Cabin Fever

by Rye Hart

  My father ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, shaking his head. “Since joining this family, he's been nothing but a disappointment,” he said. “You'd think he'd want me to win this election and become a Senator. If nothing else, it would surely help with his trust fund. God knows that's all he cares about.”

  I cringed at my father's harsh words for my stepbrother. Deep down though, I knew I couldn't dispute them. While yes, Carter was a problem – and truthfully, had become an even bigger one so since our two families had become one – I still hated hearing my father talk poorly of him. My dad didn't mince his words. It wasn't his most endearing trait, but one I'd grown used to over the years. But Carter struggled with it. He wasn't used to being spoken to so directly or so harshly, at times. And because of that, the two men butted heads over everything.

  “He'll probably show up drunk again. Or high,” my father said. “If he does, I swear to you, Andrea, I'm going to – ”

  I stopped him before he could finish, knowing that whatever he had to say wouldn't be pretty and would likely end up in a knock-down, drag-out fight, or with Andrea in tears. Or more likely, both.

  “I'll find him,” I said, standing up, glad to have a reason to get out of there for a moment. “I always do, don't I?”

  In many ways, I was my stepbrother's keeper. I was the one who corralled him, getting him to one event after the other, making sure he had clean clothes and sobered up before he made an ass of himself or my father. It was a role I didn't want, but had taken on to help my father's career. After all, no one wanted to see my dad's name in the headlines for Carter's unruly behavior, least of all, my father. Especially just as he's announcing his run for the Senate.

  “In ten minutes?” my dad asked, his gruff voice softening ever so slightly. “Honey, even you can't perform a miracle like that. And the last thing we need is for both of you to miss the press conference. Honestly, it's probably better if he doesn't show up anyway. I suppose – ”

  My father bit off his words, ending his sentence when we heard raucous laughter in the hallway. Lucas's voice carried into the room and the expression on my father's face darkened immediately.

  “Your family is waiting right in here,” Lucas said.

  My father and I shared a look and a nervous chill crept along my flesh, waiting for the inevitable explosion that seemed to be forthcoming. Carter was there and it was obvious from the feminine laughter in the hallway outside, that he wasn't alone. As the door to our room opened, Carter came in looking as ruggedly handsome as usual, with his shaggy brown hair and toned, surfer body. There was a buxom blonde wearing a crop top and short-shorts hanging on his arm, giggling almost uncontrollably. Both of them looked high as a kite.

  Quickly stepping into my role as the family's peacemaker, I rushed over to Carter, trying to ignore the bimbo at his side – a feat that wasn't all that easy to accomplish. I looked at him and shook my head. He was in no shape to be on the podium for my father's press conference.

  “Carter, we need to get you changed – ”

  Carter was in his usual attire – ripped jeans and a tight t-shirt that hugged his firm, fit body. The tattoos on his arms were visible, bared to the world; something my father always tried to make him hide when we were in front of the cameras. He felt that it sent the wrong message and would be abhorrent to his typical voting base. Personally, I thought he was overreacting a bit about Carter's tats and that in this day and age, most people wouldn't think twice about them.

  Nevertheless, my father insisted that Carter cover them up at public events. So, as usual, knowing that he never came prepared or took my father's campaign events seriously, I had a suit and tie ready and waiting for him. One of my tasks was to always make Carter look presentable for the cameras.

  “Leave me alone. I'm fine like I am,” Carter said, then he turned his glassy eyes toward me.

  I looked away, unable to make eye contact with him in his current condition. It killed me every time to see my gorgeous stepbrother drunk or all doped up. I hated seeing him becoming the waste that my father always accused him of being. Carter was better than that. There was more to him than the drunk playboy he was starting to be known to be. I'd seen it.

