Stepbrother Thief

by Blaze, Violet

  The car ride to the restaurant is a bust, a void of sound and conversation that makes my ears ring. Talk to me, damn it, I think, wishing Gill would just bring up the subject and get it out there for us to discuss. I want to know what he's thinking, if this is all really about what I think it is. There's no way I'm bringing it up first.

  I glance over at Gilleon, at the tightness in his jaw, at his hands wrapped so firmly around the steering wheel. There's that anger again, showing in his face as it bubbles up inside of him again. It seems like the more he thinks about this, the worse he starts to feel. That's what happens when you internalize feelings like that.

  I am going to handle this situation with grace and poise. I'm calm and I'm ready for this.

  I touch the diamond pendant again.

  “That was your mom's, right?” Gill says finally, snapping the bubble of silence wide open. Sounds rush in around me—the whir of cars outside the window, the splatter of rain on the roof, the gentle buzz of the radio in the background.

  “It was,” I say, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes against Gill's scent. Even after all this time, he still smells like bergamot oil, like a really good cup of earl gray tea. Strong, masculine, but with this undertone of sweetness that makes my mouth water. Shit. “Why do you ask?”

  “I remember her wearing it is all.”

  And then he stops talking again, bringing up our past like it's nothing, and dropping it just as quick.

  It's a relief when we finally get to the restaurant, and I scramble out of the car before Gill can come over and try to open my door. He did it when we got in and it just made things that much more awkward. I don't want to see any shallow examples of chivalry from him.

  “Two please,” he tells the waitress when we step inside the café. She nods and takes us to a table in the back, right up against a bank of windows overlooking the street. Plants hang from the steel beams overhead and crowd the boxes in the corners, filling the room with a sweet, floral scent. The floors are cement, the tabletops made of reclaimed wood. Yep. We're definitely in the corner of eco-friendly and industrial chic. Welcome to Seattle.

  I order an espresso and then lean back in my chair, letting my eyes trail over the restaurant. Gill is definitely getting some looks, but so am I. I wonder if we make an interesting couple? I always thought we complemented each other well.

  “The omelets are damn good,” Gill says as he copies my pose, leaning back and acting like it's no big deal that he's got a gun tucked under his black jacket. He knows exactly how to sit so that the front of the coat gapes open, but the weapon stays invisible. He even pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, making it seem like the jacket's a fashion statement instead of a necessity.

  We stare at each other again, something we seem to be doing a lot of lately. It's hard to explain, but seeing someone you used to know so well after so long, after they've become a stranger, it's a weird feeling. I imagine it'd be easier to start a brand new relationship than repair one that's deteriorated to this level.

  “It's been good having you around,” Gill says and my lips purse. “Even if you hate me,” he adds which just irritates me. I know he's trying to make light of his first comment, but it isn't working.

  “I don't hate you, Gill. I just don't understand you, don't understand what it is that you want from me. You keep sending mixed signals. One moment, you couldn't care less, and the next, you're just staring at me.”

  “Is Solène your daughter?” he asks suddenly, and I feel lightheaded, like the restaurant is spinning in circles around me and I'm the one sitting still. Gill stares hard at me, his blue eyes open and locked onto their target. “I've been watching you with her, and I can't get past the resemblance.”

  “I …” It takes me a moment to figure out the expression on his face, understand the anger resting there, realize what his exact words were. Your daughter. He doesn't think she's his. Whether it's because of the false birthday or because he's so unwilling to face the truth of his life, I don't know.

  I feel sick.

  I stand up and the room shifts around me.

  “Please don't walk way,” Gill says just before the waitress sets my espresso and his orange juice down on the table. She gives me a look and then scurries away like she'd rather not get involved. I decide to sit down, but not because Gill asked me to, because I have nowhere else to go. I don't have a car, don't have the money he promised me yet, don't have a phone.

  “What are you asking exactly?” I ask, my voice breathy.

  “Is Solène your biological daughter?”

