by Sara Cate
Her eyebrow shoots up. “Okay, so you’re an asshole as Isaiah pointed out. Just let the movers know where your shit is going. At least your sister was a little more approachable.”
Real estate Barbie has a bite on her, which makes me both a little turned on and amused I’ve already gotten under her skin.
“And what’s my sister doing?” Shit, grief has hit me, calling Kenzie sister.
She laughs at me, legit laughs, and although she’s hot, I hate the bitch.
“Your sister Kenzie realizes she has no choice, told the movers to deliver her shit, as it’s been called, to Mr. Woods’ mansion. He has a wing just for you two.”
I place my AirPods back in my ears, attempting to drown her out. She’s about to leave, but I’d assumed my aloofness ticked her off. She smiles at me, extending her index finger silently, telling me she’ll be back. I let out a slight chuckle. I can’t hear her, after all, with 24kGoldn and iann dior’s “Mood” playing and I have the shit as loud as I can get.
Realtor Barbie returns with a notepad and a large Sharpie. She writes something, but I look away. I think she’s left because it’s a while before I see her again. She breaks the distance to my bed and places the fucker in my face.
I’ve dealt with little shits like you. I can work around you while the packers handle your shit. Hell, I’ll have them pack your ass up. Make a decision. You have an hour.
There’s a fucking smiley face after her entire message. What a bitch. I pick up my phone, sending Kenzie a quick text. Hell, she may even be in the house. Fuck if I know. I find her contact information, typing in Nerd, and our text conversations pop up.
Me: Are you fucking for real? Moving in with that creep? What the fuck? I thought we’d stand together.
I hadn’t realized I was so upset—not until I started this conversation with my stepsister. The dots appear immediately.
Nerd: Are you kidding me, Riv? We never talk, and you know Isaiah. He won’t give us enough to live on. It’s for six months. I’ll be on my way to Los Angeles, and you’ll be in San Francisco. Suck it up. Deal with his shit, and we’ll be done. You’ll never have to see him, never have to see each other.
Wow, sis has a bite, too, after all. She’s always been so subservient, agreeable, and a pushover. Why the hell does this cause my cock to strain against my pants? I've never found her to cause or stir me in this way. Sure, I knew the lady with the painted face was hot, but Realtor Barbie was hot and didn’t do a thing for me under the belt.
I don’t respond to my stepsister/adoptive sister or whatever the hell I should call her. In the next hour, she’ll deflate my hard-on by something stupid that comes from her mouth, or a text she’ll send me with a long scientific rambling about why alcohol is better for those with fully mature bodies or how an eighteen-year-old’s body is still growing. Oh, wait a second, she’s already done that. In my memory, though, it does nothing for my raging boner. I push to my feet, throwing shit I’ll need for the next couple of days in my duffel.
Passing Realtor Barbie, I place a note of my own I wrote before leaving my room for the last time.
Send my stuff to that fucker’s house. And while you’re at it, go get fucked.
I even took five minutes drawing the middle finger to perfection. If I have to live with the devil himself, I’ll have some fucking fun while doing it.
The butler is at the door, holding it open. More and more of Christmas has exploded around the house. Fuck, this year will be so different from those of the past. Mom was obsessed with decorating. She’d wake up the morning of Thanksgiving super early or probably never went to sleep. We’d wake to the smell of turkey wafting from the stove and half of the house decorated. She’d wait until after Thanksgiving supper, and the four of us decorated the tree together.
As was the norm, I had one part of the tree, and Kenz had the other part. Our decorations never touched, and we never talked. Mom and Dad tried everything to get us on speaking terms. I never had time for her, and I guess she just learned to live with it.
“This way, Mr. Hanson. I’ll show you to your room. It’s in a different part of the house from Mr. Woods. You and Miss Hanson will have your own space.”
The whole Mr. Hanson shit is getting old with every second. “Hell, call me River. I’m not a mister. Do I look like a fucking mister to you? Man, what’s your name?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply at first. I know it’s because of my language, but I’m not finished.
