Wrong: A Spoiled Stepbrother Romance

by Pfeiffer Jayst

  The standoff that ensued was more tense than anything I had encountered in the ring so far. Why Hubert would be surprised by my stubbornness was beyond me, I never hid it, it was a part of me that I flaunted from the beginning. He remained silent though, horrified that someone had dared talk back to him. His silence only begged me to continue.

  "Look, I appreciate your concern but we had a deal. Train me to fight this guy like you said you would. I can do it."

  Hubert's nostrils flared as he exhaled the breath he had been holding in. "This is on you, son," he called out as I got up to leave. "If you're not smart enough to know when to back down, this is on you."

  Walking back into the gym, I realized that this was on me; I needed to push myself harder than I ever had before, work more than I ever thought possible otherwise, everyone would've been right about who they thought I was.

  *****

  ROUND THIRTEEN

  *****

  Madelyn

  It wasn't often that I'd come home from work and Rorke would be there but when he was, he absolutely demanded my attention. We had moved past the surprise bathroom encounters and instead he would just spend the time trying to get a rise out of me. Rorke would rope me in by pretending he just wanted to talk and before long, he'd be going into detail about some girl he had been with or the size of his junk. As soon as I'd react with disgust, he'd laugh with delight and I'd be able to hear his cackling even after slamming my door closed. Some days I'd fill with dread when I'd see that he was home, not always having the energy to put up with his shenanigans. Sure I knew it was stemming from a place of insecurity, his needing to brag, but I wasn't there to boost his ego.

  "So..." he started one afternoon before my foot was even through the doorway, "how was your day?" The sing-song nature by which he asked was enough to already get under my skin. He sat on a stool by the kitchen island, eating his eggs without a shirt on, a familiar sight at all hours of the day.

  "Not today, Rorke, I'm exhausted." I had figured he would keep pushing the matter as always but instead he appeared wounded, as though I had hurt his feelings. Of course it occurred to me that maybe he was lonely, as far as I knew he didn't have any real friends or anyone to talk to, but I wasn't his punching bag, not there for him to torment. I remained firm and did my best to ignore him and continue to my room.

  "Madelyn, c'mon," he begged while getting up from the stool and coming over to me, "hang out for a minute. Talk to me, tell me about your day and I'll tell you what, I'll even show what I learned today."

  My eyes rolled so hard they risked falling right out of my head. He didn't care, his own eyes resembling a puppy's, begging me to stay.

  "Let me drop this stuff in the room first," I conceded, "but I swear, if you start being gross..."

  Rorke placed his hands up, promising me that he wouldn't even dream of such. I knew I was being suckered but I did feel at least slightly bad, swayed by his apparent dire need for company at that moment. He protested slightly when I closed my door but I needed to change out of my work clothes. Off came the stuffy office attire, the rigid shirt and slightly too tight skirt. As much as I wanted to take my bra off for good and call it a day, the hornball on the other side of the door wouldn't allow for that. I found a much more comfortable bralette and after putting it on, I shimmied into my comfortable, tight black yoga pants and a simple t-shirt prepared to go see what he wanted.

  "Wow," he said as soon as I walked back out, "somehow you always manage to look great."

  As I was tying my hair back behind my head, I warned him, "Rorke, I swear I'll go right back in that room..."

  He again looked wounded that his attempt at a kind gesture was shot down. I knew he was full of shit though, I was dressed basically in pajamas and my hair was haphazardly tied behind my head. There was no way I looked anything short of a mess but it thrilled me to believe that he didn't see it that way. As unwelcome and strong as his compliments usually were, I can't lie and pretend that they didn't at least somewhat flatter me. That would have to remain my secret, he didn't need any encouragement.

  "Come over here," Rorke invited and I begrudgingly joined him in the middle of the living room. His shirtless torso wasn't by any means a new sight for me but up so close, my heart rate elevated upon seeing his tanned and toned muscles. Rorke's arms opened wide and he directed me in between them, turning me around when I was close enough. My back was to him and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as his body got even closer, pressing himself right up against the curves beneath my thin yoga pants.

