Stepbrother Obsessed

by Devon Hartford

  Dad hisses, “Why did you let this Brittany girl take that photo, Skye?” He’s almost pleading.

  “I didn’t, Dad.” I’m raising my voice now. “We tried to stop her. It’s not like I could just steal her phone and smash it to pieces.”

  Dad nods forcefully, then turns on Dante, “Where were you when all this was happening? Huh? Why didn’t you put a stop to it? You’re the adult.”

  “What did you want me to do?” Dante protests. “Mug a 17 year old high school girl and take her phone?”

  Dad’s face flickers. “A better question is what were you doing with my daughter in a compromising situation like that? And where the hell were you two, anyway?”

  Neither Dante nor I answer.

  “Well?” Dad prods.

  “At the library,” I sigh, slumping over, elbows between my knees.

  “The library?” Dad chortles. “Why did you have to pick the library?

  I snip sarcastically, “Because I’m pretty sure the living room wouldn’t have worked for you.”

  Dad leans over at me and goggles, “You’re right. It wouldn’t. Nowhere in this house would’ve worked. Because you shouldn’t be fooling around with your own stepbrother.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Catarina asks warily.

  Dad shoots her a look. Dad opens his mouth to speak, then stops himself. He starts again, then stops. He runs his hand through his hair and swivels his head in frustration. “Yes, Catarina. Yes it is. My daughter is sleeping with your son. We’re married. Do I need to go on?”

  Catarina shakes her head, “I don’t understand what the problem is, Gordon.”

  Dad laughs, “You don’t understand what the problem is? Do I need to spell it out?”

  “Yes, I believe you do.”

  Dad closes his eyes dramatically. When they open, he gestures at Catarina with both hands, “Your son…” he swivels toward me, “my daughter. Get the picture?” Dad is usually more articulate than this.

  Catarina nods, “I understand how strange this is, Gordon. But the kids aren’t related by blood. Maybe we should hear them out.”

  “Maybe we should move to Utah,” Dad chuckles.

  “That’s polygamy, Dad,” I offer.

  “What?” he gawks.

  “In Utah, men have multiple wives. It has nothing to do with stepbrothers and stepsisters.”

  Dad blurts, “Does it fucking matter? It’s wrong all the way around. I won’t have you sleeping with Dante under my roof,” Dad says, “no matter what state we live in.”

  I scoff and roll my eyes.

  Dante says, “With all due respect, Gordon, I mean, Mr. Albright, that’s not your decision to make. It’s Skye’s.”

  “If she’s living in my house, it sure as hell is my decision to make,” Dad warns, folding his arms across his chest. “Remember, Dante,” Dad says acidly, “this is my house. If I want you gone, out you go,” he grins with full on crazy eyes.

  “Gordon!” Catarina barks. “This is not what we discussed!”

  “I don’t care what we discussed, Catarina! We’ve had nothing but problems since Dante arrived.” Dad spins on me. “How did your SAT test go, Skye? Did you do well? Were you well rested going in? How do you think you scored? 2,000 combined? I hope?”

  “I don’t know,” I whine. I do know, but I’m not about to tell him that I think I did worse than the first time I took the SAT last year, which means I scored waaaay below a 2,000.

  “Well, we’ll find out when you get the results in a few weeks. We can evaluate this situation then.”

  “Evaluate?” Catarina asks.

  Dad narrows his eyes and an evil smile spreads across his face, “If it turns out that Skye did poorly on the SAT she took today, then we’re going to have to reconsider whether or not Dante will be staying here any longer.”

  “We will not,” Catarina gasps.

  “We will too, Catarina. I will not have your son ruining my daughter’s future. And if that means Dante goes, then so be it.”

  “If Dante goes, then I go!” I shout.

  “You’d throw away your future for him?” Dad seethes.

  “Yes!” I jump off the couch and get in his face. “I’m 18, Dad! I don’t need to go to college! I don’t need the stupid SATs! I can live fine without them!”