  I remembered a time when he wasn't a train wreck. When he could speak articulately, even eloquently about any number of subjects. I remember when he had a passion and zeal about him. But as I looked at him, his eyes glassy, swaying back and forth on his feet, I also saw that those days seemed long gone. Carter had started down a dark path, one I didn't know that he could come back from. A path I was beginning to doubt he even wanted to come back from.

  Carter, sensing my discomfort smirked at me, showing off the dimple in his left cheek. “You just want to see me naked, don't you, Vanessa? Admit it, you love my body.”

  “Eww, she's your sister, Carter,” the blonde on his arm said, scrunching up her nose distastefully.

  “Stepsister,” I quickly corrected her, though I didn't know why I even felt the need to address her in the first place.

  “Yeah, we weren't always related,” Carter said. “And she wasn't always so far up her father's ass either.”

  “Carter!” Andrea scolded him from where she was sitting. “Don't talk like that about your stepsister or your stepfather.”

  That's about as harsh a scolding he'd ever get from her. She typically stayed out of everything when it came to reprimanding him or doling out punishment. Andrea preferred to avoid picking sides between her husband and son, and left the actual parenting up to my dad, who, in turn, often left it up to me.

  I was Carter's stepsister and was honestly, the only person in our family that he actually respected. He'd eventually listen to me, even if he couldn't help but throw insults my way every chance he got. He felt like I'd sold out and was in danger of becoming just like my father. That was something that bothered him more deeply than he could express with words. In turn, he just acted like a spoiled teenager. My dad was huddled in a corner, talking very animatedly to Lucas, and I could tell by the rigid, angry set of my father's body, that their conversation wasn't going well. We were supposed to be out there in front of the press in minutes and Carter was obviously not in the right frame of mind to be front and center for the world to see.

  No matter what outfit I forced him into, or how presentable I tried to make him, he was still wasted and would probably say or do something awful. The result would be bad for my dad's Senate bid. “Well, Carter, why don't you just relax and hang out here while we talk to the press,” I said.

  “Why? You ashamed of me now too?”

  His gray eyes bore into me as if he could see right through me, and it sent and unpleasant shudder through my body. I remembered a time not too far back when those gray eyes of his had the opposite effect on me, and I felt a pang of sadness.

  “No, of course not,” I said. “But you're drunk and this is a really important day for my dad. And besides, we were supposed to wear business attire for this press – ”

  “I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not for the sake of his career,” Carter said, speaking loudly so my father could hear him. “It's not like he's done anything for me lately.”

  My father stopped talking to Lucas and turned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Carter. The set of my father's jaw and the dark look in his eyes told me that things were about to get ugly. My dad had a temper on him, and Carter always knew how to push the wrong buttons, and seemed to revel in doing just that. Trying to mitigate the situation, I grabbed Carter's arm again, but the blonde slapped it away.

  “Sorry honey, he's mine,” she said.

  The blood in my veins was boiling and the stress of the entire episode was really getting to me. I could usually maintain my composure, unlike my father, but I still had his rage inside of me. And this whore had just slapped me.

  “For tonight,” I leaned close and whispered only so she could hear me. “Tomorrow night it'll be another trashy blonde and you'll be history. I've seen it mo
re times than you can even count. But I'm not going anywhere, bitch.”

  “Ladies, ladies, no need to fight over me,” Carter said, smiling wide and putting an arm around both of us.

  “Carter, we need to talk. Alone,” I said, my eyes narrowed and angry as I stared at his latest conquest. “And she needs to go. Now.”

  “Brittany isn't going anywhere, except back to my place to fuck,” he said. “Care to join us, Vanessa?”

  “I'll pass,” I muttered, pulling him and his bimbo out of the room and shutting the door behind us.

  The last thing my dad needed in that moment was to deal with Carter. And I knew that the longer we stayed in there with him, the larger the risk of my dad blowing a gasket grew. When it came to those two clashing, it was always a matter of when, not if. And it didn't help matters any that I knew Carter was only acting that way to get a rise out of my dad. He was trying to push him over the edge and embarrass him. That's just what he did.