  “Yes.” That one single word burns across my tongue as I say it, and I find that I can't look at Gill, can only look down at the place setting in front of me, the cup and plate with the word espresso stamped all over them in cursive writing.

  When I glance up, I see Gill nodding, the muscles in his shoulders tight and stiff, his teeth clenched.

  “I thought so,” he says and my stomach drops. I pick up my coffee with shaking fingers and take a scalding sip, not caring that it sears over my tongue. “I'm sorry to call you out like that, but I'm … I'm not usually this caught off guard by things.” How's this for catching you off guard—she's your daughter, too, you asshole. “Maybe this wasn't the right way to go about it, but I needed to hear it from you.”

  “Damn straight it wasn't the right way,” I whisper fiercely, my temper flaring as I clench my own teeth and squeeze the espresso mug in my hand. “You brought me here to interrogate me about it, not to talk.”

  “I'm not interrogating you, Regi. I'm just surprised is all.”

  “Surprised?” I blurt, feeling a rush of white hot pain as I switch my gaze to his tattoos instead of his face. I can't look at him anymore without feeling sick. “How are you surprised? You've been gone for ten years, Gill. You don't know anything about me. I could have a half dozen kids for all you'd know.”

  “I …” Gill sounds like he's about to say something and then changes his mind. “I just didn't expect you to go out and meet someone three months after I left.”

  I stare at him across the table, completely aghast at his statement and his reasoning.

  Gill is mad. He's upset. He's jealous. And all because he thinks I went out and fucked some guy a few months after he abandoned me.

  “You really have changed, haven't you?” I say, standing up again. I have to fight the urge to throw my espresso in his face. But I, I am a fucking grown-up, and I will handle this like one. “The Gilleon Marchal I used to know was kind and sensitive and strong, not some stone hearted asshole who was quick to judge and even quicker to condemn.” I spread my fingers and stare at my palm for a moment before turning and walking away, right out the front doors of the restaurant and into the rain.

  Droplets splatter against my hair, against my bare arms and the exposed skin on my back, but I don't care. I step out of my heels, grab them, and start walking down the street, right through the puddles and the scattered yellow leaves.

  I know the second he starts after me, can feel his presence like a whirlwind chasing along the sidewalk.

  “Regi, wait,” he says, catching up to me and slinging his jacket over my shoulders. “Please don't walk away. I'm sorry I said that. I …” His jaw clenches again and the next words come out in a low growl. “I'm just jealous.”

  “Jealous?” I ask as I stop and turn to look at him, at the dark strands of hair plastered across his forehead from the rain. “Why would you be jealous? You left me, Gilleon. You walked away from what we had and never looked back.”

  “Oh, I looked back plenty,” he snarls, and I can't tell if it's me he's angry with—or himself. I watch as droplets of water cling to his muscles, sliding across the black and gray of his tattoos, leaving them shining and stark in the clear morning air. “I've been watching you for years, Regi.”

  “And that's not creepy at all,” I say, taking a step back and giving him a look that I hope showcases how bizarre I find that last statement. “What the
hell does that even mean?”

  “It means,” he says, taking a step towards me, water running down that perfectly straight nose of his, catching on his lips, “that no matter how far I run or how fast I go, what country I'm in, or what the job is, there's always been one constant in my life.”

  I can't look at Gill's face right now, can't take the cracks that are showing in that cold, professional facade of his. In this moment, I can hear the echo of the old Gilleon, the one I fell in love with. The sound's almost too painful for me to bear.

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask him, my voice catching. My body's painfully aware of his nearness, of the sharp contrast between the cold of the rain and the warmth of his skin. The water sticks Gill's shirt to his chest, highlighting that perfect body of his.

  “You're my constant, Regi,” he growls, clutching at the fabric over his heart. His strong fingers twist the material, turning his knuckles white, emphasizing the straight, sharp lines of his tattoos. I watch him breathing hard, drawing in rain drenched breaths, but I can't make myself take a single gulp of air. My chest is still, my heartbeat slowing. “I never forgot you for one single moment, never spent a single day without wishing I was with you, without missing you so bad it hurt.”