“I’m Charles, sir.” He’s English, and it just adds to the cliché of a butler.
I had to have heard him wrong. “Charles? No shit? Well, Chuck, it’s nice to meet you.” I think of the silly eighties show Kenzie loved to watch, Charles in Charge, and I begin to chuckle.
“Charles will suffice, sir.” He’s undoubtedly a cantankerous son of a bitch, with his English accent, but I plan to have fun with him, too.
“Lead the way, Chuck. After all, you are in charge.”
He lets out a billowy flat laugh. The man understands sarcasm, after all. “Good one,” and he’s not joking. “I’ve never heard that one before, sir.”
I’ll change Chuck’s stuffy exterior if it’s the last thing I do. And after all, it should bug the shit out of Isaiah.
I follow him up the main steps, only to encounter more stairs at the top. “This set of steps leads to Mr. Woods’ part of the house. There is no need to be in his space. If you need anything, you ring me or Mrs.—”
“Mrs. Potts.” I stop him right there. “Please tell me there is a Mrs. Potts that works here.”
“Her name is Mrs. Phillips, and I’d be careful with your sass, Mr. Hanson.”
“Ah, Chuck, the name is River, don’t forget it, man.”
He turns to the other side of the steps. We climb the short stairwell, and I continue to follow the stuffy butler. “Here is your room, Mr. Hanson. Miss Hanson is across the hall.” He points to the closed door behind me.
I faintly hear classical music playing in her room. Yep, it’s Kenzie, for sure.
“I’ll have your stuff moved into your room, and I’ll unpack your boxes as per Mr. Woods.”
Of course, Isaiah is controlling enough. He’s most likely already told Chuck to catalog all my shit and dispose of any contraband. Fuck him. I’ll be sure to keep my marijuana hidden.
“Yeah, Chuck. Don’t touch my shit. I’ll unpack.” I make sure to stare at the butler in his eyes. I’m not playing, not this time.
“Very well, as you like, Mr. Hanson.”
Very well, my ass!
“Anyway, let me show you more of your part of the house.”
I follow him down the long hallway, opening another door.
“This is your personal space; use it as you will if you want a game room, a study room, art room. Whatever hobby or activity. I’ll order what you need to make it yours.”
“Does that come out of my allowance?”
He stops, turning around, an almost warning in the stern glance he shares with me. “Mr. Woods is a very generous man; the best one I’ve ever worked for. You’ll be sure to remember you could have it a lot worse. And no, this is part of making sure you and Miss Hanson are comfortable here. Miss Hanson has a similar room across the way and has already picked her items and what she’ll use it for.”
No doubt something nerdy.
“Okay, follow me; we’re not done.” The next door he opens has two desks, two laptops, a printer, and bookshelves. “This is where you can study. You’ll have to share with your sister, but let me know if you need anything else. I’ll make sure you have it.” He opens the door across the way. “This is the laundry room. Mr. Woods feels you and your sister can do your own laundry. He also expects your rooms to stay tidy.”
Of course, Mr. Woods expects this.
“One last area, Mr. Hanson.” We walk ahead to an open room, no door. There has to be an eighty-inch television mounted to the wall, a large sectional, a couple of arcade games in the corner, and a large pool
table in the back part of the room. “This is your common space. You can use any part of the house, but Mr. Woods is very particular; we thought you deserved a space to entertain friends. Now, Mr. Woods would like your presence at dinner tonight to go over other rules and such.” He hands me what looks like an old-school beeper. “If you need me, page me with this, for now. Mrs. Phillips has some snacks made for you downstairs in case you’re hungry.”
He doesn’t say anything else, turning on his heels like he’s been taught this move in the military or maybe butler school. He leaves, nothing for me to say to him. Fuck, this is fancy. Did Isaiah go out of his way for us, or is this a very seasoned butler, understanding what to do with two lost kids? Fuck if I know, but for now, it’ll be fun, fucking with the bastard.