  "Tell me about your day while I teach you how to throw a punch," he whispered into my ear as his body pressed even closer and his hands took control of my arms. His scent, his touch, it was all too much for me to attempt to keep myself focused, words struggling to leave my lips. Instead I stammered out an abbreviated sentence that didn't say much about my day as he moved my arms to display graceful punching and proper defense.

  There was no use trying to detail my boring day and I certainly didn't feel the need to explain the lines of communication I had recently opened up with my ex Derek. I did though need to talk about something in order to combat the incredibly wrong thoughts that were quickly filling my head. The way his body felt against mine and the way we moved together made it difficult to remember that it was my stepbrother behind me; a relative. He managed to find a way to bring me right back down to reality.

  “Just so you know...” he suddenly spoke softly into my ear, “the rule is, I'm not supposed to have any, um, intimate relations for at least a week before the fight. We still have some time...”

  My whole body stiffened, unable to comprehend why Rorke would ruin out moment. Knowing my words would never get through to him, I chose to just ignore all that he had told me about his rule.

  "Say, you know what I've always wondered?" My curiosity gave him pause and he relaxed our contact for a moment, waiting to hear what I had to ask. I doubt that he realized I was just doing my best to calm the intense tension that had built up between us. Rorke kept his hands on my wrists as he listened. "What’s up with the Irish first name? Aren’t you Italian?"

  Rorke's body pressed against mine again, clearly relieved I hadn’t asked him something he didn't want to answer. His light chuckle sent his sweet breath over the nape of my neck, goosebumps over my skin. Rorke resumed training my arms to punch as he leaned in close, talking gently into my ear.

  "My mother was a proud Irish woman, big, bright red hair. A real firecracker. And her father, my grandfather, was named Rorke. He was a boxer too."

  Rorke's body enveloped mine as he continued to direct my arms to throw skillful punches at an imaginary opponent. I relaxed and relinquished control, letting him move me like the skilled boxer I knew he was.

  "He was real old when I was a kid but he still would take the time to show me how to get into a boxer's stance. He was a champion." After saying that, Rorke used his foot to push mine further apart and then his chest guided my body to square my shoulders in that right way. I felt strong and prepared, ready to take on any and all comers. Rorke gave me that confidence.

  We continued to move as one, shadowboxing with the grace and skill of a proper fighter. I closed my eyes, relishing the moment where I felt closer to Rorke than I ever had before. An intimate connection that had been absent from my life for too long.

  "Do you miss your mom?" I asked after a period of silence, even though the answer was obvious. Rorke only offered a quiet "Yes," as our punches became more determined, his hands guiding mine out swiftly and quicker than before. He didn't ask about my dad but I felt the need to keep asking him questions, hoping he would open up some more.

  "How did she, um, pass?" I asked, unable to see his reaction behind me but I felt it. His body stiffened and grew cold, feeling less inviting than before.

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  Though in my everyday life I almost always backed away when a wall was up, here I felt close to Rorke and I was dyin
g to know the real him. I wanted him to feel safe with me, able to show his true self.

  "It's ok Rorke," I said as I wriggled free of his hold and turned to face him, "you can talk to me."

  Rorke's reaction wasn't what I had expected. He looked annoyed and he quickly put distance between the two of us. Rorke turned his back to me and started to walk towards the door.

  "Come back, I'm sorry," I called out, "I just want to get to know you better."

  He didn't react or respond, continuing on his way outside. Not wanting to push him away forever, I restrained myself from following him, silently chastising myself for ruining our moment.