  Before I can even move, Gill is stepping towards me, cradling the back of my head in his strong hand, pulling my face up to his. My lashes flutter and my body betrays me as I open my mouth and feel his hot and insistent against me, his tongue sliding between my lips. Gill's other arm encircles my waist and pulls me towards him, drawing me up onto my bare toes.

  My high heels fall to the sidewalk as my fingers go slack and my mind goes blank, completely and utterly blank. I can't think beyond Gill's kiss, against the heat of his hands, or the quietly restrained strength in his arms.

  Memories reach up and grab me, sending me to a hundred other moments, a thousand other seconds, reminding me how good it feels to be with the person you love—even if they've done you wrong, even if you know it can't work out, even if you know it'll all end in heartbreak.

  Gill tastes exactly like I remember him, our bodies molding together like we were made for each other, like all the days that've passed between then and now don't mean a thing. I exist in spans and segments, pockets of time where Gilleon and I are together. The rest just seems to fade away until it doesn't matter anymore.

  Water sluices between our lips, sliding down my bare chest and underneath my jumpsuit. Each drop is intense, painfully so, dragging itself down my heated skin until I'm panting and shaking, until my knees feel weak and my fingers slide up and curl in Gill's soggy T-shirt of their own accord.

  A soft growl escapes Gill as he pulls me tighter against him, and I moan, not caring that I'm standing right there in the middle of the sidewalk, rain plastering bits of hair to my face, sticking my clothes to my body. They feel stifling, suffocating, and I can't wait to tear them off.

  Tear them off?

  A small part of me—a very small part—snaps to and sends a blurry haze of memories crashing against my psyche. Coming home and finding our apartment empty, my fingers clutching the letter so tightly it crumpled, setting up a crib in Cliff's spare bedroom, naming my baby alone and leaving her with her grandfather because I'd let myself feel weak and small.

  I don't feel weak and small anymore.

  I break the kiss and push back, almost stumbling when Gill releases his grip on me. My knees are still like jelly and my brain is only working at half capacity, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this right here, this can't happen. It won't be good for anybody, least of all me.

  “Some mistakes are too big to be erased with the shadow of a promising kiss.”

  I wipe my mouth on my arm, like that'll somehow make me forget the heat and the passion in Gill's lips, his face, the shockingly bare emotions flashing in his gaze. I look up into those eyes, like the surface of a lake on a clear day, right before the clouds roll in and ruin everything.

  I turn away.

  Besides, didn't he just accuse me of running off and having a kid with some guy right after he left? Even if I had, it would've been completely in my right, completely understandable, and absolutely none of his business.

  The worst part of it all? The fact that it is entirely and completely part of his business.

  Merde. Shit.

  “Can you take me home, please?” I ask, turning away and bending down to pick up my heels. I don't acknowledge his words—I'm jealous—or his confession—you're my constant—because I can't. I can't do this right now, can't do this ever.

  He left.

  And he didn't come back for over ten years.

  That's a long time to make someone wait.

  “I think Gill's trying to get back together with me,” I blurt as I stare across the breakfast table at Cliff. Aveline's in the dining room working furiously at her computer while Solène naps on the couch. I have no idea where Gilleon is. Since yesterday's … fiasco, I'm going to call it, I haven't seen him much except when he passes in and out of the house on business.

  Until this morning, I didn't have the courage to tell my stepfather the story. Now that I have, I can see why I waited. The look on his face is hard to interpret. I watch in tense anticipation as he rubs at the gray stubble on his chin.

  “He … he really had the nerve to take you out, ask you that, and then respond the way he did? I'm … that boy …” Cliff runs his hands down his face. His eyes, so like Gill's, tell me a thousand times over how sorry he is. But I asked a long time ago that my stepfather stop apologizing for his son. “I oughta take him over my knee and give him the belt the way I never did when he was a kid. Maybe that's what's wrong with him?”

