Stepbrother: Take Me Away

by Tabatha Kiss

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Midnight Kisses

  MORE Midnight Kisses

  Whispers From Tabatha

  Copyright

  STEPBROTHER:

  TAKE ME AWAY

  A Short Romance

  by Tabatha Kiss

  WARNING: This short story contains explicit descriptions of

  erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive.

  Reader discretion advised.

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All characters detailed within are eighteen years of age or older.

  No characters engaging in sexual acts are blood related.

  Text and Story Copyright © 2015 Tabatha Kiss

  Cover Art Copyright © Depositphotos.com/cokacoka

  All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter 1

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I force a smile. “Thank you,” I say while shaking her hand. I’ve completely lost count of the times this exact exchange has occurred today. Ten? Twenty? It’s really not important. They all follow it up with their own marker.

  “She was such a wonderful woman!”

  “I’m really going to miss her.”

  “How are you holding up, Jennifer?”

  “God has a plan for all of us, doesn’t he?”

  I grin and bear it. I knew this was coming from the day she told me she was sick. And I’ve been preparing for it since the day I drove her to the hospital for her first chemotherapy appointment. She was too far gone at that point for it to make any difference and she knew it. But she kept on fighting because I insisted on it.

  “She was such a great mother to you!”

  “Jennifer, dear, please let us know if you need anything at all.”

  “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

  “I made you some tuna casserole. It’s on the oven, darling.”

  In all honesty, part of me is happy to have her dead and buried. She was suffering too much in the end and I feel like a monster wanting to keep her with me. But she was all I thought I had left in the world to call my family, with the exception of my husband, John.

  “Hello, Jennifer.”

  I turn to hear a familiar voice, the deep growl of a man I have not seen in years.

  “Hamilton?” I smile.

  He looks exactly as he always did, just a little older. His green eyes shine through his contact lenses, upgraded from the thick pair of glasses he used to wear. I feel a flutter in my heart as he smiles at me and shifts awkwardly in his deep black suit.

  “My god — I had no idea you were coming…” My cheeks feel flushed.

  “I wanted to pay my respects,” he says. “She was a good stepmother to me.”

  I take a deep breath as I flash back to the last funeral I attended. Hamilton’s father, my stepfather, was killed in a car accident seven years ago. Hamilton was in the passenger’s seat and barely survived. My eyes glance toward the scar on his forehead, just above his left eye, where a shard of glass nearly blinded him during the accident.

  “Thank you,” I say. It’s the first sincere thank you I’ve muttered so far today. “It’s been a long time.”

  He looks at his feet for a brief moment. “Yeah, well…”

  I shrug, my way of telling him that no explanation is necessary. The death of his father crushed him and once he was well enough to walk, he moved on. I have not seen him since then. “What have you been up to?”

  “Photography,” he says with a smile, happy to move on to a new subject.

  “Really?” I ask. “That’s good! You always had a camera permanently strapped to your hand.”

  “I found a way to make a decent living with it,” he says. “You should swing by my studio sometime. It’s on fifth street.”

  “You’re back in the city?” I ask. “Since when?”

  “Jennifer—”

  I feel a firm hand on my elbow that tugs me in its direction and I turn to find my husband staring at me.

  “Oh, good. I want you to meet my stepbrother,” I say. “Hamilton, this is John Rhys, my husband. John, this is my stepbrother, Hamilton Ward.” I look back and forth between them, offering the standard introduction.

  Hamilton offers his hand to John, who sighs heavily and ignores it. “Is this over yet?”

  I stare at my husband and target all of my focus on keeping my jaw off the floor. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I have work to do today. It’s time for them to go,” he repeats. His gaze is locked on me through perfectly styled strands of blond hair with no acknowledgment to Hamilton’s presence.

  “Um… John. This is my mother’s funeral,” I say. I can feel the embarrassment rushing to my cheeks.

  “So, what?”

  “So… We can’t just kick them out. These are our guests.”

  He sighs. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I’ll go to the office.”

  I can barely get any words out. “Okay…” I mutter.

  “I’ll be home late.”

  John releases my arm and walks across the living room, weaving in and out of the people that took time out of their lives to come to our home and honor my mother’s memory.

  I quickly turn back to Hamilton and force a light smile. “He’s been really stressed at work lately,” I offer the excuse. I hate myself for it.

  Hamilton nods, his eyes lingering on mine. “Are you all right?”

  I quickly wipe a small tear away before it can fall down my cheek. “Yes,” I say.

  “Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?”

  I think for a moment. My mind is a complete blur. “Nothing, I think,” I say with a light chuckle. “For the last week, all of my focus as been on… this…” My hands twitch around me. “I don’t think I have plans.”

  “Have lunch with me,” he offers. “We can catch up.”

  I smile. “I’d like that, actually.”