The classical shit is still playing behind Kenzie’s door. I give it a slight knock, and when I don’t hear her acknowledge me, I push the door a little to get her attention. “Kenzie, can I come in?” I call, searching the room. I haven’t even stepped foot into my own space but realized while Chuck had it opened, it was painted my favorite color of orange, a mere coincidence.
The first thing greeting me behind Kenzie’s door is a lavender color on all her walls. Her quilt on the bed is a calming olive green, and a large crystal chandelier sits over it all. The art on the walls is a canvas picture of white orchids, her first mom’s favorite flowers, along with a white desk in the corner. It’s as though I’m walking into Kenz’s room at our old house. This was Kenzie’s room at our home—the one we shared with Mom and Dad.
I cross the hall, leaving Kenzie’s door cracked, and enter my own. It hits me. The room is orange; my favorite color was what Mom and I painted just last year together.
The bed isn’t my bed but is a similar wooden frame to one I had at home. It’s in the corner, as it had been, with a navy-blue pinstripe comforter. Instead of a coat rack, which Mom insisted I needed, I’d picked out what looked like an old locker. In this space is a similar locker I can hide my shit in. Fuck, I hate Isaiah Woods. Why did he have to go all out and be nice?
I cross back to Kenzie’s room, opening the cracked door without a word. “Kenz, you won’t…” I stop mid-stride, three steps in when I notice her. How could I not see her, every part of her, standing in front of me, water dripping down her naked and fucking perky breasts and her round nipples? She’s stunning. Her rounded hips, her slim waist, her ivory skin. I stand, tongue-tied, unable to talk. Her eyes search mine, and I form some sort of connection with this girl in a split second. Unable to formulate what it is, if anything.
“River, fucking, Hanson. Get out of my room.”
Shit, if my dick isn’t excited enough, her swearing at me makes it a steel rod.
I turn to give her privacy, attempting to stutter a reply. “Shit, Kenzie, I’m so sorry. I was just…” I stand opposite her; my head turned the other way. “Did you see what that fucker did? Our rooms?”
“Are you not leaving?” Her question carries a weakness in her tone. I can’t figure it out.
“I’m unable to see you. Just get dressed. We need to talk.”
Her drawers open and slam shut. Fuck, I wish there were some sort of fucking mirror in front of me that I could use to burn her to memory. Man, I’d use it for my spank bank tonight if there were.
“Now you want to talk, Riv? For what? Twelve years we lived together, sharing the same set of parents, and you couldn’t be bothered with me? Made fun of me behind my back? Bullied me to my face? Yeah, well, go get fucked, asshole.” She uses my own catchphrase on me.
More drawers slam, and I’m doing everything in my power to control my dick with a mind of his own.
“Yeah, I’m an asshole, that will never change, but now, we sort of need each other, don’t you think?”
Did I utter these words to her? After all this time.
“Can I turn around, Kenz?” Something about seeing her naked, just for me, has changed my mind about her. Well, and knowing she has a backbone now. Man, I love a feisty woman.
“Nah, you can go jump off a bridge, you motherfucker. And to answer your question, yeah, I noticed my room and took a peek into yours. I knew you weren’t there at the time. Not sure what Isaiah’s play is, but it took a little bit of work and money on his part to do this for us. Now, you got the answer you were looking for; just get the hell away from me.”
“Kenzie?” It’s a question with her name on my lips.
I twist my body around as a few tears fall down her face. I want to know what’s making her cry, though it’s not hard to figure out. Less than a week, and she’s lost her parents and the second mother in her life.
“What, River? What do you want to know, asshole?”
Why is my entire body reacting to Kenzie this way?
“I just, hell, I’m sorry. Okay?”
What am I sorry for? Being an ass to her since my mom married her dad? Or walking in on her naked? Okay, I’m not sorry for that last part at all.
“Great, you’re sorry. Now get the hell away from me.”
I shut the door on my way out of Kenzie’s room. What the hell just happened? But something shifted. I’m not used to these emotions. A deep passion and need to protect her, which has never lived inside of me, is precisely what I feel for my adoptive sister.
