Stepbrother, Mine

by Mandy Lou Dowson

Her mother surreptitiously wiped a stray tear and watched with a proud expression as Sophie examined her new pendant in the foyer mirror. “Happy birthday, darling.”

  Vibrating with excitement, Sophie took up her coat and joined them as they walked out of the house. Only one hung back – Logan. She turned her head a fraction to see him still framed in the living room doorway. “I'll be right behind you guys.” She walked back inside, nerves making her jumpy. Logan dug a hand into his pocket as she approached him. “Are you okay?” she asked, expecting the usual grunted reply.

  “I wanted to give you your present,” he told her, his voice no more than a whisper. “But I wanted it to be private.”

  Private? What sort of 'private' gift had he got in mind? Her mind reeled, taking her back to the last time they'd been alone together for any length of time. They hadn't even spoken as much as this the past entire year. She felt nervous around him and ever so slightly uncomfortable, as if he didn't enjoy her company anymore. “What is it?” she whispered, fearing what he would offer and what she might still be too weak-willed to turn down.

  “Something you should save for a time you really need it,” he replied. His hand removed from his pocket, he offered her a tiny ring box with a red bow decorating the lid.

  She held her breath as their fingers touched, taking the box with a curious smile. Upon opening it, she realized there was a tiny note, rolled up like a scroll, laying on top of a shiny new penny. Her fingers fumbled and the scroll dropped, coming to a bouncy stop by Logan's foot. She lowered herself to one knee, reaching for the scrap of paper.

  “Soph?”

  “Yes?” she gazed up at him from her vantage point, noticing his darkly amused expression.

  “Are you proposing to me?”

  “What? Uh, no.” Face glowing, she snatched at the scroll and rose once more, laughing self-consciously. “I hope that's my quota of mortification for the night,” she whispered, unrolling the paper. Her eyes watered as she read the neat masculine script.

  You wasted your wish last year, it said. I'm officially giving it back.

  His image swimming in front of her as she grasped his forearm, the urge to kiss his beautiful face almost more than she could stand. “It's perfect.”

  “It's no diamond.” He seemed nervous.

  “It's better,” she assured him, leaning in to place a chaste kiss upon his cheek. “It's exactly what I need.”

  “Don't mention it,” he told her, actually blushing. “Come on. Dinner awaits.”

  It seemed like a new chapter in their lives as she inserted her hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her outside. Harry was revving the engine of Mom's car like he was impatient to be off, and her mom gave her a curious look and a soft smile before opening the rear door of the car.

  Sophie slid in one side, while Logan climbed in the other, and then there was nothing but the sound of the tires on the road and the soft jazz music from the stereo floating around the car. Harry's eagerness to get to the restaurant showed itself in the way he took the turn onto main street. Sophie gasped and slid across the leather seat until she toppled against Logan. He grunted at the impact. With no traction because of her hose, Sophie almost went right into his lap, her knee landing between his thighs.

  She tried to ignore the solid feel of his leg between her thighs, and with a soft shriek, threw herself off of him. Her face was on fire, and Logan steadfastly refused to look at her. With a thrill still running through her, turning her insides to mush, she fastened her seat belt – a thing she'd forgotten to do when first she'd gotten in, her already confused mind still working over-time about her stepbrother, as usual.

  This past year she'd allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe it had all been a stupid childish crush, but seeing him now, up close and personal for the first time since her last birthday, she could admit that there was still a frisson of attraction there that shouldn't be. Perhaps there always would be. It was just something she'd have to learn to ignore.

  With that thought cemented in her mind, she crossed her legs, noting that Logan's eyes were fixed on the expanse of thigh she was showing beneath her little black dress. With a lighter heart from knowing she wasn't alone in this... this... whatever it was, she focused her eyes forward again, catching her mother's stare in her compact mirror as she applied a slick of lipstick. With a smile that let Sophie know she was in for a 'talk' later, her mother closed the compact and pointed at the front of a classy little Italian place. “Here we are. Harry dear, you go ahead and have a drink tonight. I'll drive home.”