  Dad glares at Dante, “Did you put this idea in her head?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “So what?” Dad takes a step toward Dante, who still sits calmly on the couch. “So what? She’s my daughter, you imbecile! Her future is of the utmost importance to me! Don’t you get it?” Dad shakes clawed hands in Dante’s face.

  “Easy, Gordon,” Dante warns in his low baritone.

  “What, are you going to punch me?”

  “I will if you don’t back the fuck up.”

  I try not to laugh at Dad because that is probably the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I also resist the urge to cheer, “Go, Dante!”

  “Get out of here!” Dad growls, grabbing the shoulder of Dante’s T-shirt.

  “Let go of my shirt. Gordon,” he warns.

  “Then get the hell out of here!”

  “Stop it, you two!” Catarina shrieks, shooting to her feet.

  What happens next is a tragic accident of epic proportions.

  Dad spins in reaction to Catarina’s sudden movement, but his foot catches on Dante’s big boot, causing Dad to trip. Trying to regain his balance, Dad releases Dante’s shirt while reaching out to stop his fall with his free arm, which lands hard on Dante’s knee. This agitates Dante, who hops up a mere two inches. Unfortunately, Dante’s sudden movement is enough to cause Dad’s other arm to arc wildly toward Catarina. The edge of Dad’s hand catches her cheek in a feeble slap.

  Catarina stumbles back a step, holding her hand to the side of her face. Her eyes are wide with shock. Not from the pain, because she wasn’t hit very hard, but because the moment is charged and everyone is at DefCon 1.

  “You hit my mom!” Dante hisses and thrusts all the way to his feet instantly.

  “I didn’t—” Dad starts, but doesn’t finish.

  Dante slams Dad in the chest with both palms, knocking him backward.

  “Dante!” Catarina shouts.

  Dad’s feet juggle beneath him and he trips over the coffee table.

  “Dad!” I shout as he flails his arms, trying to keep his balance while spilling backward.

  CRACK!

  He hits the back of his head on the corner of the big ceramic vase against the wall. The dried branches poking out the top shudder and buzz when the vase thumps the wall.

  “Dad!” I scream, running over and falling to the floor beside him.

  He’s unconscious.

  “Call 911!” I cry.

  “Oh my god!” Catarina gasps, kneeling beside Dad and placing a hand on his forehead.

  I twist and glare at Dante, “Why did you do that?!” I shout.

  His face is ashen, his expression shocked. Dante says nothing, but his eyes dance around crazily. His fingers quiver at his sides.

  I look back at Dad.

  His face is slack.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Don’t “they”, whoever “they” are, say that some of the most deadly accidents often happen in the safety of our own homes?

  Chapter 17

  “Where am I”? Dad mutters from the hospital bed.

  Catarina stands from the hospital chair she has pushed up next to bed. She leans over him. “Gordon!” she whispers with relief, cupping his cheek. “You’re in the Emergency Room.”

  I push up out of my chair, which is next to hers and smile at Dad.

  He doesn’t have a bandage around his head or anything, but he is wearing a hospital gown and has an IV tube going into his wrist and the heart rate monitor pincher on his finger. “Dad,” I sputter, my eyes hot.

  Dante is standing in the corner, removed from the rest of us, but he steps toward the foot of the bed and rests
his hands on the footboard.

  “How’d I get here?” Dad asks in a meek whisper.

  “You hit your head on the vase,” Catarina says.

  “I did?” he asks. “Which vase?”

  “The one by the TV.”

  Dad’s face squeezes as he tries to sit up in the bed.

  “Don’t,” Catarina cautions softly, “try to relax.”

  Dad complies and looks at me, “How did I hit the vase?”

  Do I tell him? I really don’t want to tell him. “You fell,” I half-lie.

  Finally, Dad sees Dante.

  Catarina and I suggested that Dante wait outside until after Dad came around, but he insisted. He felt terrible about what happened.