  If I could get him away from my dad, lower the level of tension – not to mention testosterone – he might listen to me. Maybe. There were no guarantees when it came to Carter and his pithy attitude.

  “Seriously, can I talk to my stepbrother, alone?” I asked, glaring at Brittany.

  She started to protest, but this time, Carter cut her off. “It's fine, Britt,” he said, “Just go wait by my car or something. I'll catch up with you.”

  “But – ”

  She started to argue, but Carter turned to her suddenly dark and serious, forcing the blonde to shut her mouth. She pouted, but she also obeyed Carter, slinking off down the hall without another word, slipping out the hall's front doors.

  “You sure know how to pick the winners,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Is she even eighteen, Carter?”

  “I dunno,” he asked, turning that dark look toward me, the sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “What's it to you, anyway?”

  “Well, for one thing, I'd rather you weren’t rotting in prison for statutory rape.”

  “She's twenty-one,” he said. “She's in college.”

  “Oh, is she now?” I asked, matching his level of sarcasm in my voice. “And which one of our fine community colleges does she attend? Because she sure as hell doesn't look like Stanford material to me. No offense.”

  Carter laughed, but then stopped short, returning back to his petulant state of being. He glowered at me, not saying much for a moment before he finally shrugged.

  “Hell if I know where she goes,” he said. “It's not like we've done much talking.”

  “Figured as much,” I muttered. “But really, what in the hell were you thinking, Carter? What ever made you think it was anything resembling a good idea to bring her here? You show up drunk, stoned, and with some blonde slut on your arm on the day of my dad's press conference to announce his senate run? That's really low, even for you.”

  “What's it matter? He doesn't really want me up there anyway,” Carter said. “I am, after all, the black sheep of the family. A disappointment and disgrace to your great father.”

  “You don't have to be,” I said. Carter scoffed, refusing to meet my gaze. “Nah, Vanessa, that ship sailed a long time ago,” he said. “Haven't you learned by now that I'm really not cut out for your kind of life? Nor do I really want it?”

  “My kind of life?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of me, a spike of anger flaring within me. “And what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Kissing ass, sucking up to every Tom, Dick, and Harry just to get ahead?” he said, smirking at me. “Being so conscious of your appearance that you're dressing like an old maid from 1950.”

  “What's wrong with my dress?” I asked, looking down at my attire.

  My modest dress did hide most of my body – sleeves to my elbows, a high neckline, and a hemline falling well past my knees – but I was going to be on television, supporting my father's political ambitions. It was not the place to wear my normal clothing.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “Listen, I'll just stay away from now on. It'll be better for everyone if I do that and leave you and your dear ol' dad to the empire you're building.”

  Carter started to walk away, and though part of me wanted him to go, I couldn't help but reach out and grab his arm. He looked at me, and for the moment, there was the old Carter looking back at me. The one I'd fallen in love with a long time ago. His eyes were soft and sincere, and there was a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “You know,” he said softly, “you could always ditch this place and we could hang out – like old times.”

  He ran a hand through his shoulder length hair and smiled at me. The breath caught in my throat and my knees grew weak as I stared into his gray eyes, admiring those luscious lips of his – soft lips that used to kiss me all over. He was built like a Greek God and he knew it. He knew damn well he could have any woman on the planet he wanted. And yet, he settled for uneducated, ignorant tramps like Brittany. It was something that never failed to surprise and sadden me.

  As I stood there looking at him, the doors behind me opened up as my father and stepmother walked out.

  “You coming, Vanessa?” my dad asked, his face stern and rigid as he pointedly ignored Carter completely.

  I still had hold of Carter's arm and his offer to me was still out there, hanging in the air between us. I could ditch this place and we could hang out, just like we used to. It was appealing; tempting. There was some small part of me that wanted to take him up on the offer; to go back in time and relive those days again. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered the time we spent together. I remembered all of the long, deep talks, all the times we'd made love, all the time we'd spent just enjoying each other.