  *****

  ROUND FOURTEEN

  *****

  Madelyn

  “Maddie, come help me with this zipper,” Mom called out from her position in front of the mirror. I was enjoying some sparkling cider as my mother was preparing to walk down the aisle. I had foolishly believed that since she had neglected to put me in her wedding party, I wouldn't have to do any work. That turned out to be a naive assumption; her actual wedding party was anything but helpful. While I can't say I knew she'd do it for me, she was still my mother and this was her wedding day.

  She twisted and turned to attend to other areas of her dress while I slowly worked the zipper at her side.

  “Who are you texting so much on that phone?” she asked after catching me again buried deep inside of my phone.

  “No one. I'm not texting anyone,” I lied to her before realizing I was being too defensive, it wasn't like she actually cared. “I'm sorry. I'll put the phone down and focus on you. I'm sorry.”

  “Don't lie, I saw you. Now who was it? Gossip with me.”

  Well, earlier Rorke had sent me a rather inappropriate text (him in his tight, tight boxers getting ready for the wedding) so I wouldn't be telling her about that. That left me with only one truthful option.

  “Ugh, nobody really. My ex Derek keeps sending messages.”

  All of the times in my life that I had asked my mother for advice, she reliably always failed to deliver. In this circumstance where I hadn't asked, she's more than happy to provide. Her heavily made-up face turned to mine and she gave me a knowing smirk.

  “It's ok to forgive, Maddie” she told me. “He made a mistake, it happens. And think of how many of your problems would be solved if you could just look past one simple accident that he clearly regrets.”

  “Problems?” I asked, unsure of what she was getting at.

  Mother turned to me with a more serious expression, “Maddie, you guys need to understand, Carmine's serious about the both of you leaving that carriage house at the end of the month. He sold the property and there won't be room in our new place. You need to find somewhere to live, fast. Talk to your old boyfriend, put up with him until you get back on your feet. You need to convince him to let you live with him, am I wrong that he’s your only option right now?”

  What's the proper response to that? The directness was appreciated but she punched a little too hard. I was in a daze that she properly misdiagnosed.

  “What? Are you angry with me because I didn't ask you to be in the wedding? Carmine and I agreed to keep the wedding party small and you've been so busy with college...”

  It wasn't worth pointing out to Mom that her shifting the conversation back to herself didn't solve my problem. It was a double snub, it was hard not to notice that I was doing the work while the actual, chosen wedding party was nowhere to be found. I had let myself be walked on again. Not wanting to make a scene and needing to change the subject, I just quickly assured her that it was “fine” and ruminated on her suggestion of me getting back together with Derek. I had been questioning my instincts and decision making a lot lately; maybe she was right, maybe that was what I had to do. Maybe she had actually given me useful advice for the first time ever.

  Mother simply smiled and returned to pulling up the front of her dress, the front which her boobs kept pushing down. “Speaking of which, I should probably go find my maid of honor. Knowing her, she's probably off trying to get a drink somewhere. Help me get this other zipper and then we're done.”

  Wanting to do the 'right' thing, I dutifully attended to my mother's needs. After pulling the zipper up as high as I could, Mother sent me off to go find me seat as she located her boozy bridal party.

  Not thinking too much of it, I chose a seat on the right side, amongst people I didn't know. It was impossible for me to decipher which was the bride's side and which the groom's, I didn't recognize anybody. Scanning the crowd, I finally saw a face I knew. Standing up from his seat way over on the other side, Rorke searched the seated guests frantically, looking for someone in particular. When our eyes locked, I think we both realized that we had been looking for each other. The seat next to him was open and he motioned for me to come over. In a panic, I pretended to be with the elderly couple next to me, the elderly couple who gave very confused looks when they saw me pointing to them. Rorke didn't even give me a chance to see any disappointment in his face, shrinking down dejectedly below the crowd quickly.