  ~

  “Mrs. Castle. Mr. Castle. This way please. Some of your party have already arrived and we took the liberty of seating them.” The elegant young man with shiny black hair and a dimple on both cheeks bid them forward with an engaging smile. “Ah,” he exclaimed. “Is this the birthday girl? Sophia, isn't it?”

  “Sophie,” Logan grated, his eyes narrowed and mean. Sophie felt like laughing, her stomach a jumble of nerves.

  “Sophie, of course, how could I forget?” he apologized with a graceful nod. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

  Seeing as she wasn't yet twenty-one, Sophie ordered a coke, and settled herself next to Taylor, while Logan seated himself on her opposite side. Wonderful. She'd be craning her neck all night in order to speak to them both. Her mom and Harry sat directly across from the three of them with Serena and her date, Michael, sitting to their left. One big, happy family, Sophie thought in discomfort.

  Half-way through the first course – escargot for her, of course – she laughed under her breath when Logan leaned in and asked her to mind her snails this time around. No fear of a repeat, however, since she had a death grip on both the shell and the meat inside. But pulling forcefully to remove said meat, she elbowed the table, sending her dinner-fork flying. It landed deep in the carpet, standing on its prongs, not an inch from Logan's foot.

  With a rueful expression, he tucked both feet under his chair as Sophie reached down to retrieve her errant silverware. Taylor, deep in discussion with Harry about accounts, didn't notice the absence of her upper half, and nudged her carelessly. With a soft yip, she spilled sideways out of her chair. The only thing saving her was Logan's death-grip on her ribs – perilously close to her breast – and her grip on his thigh – dangerously close to his groin.

  With her face shining like a beacon, and Taylor apologizing profusely, she snatched at her fork and sat up, breathing out in a huff. Her mom laughed and Harry shifted in his seat, sending Logan a death stare, to which Logan replied with a shrug. Breathlessly, she realized her stepbrother's hand was still skimming her side in slow motion beneath the view of the table.

  Down her ribs it tickled, to sweep the curve of her waist, his fingers tripping over her hip before drifting away to land on his lap, covering his groin. The groin she'd almost grabbed a handful of moments before. Nervous laughter bubbled out from her lips as her mom frowned in thought, watching her. Watching him. Watching them, closely.

  “You're dangerous with those snails, sis,” Logan told her, breaking her eye contact with her mom so that the moment and the tension seemed to diffuse. “Let's say you order the salad from now on.”

  “Not the soup?”

  “Definitely not the soup. Snails and near-stabbings, I can just about deal with. Scaldings, I cannot.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling the way she liked, and his perfect teeth on show – really on show – for the first time in forever.

  “Salad it is,” she replied, her own laugh tripping from her tongue. “From now on.”

  “What's this?” her mother inquired, obviously cottoning on to the fact that she'd missed something.

  Serena snickered, hiding her grin behind her napkin, while Michael stretched an arm across her shoulders. They were such a cute couple.

  “This is not the only time Soph has attacked me with snails.”

  “That's not fair!” she exclaimed. “That first time was a complete accident.”

>   “Accident?” he asked, raising a dark brow. “You mean you meant to almost stab me just there?”

  She snorted with laughter. “Yup. We're brother and sister. It's how we're supposed to act.”

  With a speculative gleam in her eye, Marie asked, “first time?”

  While Sophie deteriorated into belly laughs, Logan told her mom and Harry about how they had first met at the wedding reception. “I swear that she already knew who I was somehow and decided to take me down. Death by escargot.”

  “Oh, for heaven's sake.” She slapped him on the shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his dinner-jacket barely give at all. “I didn't know you. But if I had...” she trailed off, deliberately smirking.

  “I see how it is,” he replied with a gleam in his eye. They both stared at each other for a moment.

  Harry cleared his throat noisily. “So Taylor,” he stressed the name, reminding Sophie of who she was actually dating. “Tell your dad I'll happily call 'round tomorrow evening, and we can go over the books.”

