by Hamel, B. B.
A shower meant I had fifteen, maybe twenty minutes at best. I made my way upstairs, losing a few minutes on the slow climb, and made my way down the long hallway toward the far end of the second floor. I opened the very last door on the left and walked inside.
The room was mostly empty, with hardwood floors and a baby grand piano standing in the middle. Back in the day, it had probably been the music and dance room, but it obviously didn’t get much use anymore. I sat down at the piano’s bench, flipped open the key cover, and began to play.
I felt instantly better. Ever since the accident, the only thing that seemed to calm me down was music. That and banging the shit out of the pinball machines downstairs. I wasn’t the best musician, but I had taken lessons as a kid, and I picked it up again when I was living in Helsinki for a few months. A friend of mine was a pretty talented mountain climber who also gave piano lessons on the side to make extra money. He taught me a lot, made me confident enough to play in front of people at least.
But in that moment, I didn’t want anyone around. The only thing was the music pouring from the keys, the tempo and the noise, my feet tapping and working the pedals despite the pain.
It was my only solace. And I kept it carefully separated from the documentary. I couldn’t imagine mixing the two worlds. They caught me on film playing pinball, but I wasn’t about to let them catch me playing piano.
As I finished the song, just a simple concerto Soren had taught me, the door creaked open. Instantly, I let the sound die off, and I turned around.
“Lincoln?”
Framed in the doorway was Aubrie, her hair wet from the shower. She was wearing a tight black tank top and short jean shorts, and I could see her bra strap standing out from behind her top. A black frilly bra. I could feel my cock begin to stir at the thought of her in nothing but a black bra and matching panties.
“Hey, Brie baby,” I said.
“What are you doing?”
“Jerking off.”
She made a face. “Gross.”
I shrugged. “You asked.”
“Seriously, was that you playing?”
I nodded, a little embarrassed, though I wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, it was.”
She walked farther into the room, her arms crossed. “I didn’t know you played.”
“I dabble. Why, does playing piano not fit in with ‘Based’ Carter?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, yeah, but I was just surprised.”
I grinned at her, loving how easily it was to fluster her. She frowned.
“Relax, I’m messing with you.”
I turned back to the piano but felt nervous all of a sudden. I hadn’t felt nervous in a long time. I felt her eyes on the back of my head as I began to play a slow song.
“That’s pretty,” she said, and walked over.
I gestured at the bench. “Take a seat.”
She sat as I continued playing. “What is this?”
“It’s a song by Nick Cave called ‘Into My Arms.’”
“Love song?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Does it have words?”
“It sure does.”
She smiled. “Sing it for me.”
I laughed. “You sure you want that?”
“Please?”
“Is this your favor?”
“No. I just want to hear the song.”
I sighed. As the song turned around and came toward the chorus, I sang.
“Oh not touch a hair on your head
Leave you as you are
If he felt he had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, oh lord,
Into my arms, oh lord,
Into my arms, oh lord,
Into my arms, oh lord.
”
I stopped, suddenly too self-conscious to keep going. She was staring at me with this weird look, her sexy fucking mouth hanging half open, and her body was pressed close against mine on the small bench. I could feel her warmth and the soft skin of her leg against mine. I had no clue what she was thinking, but I realized how weird I probably looked.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“No, there’s a lot more.”
“Finish it.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I forgot it.”
She frowned. “It’s really pretty.”
I laughed. “Yeah, well, listen to the real thing sometime.”
“Nick Cave?”
“Yeah. The Dark Prince of Rock ‘n’ Roll.”
“Weird name for a guy that writes love songs.”
“You should hear his other stuff.”
She laughed, and I started playing another simple concerto. “So what are you doing here, Brie?”
“What, I can’t talk to you now?”
“You can. You’ve just been avoiding me for a few days. I figured you were still pissed about the interview.”
“I am. I mean, I guess I’m getting over it.”
“Good. Think more about what I said?”
She paused. “Did you know my dad’s back?”
I stopped playing suddenly. Nobody had told me Cliff had come home. He was pretty much the last guy in the world I wanted to see, especially considering it was his fucking fault that I was stuck doing some pathetic documentary.
“No, I didn’t hear.”
“Yeah. I saw him downstairs.”
“That’s good.”
She paused again and looked like she wanted to say something else, but I started to play again. Distracted, she watched as I moved through the song. I made a few mistakes, but I wasn’t sure she noticed them. I wasn’t usually so self-conscious, but there was something about the way she looked at me and the way her body made me feel that made concentrating on the music pretty damn hard.
It was the opposite of calming. It was distracting. Finally, the song ended, and I sat back.
“You’re good at that,” she said.
“I had a good teacher. In Helsinki.”
“Helsinki? You lived there?”
“For a while, yeah.”
“Based Carter. Such a cool guy.” She laughed.