  Except, those times were long gone. Things had changed. I had changed. And I simply wasn't the girl I used to be – the girl Carter wanted me to still be. He was stuck living that adolescent lifestyle and somewhere along the line, I'd grown up.

  “I'm sorry, Carter,” I said, letting go of his arm. “Next time, please let us know in advance if you don't plan on making these events.”

  “I have a better idea,” he said, “From this point on, just count me out of these little family gatherings altogether.”

  He turned and walked out of the building, and I watched him go, a wave of sadness and regret rippling through me, until he was gone.

  “Some people don't want to be saved,” my father, standing by my side, said gently. “And some people aren't worth saving.”

  His words hit me hard, right in the gut, but maybe he was right. Perhaps Carter was long gone. Maybe he was beyond my help – not that he seemed like he wanted my help anyway. I hated to admit it to myself, but maybe it was time I realized I could no longer be my stepbrother's keeper

  ooo000ooo

  “He didn't! He really bought some blonde bimbo with him?”

  My best friend, Amy, was cackling and clapping her hands as I recounted everything that had happened with Carter earlier in the day. She knew I'd need to wind down and vent after the press conference, so we had a standing wine date – just the two of us at a wine cafe in downtown San Jose.

  “I love your stepbrother. I mean, I hate him – but I can't help but love him too,” she said. “He's such an ass, but he never ceases to amuse me, either.”

  “I'm glad someone can find all of this funny,” I muttered, staring down at my glass of Merlot.

  I'd barely taken a sip from it, even though it was my favorite. Amy was already on her second or third glass and she seemed to be having a good time at my expense. But that was one of the many reasons why I loved Amy, she brought me back to reality and kept my feet firmly on the ground. She saw the humor in everything and always forced me to lighten up.

  “You know he only brought her to annoy you, right?” she asked.

  “More like to annoy my dad,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He couldn't care less about me. Hasn't in a long time.”

  “That's bullshit and you know it,
Vanessa,” Amy said. “Carter is still madly, deeply, passionately in love with you. And I think deep down somewhere in that cold, calculating, political heart of yours, you know that.”

  “I think we need to cut you off, Amy. You're obviously wasted if you believe Carter could possibly love anyone besides himself,” I said, pretending to take her glass of wine away.

  She snatched it back, holding it close and jokingly called it “my precious.”

  “Seriously though, I'm so tired of taking care of him,” I said, feeling a physical exhaustion sweeping through me. “If it wasn't for my father's career, I'd totally let him fall flat on his ass. Let the tabloids take photos of him and ruin his reputation, I don't care. But if that happens, I know that my dad's platform of being a solid family man goes straight down the drain. Which means, I have no choice but to keep playing his damn keeper.”

  “Let's face it, you could never let him fall on his ass,” Amy said, drinking the last of her wine and looking at her empty glass longingly. “Because there's some piece of you that still hopes he'll clean up his act and come running back to you. And don't you dare deny it.”

  “I do not,” I said, sitting up stiffly. “I'm done with Carter. We're family now, and that would just be weird. Gross.”

  “You're not related by blood, Vanessa. And besides, your dad and Andrea won't be married forever. It's not like they're actually in love with each other – oops, did I say that out loud?”

  Amy liked to tease me about how the relationship between my stepmom and dad was really just a marriage of convenience; a business arrangement of sorts. My dad had the money, Andrea had the political ties thanks to her own father's long-running political career. It was a marriage that made sense on paper, and benefited the both of them.

  I always denied Amy's assertion, but deep down I knew it was truth. There were times when I saw them together in person that I could feel the chill in the air between them. I always told myself that they just weren't the lovey-dovey type. They weren't the type who engaged in a lot of PDA. I still had hope that there was love between them – even if they didn't choose to show it in public very often.