  “Do you want me to stick around and help you clean up?” he asks. “I think most people are heading out soon.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, giving him a light slap on the shoulder. “I can take care of it.”

  “You have a nice home,” he says, his eyes wandering around the living room.

  “Thank you,” I say, the tears still fighting to fall.

  Within the hour, I have the house to myself once again. I walk around the living room, gathering the leftover plastic cups of my guests, and tossing them into a plastic trash bag. In the kitchen, the counters are filled with fresh food and pastries baked by my neighbors and friends and family. Comfort food, is what they call it. To give me one less thing to worry about during my time of mourning.

  I grab a small basket full of brownies and plop into a chair at the table. The delicious chocolate aroma fills my nose, intriguing my taste buds. My stomach growls, a firm reminder that I have not eaten in days.

  I take a bite of a brownie and let the sweet sugar coat my tongue before I collapse against my hands and sob quietly to myself.

  Chapter 2

  “Smells good in here,” John says as he steps into the kitchen.

  I set the casserole dish on top of the stove and kick the oven shut with my foot. “I thought so, too,” I say. “It’s one of the casseroles left this morning after…” I let the words fall off. I don’t want to keep replaying my moth
er’s funeral over and over again in my head.

  I feel John’s presence over my shoulder. “Looks decent enough,” he says. He leans in close and kisses my cheek. He pauses. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks as he steps towards the table.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You tensed up,” he says.

  “I did?” Of course I did. I feel disgusting after a day of crying by myself and eating junk.

  “Jennifer, I know you’ve had a rough few weeks…” he begins, “but I thought you’d be happier now that she’s gone. No more suffering, and all that.”

  I sigh as I grab two plates from the cabinet and fight to stop myself from screaming at him. “I’ll just need a few days to adjust, that’s all.”

  I hear his footsteps tapping towards me again. His arms wrap around my body from behind and he rests his chin against my shoulder. I somehow manage to keep from flinching. “Take all the time you need,” he whispers. His lips graze my neck, sending a warm chill down my spine. “I promise you, once the baby happens, you’ll have plenty to occupy your mind with again.”

  “You’re right…” I say as I scoop some pasta mush onto a plate. “Let’s eat.”

  “Sure,” he says. “And later tonight…” He trails off, but his hands travel up my body and land on my breasts. He gives them a subtle, but firm, squeeze.

  ***

  I stare at Hamilton’s text message and wonder for a moment if he sent the wrong address. The restaurant stands before me in all its glory. I’ve heard of it before, but I never for a moment imagined I’d be able to step a foot inside.

  “Jennifer!”

  I hear Hamilton’s voice and breathe a sigh of relief as I see his smiling face peering out the window of a black sedan. The car comes to a quick stop and Hamilton steps out onto the curb. He passes his keys off to the valet and steps towards me as he buttons the lower half of his suite jacket.

  “Hello, Hamilton,” I say.

  “You look terrified,” he jokes.

  “Oh, no,” I scoff. “I just… I don’t come into the city very often.”

  “Well, you’re going to love this place. Lunch is on me,” he says.

  “Okay…” I mutter as he gently pulls me with him into the restaurant.

  I feel under dressed in my blouse and jeans among a sea of skirts and ties. Luckily, the establishment does not seem to have a strict dress code as the staff treat me with the same courtesy and smiling faces as the other guests.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Ward,” the server greets him. “Can I get you and your guest started with a drink?”

  “We’ll both start with water, Lana. Thank you,” Hamilton chimes in.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say.

  Lana smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she walks away from the table, I fill my lungs with fresh air and slowly exhale it out. My eyes glance toward the menu in front of me. “So, you come here often?” I ask.

  “It’s a favorite hang out, yes,” Hamilton says. “There is not a single bad dish on the menu! And it’s not too far away from my studio…”

  “How can you afford to come here so often?” I ask, but immediately regret it. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. That’s a horribly inappropriate question— I’m sorry.”

  Hamilton laughs. “Don’t be sorry, Jennifer. I will admit I waste a good deal of money on my stomach, but when you have the money to do so — why not?”

  “So, this photography thing has really taken off then?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says. “My prints are actually very sought after in certain circles.”

  I smile. “That sounds really amazing, Hamilton. I’m proud of you.” I feel a pang in my chest, but I ignore it. “Sounds like you’re living a dream come true.”

  “And how about you?” he asks. “The last I saw you, you wanted to be an actress.”

  I nod as my eyes glaze over with distant memories. “That was a long time ago.”

  “The dream is forgotten?” he asks. He looks up as Lana returns with a tray and two glasses of water. She sets them down. “Thank you, Lana. We’ll need a little longer to decide.”

  “Take your time,” the young lady smiles. “You know where I’ll be.”