  The ceremony wasn't nearly as extravagant and lavish as they could afford. Outdoors was a cute choice that I had recently learned was pretty much a necessity. Since my mother had previously been party to divorce (my long lost father managed to grant her that before falling off the face of the Earth), a proper church ceremony wouldn't be allowed. There was great discussion as to whether Carmine could just help change that decision with a little financial influence but he wanted to do it right, to play by the rules as a good Catholic. Almost daily it became clear where Rorke had inherited his stubbornness from.

  Something about a wedding ceremony makes people go out of their way to be overly polite. After the ceremony had ended and it was time for the crowd to disperse, each and every person stood and insisted on allowing someone else to go before them. While the politeness was a welcome change of pace from the normal rudeness one comes to expect, it was also a little infuriating to be stuck in the row without anywhere to go. Though I easily could've squirmed and maneuvered my way around, I didn't want to be "that girl" and but my tongue as I waited. Everyone waited patiently as the elderly blocked the ends of the rows with their slow moving but I was fidgeting, not enjoying being trapped there, exposed and vulnerable to whoever wanted to my attention. It was only a matter of time before the quick moving Rorke slithered through the chairs and shuffling old timers to come bother me. He didn't see a problem with pushing your way to where you wanted to go.

  "Dry those tears sis, let's go get a drink," he said loud enough to get through to all of the hearing aids around. This boy didn't pay attention to anything.

  “How could you not know that this is a dry wedding?”

  “Even with all of your Mom's lush friends?”

  “Go make nice with them, I guarantee at least one of them has a flask somewhere hidden in their dress.”

  He visibly considered what I told him and appeared to like the idea. “Well, I'd rather go searching under your dress,” he continued with lecherous eyes. I wasn't going to take the bait.

  “Aren't you not allowed to drink? Because of your fight?”

  He bounced back real quick, “Cheat day. My father's only gonna get married one, maybe two more times, I should get to enjoy myself tonight. All restrictions are off.”

  His rationalization for breaking the rules seemed to cause us both to remember his most famous restriction, the one he's been parading around for a month.

  “All restrictions? Even the one week one?” I asked and am ashamed to admit that it came out like, super flirty.

  He picked up on that quickly, his bedroom eyes trying to hypnotize me.

  “All restrictions,” he said with a slimy grin that made me feel a whole bunch of conflicting emotions.

  When we both finally arrived at the table-tag location, the two of us searched for our names, certainly believing we'd be sitting together.

  “Ten,” he told me while peering at the o
ne in my hand. At the same time we both said what table I had been assigned to: "Two”. As we left to go find our respective tables, we soon learned that our seats were at the opposite ends of the room, separated by the expansive dance floor.

  Over at my end, I found myself joining a table of the uber-rich and famous. Couples that were far older than me and definitely more wealthy than I'd ever know. There had to be over a billion dollars spoken for at just my table alone. I'm sure they'd be proud of the five hundred dollars that I could contribute to our status.

  “Are you Carol's daughter?” I was asked several times by each of the people seated there. Once I confirmed that I was, each time that just ended the conversation with a polite nod before they'd turn away. It didn't seem as though my mother was in high regard with Carmine's associates. While I tried to maintain a conversation for the sake of keeping myself entertained, they didn't seem to want much to do with me. Their conversations continued and I was able to pick up snippets about summer homes, winter homes and what they gave my parents for a gift. All fascinating but I did wish I had someone to talk to.

  The first courses were soon dropped in front of us, at least something to occupy me for the time being. It was quite a bit of a surprise to look down and see a bowl of lentils with what I think was part of a fish head. Of course it was a mistake, looking at the rest of the table, I saw beautiful lush, green salads delivered to each person.

  “Um?!” I said loudly, not wanting to cause a scene but putting feelers out to see if anybody else had been served the same gross concoction. Each person at the table took a turn peering into my bowl and instead of showing sympathy, I was surprised when each one of them let out a laugh. Seeing that I was distressed, one of the women kindly suggested that I speak with the waitstaff. Confrontation wasn't my thing but I could feel the whole table looking at me, wanting to see what I was going to do next.