  Dad narrows his eyes, “I remember we were having a family meeting. About the photo.” Dad’s tone changes from wispy and uncertain to clarity. Here it comes. “I was angry. We were arguing about Skye’s future. I was standing over… you,” Dad glares at Dante. “You pushed me.” Dad’s face starts to boil. “You pushed me into that vase, didn’t you? You pushed me.” His anger rises. “God damn it, get him out of here,” Dad grunts, trying to push himself up on his elbow, but lacking the strength. He sags back against the mattress.

  Dante’s face flickers between confrontational and defeated. He backs up a step.

  “Get out!” Dad hollers, although not in his loudest voice. He’s not back to full strength. “Leave!”

  Something starts beeping on the vitals monitoring screen beside the bed.

  A nurse walks in a minute later. Her scrub top is black with a rainbow of hundreds of party balloons. She trots over to the bed, “His blood pressure is up,” she says with minimal concern. “Nothing to worry about. What just happened?” She glances at me and Catarina.

  “I just happened,” Dante mumbles before spinning on his heel and walking out of the room.

  It only takes a moment for the beeping on the box to slow.

  “What happened to my head?” Dad asks the nurse.

  “You had a concussion. But your CT scans and X-rays were normal. You’re going to be fine,” she smiles.

  Dad nods sourly. “Good.”

  I head toward the door, intent on finding Dante.

  “Skye!” Dad barks.

  I halt and spin around, “What?” My irritation is bright and sharp.

  Dad closes his eyes, “We’ll talk about this later.”

  We all know what “this” is.

  Dante.

  “Relax, Gordon,” Catarina soothes.

  My sentiments exactly.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “Wait up,” I call down the long hospital hallway.

  Dante is at the far end, like three blocks away. He turns the corner.

  I guess he didn’t hear me. I jog to catch up, hoping I’m not disturbing the other patients. I nearly run into a nurse walking around a corner. “Sorry.”

  “Please walk, miss,” she says curtly.

  I power walk down the corridor and turn at the end and go out the double doors that lead to the Emergency Room’s waiting area.

  Dante is already heading toward the automatic front doors that lead outside.

  I resume jogging and catch up with him in the circular driveway in front of the building.

  Some woman with lustrous black hair is helping an old man climb out of a PT Cruiser and into a wheelchair. The old man is too big for the little woman to move. She’s trying hard to lift him, but she’s not strong enough.

  Dante immediately stops to help. He hooks an arm under the old man’s shoulder.

  “Come on, Dad,” the woman says. “Let’s stand up.”

  I can’t help but wonder if I’d be helping my dad like this woman is when I’m her age. Right now, the answer would probably be no.

  “We’ll lift him together,” Dante says to her. “On three.”

  The woman nods, “Okay.”

  “One, two, three! Lift!”

  With Dante’s help they stand the old man easily and lower him into the hospital wheelchair.

  “Thank you so much,” the woman says. “I can handle it from here.”

  “You sure?” Dante grins.

  She smiles at him, her eyes twinkling. She’s not thinking about her father any more. She’s drooling over Dante. “Thank you for the help. Really.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Dante says to her, “Any time.”

  The woman is still mesmerized. “We should probably get inside.” She doesn’t sound like she’s in a hurry to go anywhere.

  Jealousy starts to flare up inside me. Why is Dante still talking to her? She’s not that beautiful. Well, maybe she is. But she’s way too old for him. She’s at least 30 or 40.

  I fold my arms across my chest. I consider turning and going back inside. But something tells me that if I go, Dante will be gone.

  “You should probably get inside,” Dante says to her. “There’s a long wait.”

  “Oh, right,” the woman smiles. “Thank you again, so much,” she gushes.

  Okay, enough! I almost shout it, but don’t.

  Finally the woman pushes the old man through the automatic doors.

  Dante is looking at me. He says nothing.