I grinned at her. “Damn right I am. I’m the only guy that can make a cane look sexy.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
I shifted closer to her and smiled. “You’re not sneaking a peek at me every time I limp by?”
“Definitely not.” She blushed and looked away.
“I’m sure you’re not, Brie baby. Wouldn’t want to do anything wrong.”
Her face snapped back. We were inches apart. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
She was clearly struggling with her temper.“Don’t be an asshole, Lincoln. I was about to tell you that Dad convinced me to do another interview for your movie.”
I blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Jess is going to be psyched. You sure you want to?”
“Yes. I mean, no, not at all. But Dad made some good points, and you did too, and I don’t know.” She paused. “I’ll give it one more shot.”
I laughed, surprised by how quickly she changed her mind. She shifted away and stood, crossing her arms again and looking down at me.
“But you have to promise not to pull that same shit from last time.”
I smiled innocently. “What shit?”
“You know what I mean.”
I laughed. “What, rile you up?”
She gave me a look. “Yeah, dick. That.”
“But it’s so easy.”
“Do you want me to do the interview?”
“I can take it or leave it, honestly.”
She shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Okay, fine. I won’t mess with you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. No bullshit.”
She gave me a long look, and I wanted to pull her back into my lap and bury
my face in her full tits. I wanted to bite her lip and feel the soaking wet spot between her legs. I wanted to fuck her up against the piano and let it crash to the ground as I made her come.
Instead, I said nothing as she nodded her approval. “Okay. Let me know when you want to do it.”
“I’ll see what Jess says.”
She turned and began to walk out. I stared at her perfect ass. “Back to work for Jules now. Don’t hurt yourself limping back downstairs.”
I laughed. “Don’t let her work you too hard.”
I’d rather be the one working you,
I thought, but left that unsaid.
She waved and was gone.
I stared at the door for another second before glancing down at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed since I was supposedly taking a shower, and I was sure Jess would be storming up the stairs any minute to yank me out.
Better get in there before she caught on to my dirty little piano secret.
In pain, but still half hard from being so close to Aubrie, I limped down the hall and started the shower. Two minutes later, as if on cue, Jess began banging on the door and demanding that I come out and get ready for the next shoot.
It never ended. But at least Aubrie seemed like she was coming around.
I grinned into the shower water and willed my hard-on away.
Chapter Seven: Aubrie
The ceiling fan in my room was busted, which meant I kept tossing and turning in bed, trying to get to sleep despite the heat. I was practically drenched in sweat, which was pretty gross, but it would have been fine if I could at least pass out and deal with it in the morning.
Instead, I kept thinking about Lincoln. I kept thinking about my stepbrother’s smile, his body, and the weird darkness that was behind everything he did. On the surface, he was cocky and carefree and happy, but I was beginning to sense something else lurking below everything he said and did. Worst of all, I kept obsessing about the way he made me feel when I was around him, the tightness in my chest, the excitement running up along my spine.
And when he began to play that song, singing it sad and loud and slow, it felt like he was singing right to me. That was stupid, I knew, since it was a love song, and who sang a love song like that to their stepsister?
Still, there was something . . .
I rolled over with a huff, frustrated. I grabbed my phone: two in the morning.
“Fuck,” I said out loud to nobody and sat up. I was already going to be a mess. Might as well get some water and maybe do some reading until I finally passed out.
I climbed out of bed and pulled some light cotton shorts over my panties and pulled a black T-shirt on over my head. I liked to sleep naked, or mostly naked, and was so used to walking around my apartment back at school without getting dressed. I was going to have to be careful of that.
Out in the hall, I headed down toward the kitchen and stopped suddenly. I stood deadly still in the middle of the pitch-black hallway and strained my ears, struggling to catch the noise in the distance. For a second, I thought I might be going insane, but suddenly it started up again.
There was no doubt about it. Someone was playing the piano again.
What the hell is Lincoln doing up right now?
I thought to myself as I crept toward the music room. I stood outside the slightly ajar door and listened as he played softly. I gently pushed it open a bit wider and caught sight of him sitting at the bench, shirtless, his hands roaming along the keys, illuminated by a single weak desk lamp.
I was totally entranced. How often did he get up in the middle of the night to play? I figured the piano thing was a rare occurrence, but maybe he was more into music than he was letting on. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his muscular torso, the tattoos running down along his skin, and the skill with which he moved his hands. It was almost unreal, Lincoln alone in the room practically glowing in the soft light, and I suddenly felt bad for staring at him. It was clearly something private he did, and there I was barging in on him again.
As I went to move away from the door, the playing stopped.
“You might as well come in.”
I froze, a tingle running up my spine. He turned around and grinned at me. Sheepishly, I took a step inside.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I thought it was you.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m playing. Couldn’t sleep either.”