  “Thank you,” he says as she walks away.

  “Not… forgotten,” I say. “Just… put on hold.”

  “Until when?” he asks.

  I stutter between breaths. “It’s just… not realistic right now. That’s all.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Jennifer,” he begins. “How do you spend your days?”

  “I am a housewife,” I say.

  “I am sure that title lends you a decent amount of free time, does it not?”

  “I tend to my home,” I say.

  “You have no children. You live in a two-person house. Surely tending to your home does not take every moment of your day.”

  “I’m sorry, Hamilton,” I interrupt. “But what are you trying to say?”

  He leans forward with an apologetic face. “I mean to say that you should logically have the time to pursue your own dreams while your husband is at work. And yet you do not.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Are you scared of failure?” Hamilton asks. “Or are you scared of him?”

  I bite my lip. “You’re out of line,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Jennifer,” he says. “It is not my intention to embarrass you or hurt you in any way. But… the woman I reunited with yesterday was not a happy woman. And I don’t mean the tragic circumstances that brought me there.”

  I shake my head. “He just doesn’t want me wasting my time with something that has little chance of going anywhere.”

  “And you agree with him?”

  “I don’t think he’s wrong.”

  “Jennifer, you have amazing talent. I know because I saw it when we were younger. I grew up with you, watching you memorize every monologue you could, practicing them in front of the mirror until you were satisfied with it, and auditioning for every single production that came through town. You were going places, everyone thought so. And yet… here you are.”

  “That was my choice,” I claim.

  “You’re lying,” he says.

  “I don’t care what you think.” I collapse back into my chair. “Did you ask me here to humiliate me?”

  “No, I didn’t—”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I care about you, Jen.”

  “Then why have you been gone for the last seven years?” I ask. “Where were you when she got sick? You say she was such a good stepmother to you, but you never came to see her during the worst of it. You apparently lived in the same damn city, it couldn’t have been that difficult.”

  “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”

  “I needed you. I needed someone — someone there to help me and comfort me like… like…”

  “Like your husband should have?”

  I fall silent. I think of all the nights I cried myself to sleep thinking about my mother, hoping that he’d roll over and hold me. He never did.

  “Jennifer, does he know you’re here with me right now?” he asks.

  “No,” I whisper. “I didn’t tell him.”

  “You’re right, Jennifer,” Hamilton says, leaning closer. He lowers his voice and looks at me with complete focus. “I never should have abandoned you after my father died. I have no excuse that’s not stupid or selfish. But I’m here now. And I would argue that you need me now more than you did before.”

  I stop a tear from falling down my face. “I don’t love my husband.” The words fall from my lips, passing through every filter I have. It stings to say it out loud, to say the one thing that’s been plaguing my mind for years. “It wasn’t always like this,” I whisper. “John was kind and gentle and loving and… perfect. But it all changed when we got married.”

  “How?” he asks.

  “Before, he supported the things I enjoyed. He went to my plays. He encouraged my art. B
ut the first time I brought home a script after the wedding, he looked at me with this incredulous face and asked, ‘You don’t plan on keeping that up now, do you?’”

  Hamilton rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his water.

  I stare at my hands as my cheeks turn red. “It started out small. Just quick comments about how I wore my hair or how his co-worker bragged about the perfect steak his wife cooked the night before or how dirty the bathroom looked.” I look up from my fingernails. “Eventually, I had changed so much that I completely forgot who I was.”

  “It baffles me the number of men that still expect their girlfriends to drop everything to become wives,” Hamilton says.

  “I have no issue being a wife,” I say. “I can cook. I can clean. Whatever. But I still just want to be Jennifer, you know?”

  Hamilton nods. “I really liked Jennifer,” he says.

  I breathe a heavy sigh. “I really liked being Jennifer,” I say.

  Hamilton sits up in his chair and offers me a quick smile. “Let’s order some delicious food,” he says. “And then after, we’ll go to my studio. I have a client coming in for a session and I think you’ll enjoy shadowing me for the afternoon.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’d love to.”

  Chapter 3

  Hamilton leads me downtown, just a few short blocks from the restaurant. His studio is tucked behind a few buildings, easily missed if one wasn’t looking for it. It’s a small loft space, but plenty of room for the work he does.

  He flicks on the lights and illuminates the entire floor. A four poster bed sits in one corner with beautiful white satin sheets and thick pillows. A black chest sits at the foot of the bed and two end tables sit on either side. His desk sits in one corner, along with shelf after shelf over various photography equipment.

  “The model should be here any minute now,” Hamilton says as he leans over his desk. He tosses his jacket off to reveal his bare arms, coated with intricate patterns of jet black tattoos that cover his skin.

  “When did you get those?” I ask.

  Hamilton looks at his arms and smiles. “Just something I’ve been working on for a few years.