  “That would be great, Mr. Castle. My dad is good at many things, but book-keeping isn't one of them.” He laughed awkwardly as Sophie redirected her gaze to his. Guilt wrapped her up in its gossamer threads. She had to get a grip on herself.

  ~

  Logan

  Sophie had the most wonderful laugh, he decided, listening to her tell stories of her childhood, about playing hide and seek in the wooded area behind the school and getting poison oak, and about the time she'd gotten caught with her dad's favorite pipe, telling him she needed it for her dolls to use as a horn in some sort of tribal tea-party make-believe.

  Why did she have to be so cute? Why did he constantly feel the need to touch her or have her close? He glared at her thigh, where the Champagne Chimp had rested a hand, and wanted to break every finger that touched her. Shit, he needed to get out of here, but they were still waiting for the cake to arrive, having finished the main course minutes before.

  She crushed a napkin in her hand, shredding little bits from the luxuriant tissue as Taylor kneaded the flesh of her upper thigh. At the fucking dinner table, no less. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of his father yet again, who glared at him in silent warning. Jesus, the old man never gave him a break, did he? He wasn't doing anything – unlike Champagne Chimp over there.

  Sophie shifted in her seat, drawing her thigh from his grasp and Logan settled back in his seat with satisfaction. He knew she wasn't promiscuous – hell, she probably hadn't even gone all the way with him yet – but just seeing her petted and pawed like a cheap date made him angry as fuck. The least the guy could do is wait until they were alone to lay hands on her.

  Catching the eye of a pretty waitress, Logan excused himself. She'd been giving him the eye all night, and he knew if he passed within reasonable distance, her number would find its way into his hand. Just as he sidled passed her on his way to the men's room, she approached him, a knowing smile creasing her doll-like face. With a small flourish, she pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

  He waited until he was in the bathroom to unfold it.

  I'm free at eleven, it said. Meet me?

  Not even a phone number, just a booty call. Even better. He decided he would work some of his frustration off on this waitress without a name. Then maybe he could stand to be around his sister tomorrow for an hour or so. It was so hard to be near her since their kiss last year. He'd moved out of the house for all intents and purposes, bunking in with the friends he'd made at uni, rather than going home to her sweet smell and sleepy moans.

  Their walls were pretty thin, and soon after their kiss he began waking at night – those rare nights he actually slept there – to her soft moans from next door. He suspected what she was up to, and it made him hotter than ever for the girl. One of these nights he wouldn't have the strength to fight it anymore, and she wouldn't either. He lived in fear and hope of that night.

  Washing his hands, he turned from the sink in time to see his father walk through the door, meeting his surprised look with one of sternness. “We need to talk.”

  Logan tried to push past, but his father stopped him with a glare. He sighed. “What's up?”

  “You know what's up. Why do I have to keep reminding you that she's your sister?” Harry's face was ruddy from both alcohol and anger – never a good combination where his father was concerned.

  “Why do I have to keep reminding you that she's not?”

  “She is.” His father's jaw had begun to tick. “I don't care what that dick of yours tells you. She's your family.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good.”

  He stalled his father with a look of his own. He wasn't a scrawny kid anymore and his father didn't scare him. Damn the tuition, he'd find a way to make it work. “She is my family. More than you've ever been, Harry. But that doesn't make her my sister, no more than it takes away the fact that you're my dad.” He softened his gaze somewhat, seeing the hurt in his father's eyes. He knew that his dad loved him, in his own fucked up way, but he was sick and tired of always being on the receiving end of his silent threats and reprimands. “I love her.” There, he'd said it. “I've never felt so much for a girl in my whole entire life.”

  His dad snorted, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “You're nineteen years old, Son. You haven't met enough girls to feel that way for sure.”

  “So you say,” he told him seriously, a decision solidifying in his mind. “I'm going to tell her how I feel before I leave for uni tomorrow. Don't,” he held up a hand in protest. “Don't tell me what I already know. She has a boyfriend. It'll make things awkward. I'm an asshole. I know. Don't you think I know? But I have to tell her, just in case she feels the same.”