  I laugh and cover my mouth with a hand.

  “Papa, as much as I'd love to see that, I have a feeling he could bench press both of us at the same time. Not sure you'd be able to subdue him.”

  “Ah, but you'd be surprised how a father's wrath can transform a man. Parents have been known to lift cars when their children are trapped underneath. When a child's in trouble—no matter how old they are—a dad can find the strength if he needs it to do anything for them.”

  “But Gill's not in trouble,” I say, wagging a finger at him.

  “No, but you are,” he says, reaching over the table and taking my hand. My heart warms and a smile spreads over my lips.

  “I'm not in trouble though, Papa. Really.”

  “If you kissed him back, then I'd say you are. You're not truly thinking of taking him back?”

  “No!” I say, setting my coffee down with a thump. It sloshes over the edge and onto the table, some beautiful gray and blue and green striped thing made out of reclaimed wood and polyed until it shines. “Of course not. And I mean, I'm not even sure if that's what he was really saying.”

  “It's what he was saying,” Aveline says from behind me, making me jump as she steps into the kitchen, her red hair braided down her back, looking fierce in a black tank and jeans. She reminds me of Lara Croft or something, some badass video game chick. I stare at her back as she pours coffee and then turns around to look at me. “For that emotionless robot to say anything like what you described is a miracle. I've known Gill for about, uh, I don't know, six years now, and I've never seen him act like he gives two shits about anything at all.”

  “Thanks for eavesdropping,” I say, picking up a croissant from the center of the table and biting into it. Aveline shrugs and pauses as the front door opens and the sound of Gill's footsteps move towards the kitchen.

  Even though I can't see him, I can feel him pausing in the archway behind me.

  “Good morning,” he says, his words firm but also, somehow, tentative, like he knows he's the current subject of conversation. I give Cliff a look across the table that says please don't say anything, and he nods at me, almost imperceptibly. I'm sure Gill notices though. He can pick up on stuff like that but somehow can't seem to see that the little girl with dark hair and blue eyes is his daughter. Go figure
.

  “Good morning,” Aveline says when neither Cliff nor I respond.

  “Bonjour,” Solène says, surprising me. I turn around and smile at her as she steps into the kitchen and around Gilleon, moving to the table to steal a croissant. “It's always polite to greet someone when they're making an effort,” she scolds, giving me and Cliff looks.

  “You're very right,” Cliff tells her, looking up at his son as he enters the room. “Bonjour, mon fils. Comment ça va?” Gill pauses next to the sink and stares at his dad for a long moment before flashing me a look. It only lasts a split second, but I have a feeling he knows I've confessed everything to his father. It's no secret that Cliff and I are close.

  “Fine, thanks,” he says, his voice thick with suspicion as he approaches the fridge and opens it, reaching in and grabbing some kind of smoothie drink in a bottle. “I'm still looking into the shooting on Regina, but there's something about it that doesn't make any sense. I know you're all anxious to get on with your lives,” Gill stresses the word anxious enough that I can tell he's tense, “but you'll have to bear with me a little longer.”

  “It's not a problem,” Cliff says, smiling tightly and then refocusing his attention on Solène. “You like living here, don't you?” he asks, reaching out and tugging down the black and white striped sweater dress that she's thrown on over red leggings. That girl has a fashion sense that's all her own, always one step ahead of the crowd. “You told me last night that this house has a positive vibe.”

  “She said that?” I ask, my lips quirking up in a smile.

  “Oui,” Solène says, finishing her croissant and then reaching for another. “I can feel the history here.” She pauses and cups a hand around her ear. “Listen, the walls talk. Can you hear what they're saying?”

  “Enlighten us,” I say, parking my chin on my hand and raising a brow in question.

  “Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre,” Solène responds proudly, winking and saluting us before disappearing back into the living room. Cliff and I get a chuckle out of that, and I can't seem to resist glancing over to gauge Gill's reaction. A small smile teases his lips before he turns away and opens a cabinet next to the sink, searching around inside for something.