Chapter 5
Isaiah
My alert from Charles has my attention, notifying me that the children will be in the dining room in five minutes. I’ve finished up an overview of the new hotel I’ve purchased in the San Francisco area. I love the city, and it’s why I bought it. It gives me a reason to travel down and stay for weeks on end.
Then I realize the responsibility I’ve taken on with two children in the house. Charles and Mrs. Phillips could attend to their physical needs, but River has so much anger buried deep within him, mainly due to my own actions. And then there’s Kenzie. Beautiful Kenzie. So much like Tanya, but also different. It’s hard to contain my thoughts and feelings, understanding how her mother had claimed my heart so long ago. And Kenzie has claimed it all on her own. I’m not sure when, but it’s one of the reasons I’m a bastard.
It’s sick, on some deep level. But then again, Kenzie is her own person, too. Her brilliant mind. When Charles informed me of Kenzie’s intention with the room I set aside for her personal space, I should’ve predicted she’d want a library. It reminded me of the many times she’d sit beside me on the couch, and we’d watch Beauty and the Beast until she passed out. River was a little shit then. Of course, some things never change.
I’d go over for the evening to watch the kids, which I’d done a lot after Shannon and Robert were married. I loved spending time with Kenzie. It lessened the sadness I still felt at the loss of the only woman I’d ever loved.
Kenzie would sit near me, and River would do everything in his power to annoy us. Again, nothing new. He’d play on the drum set I’d stupidly bought for him one Christmas. He’d turn on the garbage disposal, or draw on the wall, or spill orange juice all over the place.
But, somehow, Kenz and I would finish her beloved movie. The girl reminded me so much of Belle; curious, intelligent, and ballsy. The only person she never stood up to was that little shit, her brother.
But soon, that little shit, as I called him, wormed his way into my heart, too, as though there’s not someone my own age to fall for.
I will not go down the past of River Hanson and myself. But for Robert, I’ll take care of his son and daughter. I’ll be an asshole during the whole ordeal because I can’t let either of them understand how their mere presence in my life unnerves me.
Tonight, I’ll set clear boundaries. Yeah, it’ll be that simple. After all, I’m the adult, and they’re the children. If it were only that easy.
Kenzie won’t be the issue. She’s a bit smart-lipped, but I know who the mouth is, who will challenge me at every turn. I welcome the fight in him.
I waltz into the dining room, and as predicted, Kenzie is sitting near the end of the tab
le.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask, and my tone is cold, as though I don’t care. And it’s the way I want to come off because I dare not show my feelings for either kid, not with the promise I’ve vowed to my closest and dearest friend.
“Yeah, not sure. I’m not my brother’s keeper, you know.”
The snark in her tone awakens my cock. It’s typically not this responsive, since before both my heart and cock realized we loved Tanya Hanson. My best friend called dibs on her first, and as the once honorable man I used to be, I let Robert have her. It never stopped me loving her from afar or grieving a loss so deep as if she was mine. In my mind, she’d always be mine. But now, the same yearning calls for every part of Kenzie Hanson.
“I’d watch the amount of sass that comes from your mouth, little girl. You aren’t too old for a good fashioned spanking.” Oh, hell, now all I imagine is her bent over my knee. Shit, I shouldn’t have these reactions to Tanya’s daughter. But fuck, I’ve been having them for some time now.
“You’re a pervert enough; I’d say you’d almost enjoy it,” she snaps back. I don’t give her any indication that I most definitely would enjoy it. Every part of it, but then again, it’s just a fantasy that helps with my basic needs in the privacy of my bed.
I don’t have a response when River strolls into the room, a pair of holey jeans and a Pearl Jam t-shirt. He’s attempting to piss me off, but I won’t give him the satisfaction either.
“From now on, if you’re hell-bent on ignoring my rules, I’ll be forced to take it out of your allowance. Or take away the keys to your car.”
His eyes swing to me. I remember the type of heat that once filled his when I challenged him in the past. This is not the same kind of challenge, and thus, it’s not the same type of heat.
“You wouldn’t dare?” she asks.
I let out a haughty laugh. Unlike Kenzie, River knows precisely what sort of man he’s dealing with.