  “And if she doesn't?”

  “I'll never bring it up again. I'll finish college and move back home and forget she ever existed.”

  His father searched his gaze for a moment. “I don't want you to do this. It will only hurt us all as a family.”

  “That's where you're wrong, Dad. Our family is already hurting because of this thing between us. The air needs to be cleared one way or another.”

  Harry nodded. He clapped Logan on the upper arm before striding past him to the urinal. “I hope you know what you're doing,” he told him.

  “Me too.” Now that he'd made the decision, his entire body shook with nerves and adrenaline. He took the folded piece of paper from the nameless waitress and scrunched it into a ball before dropping it into the trash on his way out. He had no use for that now. Shit, he was really going to do this, wasn't he?

  What would he do if she told him to take a hike? He shook his head, refusing to believe that she would. He'd seen the effect his hand skimming her side had had on her earlier in the evening, and he damn well knew she was still attracted to him. Surely she'd want to see where things led? Especially since Harry would no doubt tell Marie as soon as they were alone. He'd opened the entire can of worms and dumped them on the table. It was up to her now, if she wanted to dig through it to find the hidden gem inside.

  With a smile, he seated himself beside her again, draping his hand across the back of her chair, feeling her stiffen when he caressed the bare skin of her shoulders where her dress rode low in the back. She looked at him sharply, two spots of color on her cheeks, and he smiled widely and without remorse. She cleared her throat and leaned forward, away from his roaming fingertips.

  Soon, he thought. Soon, he'd find out if she blushed just as deeply with his hands on other parts of her anatomy.

  Logan got through the rest of the meal, singing 'Happy Birthday' along with the rest of them, and wishing his parents a good night, all with a sense of purpose and patience. He'd stick around until Sophie and Taylor had said their own goodbyes and on the walk home, he'd park her ass on that same bench and tell her how he felt.

  ~

  Tragedy has a way of making a ruin of the best laid plans. And so it was that as they walked home an hour later, Sophie got a c
all on her cell. Not recognizing the number, she'd sighed, saying a tentative hello to the person on the other end.

  Logan watched as all the color leeched from her face and she collapsed, her butt hitting the wet pavement hard in shock. “What is it?” he asked, a lump forming in his throat. It had to be bad. Worst case scenario bad. But he hadn't been prepared for just how bad it was.

  Marie and Harry were broadsided on their way home an hour previous, their car mangled, bits of it spread all across the blacktop like discarded sweet wrappers, still shining and pristine, despite being torn apart. They had to get to the hospital. Now. He bundled her into a cab, holding her tightly to his side the entire journey, both of them lost in a fog of disbelief.

  “I'm sorry,” the doctor repeated, looking straight at Logan. “There was nothing we could do to save him.”

  Harry was dead, the impact killing him in less than a minute, or so the doctor claimed. Massive injuries and a dicky heart. He hadn't had a chance. Marie lingered on, tubes and wires sticking out of her body like a laboratory experiment. The doctors had no hope for her survival. Too much trauma, they'd told them.

  The soft and rhythmic shht-shht of the ventilator seemed to lull Sophie as she held her mother's hand. It was cold, Logan knew, as if she'd already started to leave her body behind. Her chest rose and fell in stutters, as if even with the help of the machine, her lungs were hard-pressed to do their job. Various lines and squiggles that meant little to either of them measured her mom's vital signs.

  Standing behind Sophie, his hand resting on her shoulder, Logan kept his silence. The atmosphere was stifling, a weight of sorrow seeming to wrap them up in ropes of misery.

  Marie's mouth was lopsided, the weight of the breathing tube pulling it to one side and the elastic strap dug into her soft skin as she lay motionless, unresponsive to her daughter's hiccuping sobs. One hand – the one that wasn't holding her mom's hand – was fisted tightly as she gnawed on it. Logan was loathe to disturb her, but if she kept going, she would have no knuckles left.