  “Hey,” I sigh. “Where are you going?”

  “Away.”

  “Where away?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “Here as in the hospital? Or…”

  He shrugs.

  I’m afraid to ask. “Dad’s just mad. He’ll get over it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  I’m not either, but I won’t admit defeat yet. “Stay, Dante.”

  “I’d like to, Cielo.”

  Hearing him use my nickname gives me hope. But we’re not out of the woods yet. “Buuuuut…” I offer.

  “But your Dad doesn’t want me around. We’ve both known that since the beginning. Me being at the house is making things worse.”

  “Not for everybody,” I frown-smile. “You made things a whole lot better for me.”

  “Did I?”

  “Of course you did!”

  “How did you do on that SAT yesterday?”

  “I won’t find out for a few weeks.”

  “Yeah, but how do you think you did?”

  I sag. “Not very well.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So?”

  “So? Don’t you want to go to college? I thought you wanted to go to SDU since you were a kid.”

  “I thought I did. Now I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to go to college.”

  “Did you feel that way before we met?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “My point exactly.”

  I frown, “But isn’t that what relationships do to people? I was never into DJ music before I met Luke. He turned me on to all kinds of music I never listened to before.”

  Dante smirks, “Musical tastes are one thing. Doing a one-eighty with your life is a bit more drastic.”

  We’re standing five feet apart and it feels like a million miles. I close the gap and throw my arms around his waist, staring up into his shining green eyes. “Don’t go, Dante. We’ll figure this out.”

  He smoothes the back of my head and kisses the top of it.

  My heart melts and the rest of my body follows as I sink into his skin. Relief.

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll stay.”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “He’s not staying,” Dad grumbles as Catarina and I help him into the house that evening.

  Dante is in the garage parking the Lexus.

  “Gordon,” Catarina sighs. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “We can talk about it in five minutes or five hours or five weeks. My response will be the same. Dante cannot stay here. Period. Am I making myself clear?”

  Catarina purses her lips, her eyes wet. “We’ll talk about this later,” she mutters.

  “No, we won’t. He leaves now.”

  “Dad!” I protest.
r />   “Zip it, Skye. Dante is going. Tonight.”

  “Fine!” I shout. “You can walk yourself upstairs!” I march toward the kitchen.

  “Skye!” Dad hollers.

  I ignore him and turn into the laundry room and open the door to the garage.

  Dante is already on the step, reaching for the doorknob. “Oh, hey.”

  “You don’t want to go in there,” I warn.

  “Why?”

  I press the garage door button and the door starts to open. I grab Dante’s wrist and lead him out to the driveway, where we stop. “We’re going.”

  “What?” he says, confused.

  “You, me. We’re going. Now.”

  “Cielo, what’s going on?”

  “Dad doesn’t want you in the house. He just said it when we were inside. Let’s go. I don’t care where. Let’s just go. I’m serious this time. No wimping out like Friday. I’m done. I mean it.”

  Dante’s emerald eyes search mine for a long, long time. Then he blinks and his face suddenly goes dead.

  What is he thinking? Now I’m worried.

  Then he starts to smirk.

  Better.

  Then he grins full on, flashing his even teeth.

  Good.

  Then his eyes twinkle and he starts chuckling.

  Even better.

  Now he’s full on laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, half-giggling myself.

  “This is insane.”

  “I know, right? Dad has lost his marbles. I think he knocked them all out when his head hit that—”

  “No,” Dante laughs. “This!”

  “What?” I’m confused.

  He motions between me and him. “This. Us,” he snorts.

  I’m not liking where this is going.

  “Did you really think I’d be into a high school kid like you, Skye?”

  Wait a second…

  “I mean, it was fun for a while, but did you really think we would run away together?” He’s grinning from ear to ear like we’re at a comedy show.

  But nothing about this is funny. “What about Friday?” I press. “What about Santa Barbara?”

  “Fuck Santa Barbara. I do shit like that all the time.”