I took another step closer. “Too hot in your room?”
He shook his head. “No, not really. I’ve just . . .” he trailed off for a second and seemed to consider me. “I’ve just been having some shitty dreams, ever since the accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He laughed. “You going to come in or just stand there like a creep?”
For a second I was torn. Being alone with Lincoln in the middle of the night, especially when he was shirtless and I was wearing minimum clothing, was probably pretty dangerous. As it was, I had a hard time not staring at his muscular chest and perfect lips. But something about his look compelled me, and I took a few more steps inside, shutting the door behind me, and sat down next to him on the bench.
“What are we playing tonight?” I asked him.
“Any requests?”
“Piano Man
.”
He laughed. “No way. Too cliché.”
“You don’t know it, do you?”
“Yeah, there’s that too.”
I laughed. “Okay then. Surprise me.”
“How about this, you probably know it.”
He began to play something upbeat that I didn’t recognize immediately, until it turned and began the chorus. I had no clue what it was called, but it was a classic, old-timey show tunes type song, something I had heard a million times. I couldn’t help but laugh at him playing it. There was a huge disconnect between the badass, muscular based guy covered in tattoos and the corny piano music he was playing. Finally, after about a minute, the song ended.
He laughed along with me. “I love that one. Always a crowd pleaser.”
“What’s it called? I’ve heard it a million times.”
“‘The Entertainer’ by some guy named Joplin. I forget the first name.”
“What else can you play?”
He began to play again. Immediately I recognized the song: ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven.
“I love this one,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s great,” he replied, still playing. “It’s so easy but it sounds so impressive. I read somewhere that Beethoven probably wrote it to pick up chicks back in the day. Probably named it ‘Für Linda’ or ‘Für Tammy’ or whatever the girl’s name was at the time. He could play with one hand while drinking with the other.”
“No way that’s true,” I said, laughing.
“I don’t know.” He leaned closer to me, still playing, and gave me this cocky smile. “I call this ‘Für Brie baby.’ How wet are you right now?”
I made a face and laughed. “Totally soaking. You’re amazing.”
“It’s all Beethoven. He knew his shit.”
I laughed again as he finished the song and stretched. As he did it, I couldn’t help but look at his body again, and I felt a thrill run through me. I caught every detail of his tattoos and the muscles beneath them, but I also noticed a few scars. He may have been funny and talented, but he was still dangerous and gorgeous.
I would never tell him, but I was beginning to get soaked thinking about what he could do with those nimble fingers on my body.
“What’s with the scars?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could distract myself more with thoughts of Lincoln’s body covering mine.
He looked down at himself. “I forgot about them.”
“They look like surgery scars.”
He pointed at one near his ribs. “Yeah, this one is surgery.” He pointed at another, near his abs. His ripped abs. I glanced away. “This one is from the car’s windshield. Act
ually, most of them are from the glass.”
“That most have been horrible,” I said, looking back.
“I blacked out pretty fast, honestly. The worst part was the uncertainty.”
“What do you mean?”
“With the doctors.” He began to play again, but softly. “They kept saying one thing and then contradicting it. At first, I was never going to walk again.”
“I can’t imagine hearing that.”
“You’d be surprised at what you can handle, if you have to.”
I blinked at him, surprised by the serious expression on his face, but it didn’t last long. He was back to his cocky grin seconds later.
“Having a hot nurse helped the recovery,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I was waiting for something like that.”
“I figured. Can’t keep the fans waiting.”
I paused a beat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering. Why are you doing this documentary and recovery here, in this house?”
“Seems weird, right?”
“Yeah, it does. I mean, not that I mind you being here and all. Or well, I mean I hate the cameras, but you know what I mean.” I shut my mouth, realizing I was babbling.
He grinned. “Right. I know you love having me around. The truth is actually pretty shitty, though.”
“What, my dad blackmail you or something?” I asked jokingly.
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s complicated, Brie. Why do you even care?”
“I’m just curious. What did my dad do?”
“Nothing really. The building I jumped from, it wasn’t exactly legal. We had to break in to get to the top. I was arrested and almost went to jail again, but your dad showed up at my trial and begged for leniency. Said he’d take me into custody, watch over me personally. The judge ended up giving me probation under the condition that I live here for the duration of it.”
“I had no idea.”
I couldn’t believe my dad would do that and not even mention it to me. Bringing my injured stepbrother home to serve his probation was a huge deal, and yet my dad hadn’t even considered telling me. That was typical of our family. If it didn’t need to be said, then it would never get mentioned, no matter how important it might end up being.
“I’m not surprised he never mentioned it. When we left the courthouse, your dad told me that he was going to film my recovery.” He paused for a second and stopped playing. “I said no, but he reminded me that my probation was contingent on my being able to stay at his house.”