back with an updated version, forgetting the house, I lost all hope of the thoughts I tried to convince myself with the entire journey here.

  I knew now that it wasn’t going to be fun to see the old beach house again and it wouldn’t be enough.

  When I finally parked my car, with a great amount of effort, and gazed up at the unchanged form of mockery, I was convinced that what I truly wanted was impossible. I supposed then, as tears filled my eyes, that not so deep down, I knew that getting what I sought from coming back to this place wasn’t going to work. Seeing the ghosts of my past before me without substance and without conviction just wasn’t going to work, especially when I was forced to create new memories with people that were never supposed to be there in the first place.

  This was not how my life was supposed to go… I thought as I shook my head in order to ward off the tears. I was angry and upset by the thought that this certainly wouldn’t be the last time that I really wanted to do nothing but cry hysterically, turn this car around and go back to the place where I felt safe.

  However, I knew that I couldn’t do that. I owed it to my father, if nothing else, to give this summer a shot at being good. After all, he had talked with me about it for months.

  Despite my feelings on the subject, that was all he seemed to want to talk to me about. He would ask briefly about school, but after the typical father questions, he would delve into his plans for the summer. Most of them included my presence, rather than my participation, which aggravated me a little. I t seemed that all he wanted to do was spend time showing his new wife all of the things he had fun doing with his old wife; as though he was happy to be rid of the source of the information, but thankful to still have the idea for the sake of fun.

  I realized it wasn’t that way, though. I knew he just wanted to get himself off on the right foot with his wife of six months, but personally, I didn’t think bringing her back to the spot where he and my mother had every one of their special moments and family vacations was the right place to do it. Still, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that. I knew that if he had a sense for how I really felt, my father would be devastated.

  So instead of turning the car around and heading straight back over the bridge, I wiped my eyes clear of any moistness, took a deep breath and turned off the car. I didn’t get out right away, though. Instead, I just sat there, and prepared myself to grin and bear my visceral reaction to this idea for the rest of the summer, while I secretly counted down the days until I could once again disappear into my studies.

  However, for the first few tries, each time I grasped ahold of the door handle, I felt myself become overcome with emotion almost immediately.

  Each time that happened, I would gaze up at the house and realize that everything had changed about my life since the last time I drove up to this piece of property and set foot inside this beach house. The eerie unchanged nature of the house taunted me each time I looked at it and so, it took me three tries to finally pull open the door.

  The salty air had a nice breeze, but I didn’t notice it as I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

  It was, however, in this moment that I realized I had lost all hope of having any semblance of an enjoyable summer, as I defiantly took a few long strides forward, ready to take on whatever emotion or situation was about to come my way.

  Chapter Two

  Tyler

  This summer is going to suck…I thought as I kicked it back on my bed, listening to my headphones blaring. Even when I was alone, I kept up the charade, just in case there was anyone around that would get the wrong idea and actually want to show me anything. Between being away from my friends and not knowing anyone here, I groaned and rolled my eyes as I took in the unfamiliar scent of the old house.

  It had its charms, I guessed, but ultimately, it was like every other house that I had ever been in; the one saving grace was that it just happened to have the beach as a backyard. “If I have to be stuck here, at least we’re on a beach,” I grumbled to myself, knowing full-well that I could use my charisma and downright charming demeanor at any time to make new friends in this strange place.

  After all, I could talk to pretty much anyone. Women swooned over me at home, so why should the beach be any different?

  No, despite my actions and forced thoughts, I was actually looking forward to this summer far more than I would ever admit to myself.

  After all, I did have my own room, which was cool. This was the first vacation where I didn’t have to share my space with anyone, but it wasn’t like it was going to matter much anyway.

  As I heard my mother and new stepfather downstairs, falling all over each other in what I presumed was a somewhat forced, extended honeymoon phase, I thought, it isn’t like they were aware there was a planet Earth anymore anyway. The two of them were so wrapped up in one another, it was like he was still trying to get in her pants, even though they were married. I’ve heard the two of them, quite frequently getting it on in various rooms throughout the house where they had moved after my mom married this guy. Old people sex…Gross. I felt my lip snarl at the thought, before I rolled off of my bed onto the floor, turned my music up and began my ritual of pushups.

  While I was here, I was looking forward to not only working on my tan, but also picking up some hot ladies with whom to share my bed.

  After all, it should be pretty simple, since my mother and stepfather were still up one another’s asses and rarely took notice of what I did, so long as it didn’t interfere with their plans.

  Plus, in addition to adding a few more notches to my bedpost, I was also interested in what kind of attention I could gain for my typical beach body. Therefore, I knew that I had to keep up with my exercises, just in case.

  Since I hadn’t been to the beach since I was very young, I was extremely curious at exactly what this area had to offer a man with such a handsome, cocky and assured sense of self-worth.

  My body easily glided through the first fifty, but then I began to feel the prickle of discomfort as my muscles strained to accommodate the motions, while keeping in the even stride. My music wasn’t much help to keep a pace though, because it was far too slow. If I kept any kind of rhythm from what was blaring into my ears, I would never make it to my goal of one hundred pushups in one sitting.

  As I continued, I began to feel my back heat up with the force of the exercise. I moved up and down, up and down, faster, stronger and more efficiently. The stronger I was physically, the better I could make myself in every aspect of my life. I lived for fitness. I needed to feel powerful and I did.

  There were very few situations where I felt out of control. I knew how to manipulate people, al
most at an expert level. It was a gift, and my physical stature, my strength, only made that gift more prominent.

  I smiled as I reminded myself that there were only twenty more to go. By now, I could feel every inch of my body beginning to burn with the power that came from growing stronger. My breath was still just as even as my stride, which was a big deal to me. I needed to ensure that whatever situation I got myself into, I never showed it that I was fearful.

  I had spent too many years being fearful. I had made one promise to myself: that I would never feel that way again. Sure, I was in every situation for my own personal gain, but I liked it that way. I was the only one who could let myself down, and I always found a way to have the power so that didn’t happen. I was confident in myself and intrigued by everything that surrounded me.

  I was used to getting what I wanted. For years, I had perfected the art of getting exactly what I was after, no matter what the cost. I learned at a young age that the only person who was going to get me what I wanted was myself, which spurred my attitude and foul mouth. This trait, which I kept so dear to my heart, in the effort of survival, tended to get me into a lot of trouble. However, I was always able to hold my own.

  Yet, part of that assurance was the knowledge that there was always the risk of it all catching up to me. I knew that, I understood that, and that was a good reason to just keep moving forward, being the best that I could be, and realizing that I was the creator of my own destiny.

  However, the only thing that I knew I needed to find, rather quickly, was a place to work out that would bring the heat like my gym back home. As encouraging as the pushups were, it wasn’t nearly the extent that I needed to keep up with my training.

  Once I found a gym and perhaps a couple of strongest man competitions to boost my ego, I would be all set. I snickered as I reached the last stretch of my pushups, feeling the singing in my lungs and throughout my body. I didn’t really need a stroke to my ego. It was big and prideful enough, but there was no harm in making me feel better about myself.