I remember my first birthday as her stepdaughter. I had been wearing the same clothes for years and they were quickly becoming too small. She bought me a completely new wardrobe—I was so excited. But that excitement disappeared as I began unwrapping the presents, each one holding clothing more than a couple sizes too small. “Well… maybe in a few years dear.” She had a way of saying things, soft and wistful, as though I had disappointed her. She locked herself in her room and didn’t come out until the next day. Even then, she didn’t acknowledge me or what happened the day before.
Living with her was hell. It didn’t help that I was almost always sick, in and out of doctor’s offices, hospitals—new treatments each month. No one had a clue what was wrong. I think it had something about that old house: that’s when it all started—a few months in. The only positive being that Judith always wanted to take care of me when I was sick. I don’t know why, but it seemed as though the sicker I became, the more attached and motherly she would become. Over the years I became numb, a shell of a person.
Luke tried to help me get through it, deal with her, but he wasn’t always there. When he was distracted with other girls and things I had to find my own coping mechanisms. I turned to cutting. It worked for a while, but it only gave me a brief escape from my reality, never truly fixed anything. And in the end, it tore me apart.
When I finally come back to reality, I realize someone draped a blanket around me. I cling to it’s warmth, it’s security. I look around, the lawn is buzzing with cops walking in and out, some milling around chatting. Luke was still talking with the female officer from earlier. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see her’s. Her cheeks were rosy, warm from laughter, a smile stretching wide across her face and dimples on her cheeks. She was obviously smitten, and I was obviously jealous. Heat rose from my chest. I hated how effortlessly he attracted women. Including me.
“Can I get you anything else Leah?” I nearly jump. Lost in my world, I didn’t realize someone was sitting next to me.
I turn my head, and my breath catches in my chest.
It’s Miles.
The only thing about him that hasn’t changed is his eyes, a swirl of green and brown that comes close to hazel, but not quite.
“Miles?” My voice wavers in the air.
“Yes, Leah. Miles” He smiles at me. A reassuring smile that puts me at ease. But not for long. His face awakens a memory, one that I’ve tried to bury. Images flash in my mind in rapid succession: the woods; the fallen tree; the kiss. I close my eyes, try to focus on something, anything other than my broken memories.
A tear rolls down my cheek. “Leah, everything is going to be okay.” He puts an arm around me. It’s big, warm, and comforting. “I promise.” He wipes away the tear with his thumb, a tear that he probably thinks is for Judith. But it’s not.
“What happened?” I ask, meekly.
“We’re not sure yet.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows.
He sighs, places his hand on my shoulder. A chill runs through me.
“There’s not a lot I can say right now.” He’s deflecting, hiding something.
I sigh. It’s been a long day and I just want to sleep. I can feel his eyes burning on my skin.
“Look, I probably shouldn’t be asking you this.” A ghost of a smile flashes on his face. “But do you need a place to stay? I have an extra bedroom. And—” I don’t have a chance to respond, Luke steps in.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t be asking that.” He reaches down and grabs my arm. “She’s staying with me.” He pulls me to my feet effortlessly, like I’m a child’s plaything.
Tense energy vibrates between the two of them as they size each other up. Miles stands up, his nose inches from Luke’s. I can feel Luke’s grip tightening on my arm and I squeal. He lets me go and I rub my wrist.
“Luke.” Miles says with a grin. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Really?” Luke responds, amused. “And where’d you hear that?”
Miles nods over Luke’s shoulder, and both of us look. Mrs. O’Malley, the widow who lives next door. Her bony fingers grab tightly at her knit shawl as she talks with two officers. She looks distraught, her gray hair wild. Although, now that I think about it, she usually does. But more so than usual, I guess.
“She has a few interesting stories.”
“Most drunks do.”
Miles folds his arms under his chest, tips his head back and to the side, studying Luke, analyzing his demeanor. Luke snorts with laughter, and for a moment, the tension that was building is alleviated. He extends his hand.
“Good to see you again, Miles.” But the forced smile on Luke’s face says “Fuck you.”
Miles turns to me, snubbing Luke’s handshake, and pulls out a card. “Call me. Let’s talk.” He was serious.
Luke grabs the card from him before I have the chance to react. “Will do.”
“What’s that on your cheek, Luke?” Miles asks just as Luke was turning away. Luke hesitates for a moment, looks at me and then turns to Miles.
“Just a scratch.”
“Looks like a little more than that.”
Luke grabs my arm and pulls me away.
“Luke.” Miles calls from behind us. Luke stops, but doesn’t turn around. “You might not want to wander very far.”
We’re in front of the door. I can’t help but look inside. The body’s gone. The body. She hasn’t been dead for more than a few hours and I’m referring to her as ‘the body.’
“You know how to reach me.” He tugs at my arm and continues down the stairs.
“Wait,” I protest, trying to pull myself away from him, “I need to grab some clothes.”
“We’ll get you some at my place.” He says, brushing me off. I can feel myself heating up. I dig in my heels, tear away from him.
“Fine, but I’m not leaving without Crouton.” Crouton’s my cat, a large tabby that I’ve had for ages and I’m not about to leave here without him. I can see Luke’s jaw clench, his muscles tighten as he looks at the street in front of him. I can see Mrs. O’Malley peering nervously at us from behind the two officers. She makes eye contact with me, then looks away.
“Luke.” I say, more calm, more assertive.
“You know I’m allergic.” I do… but who will feed him? I’m not above throwing a temper tantrum right now. He let’s go of my hand, sighs. “Fine.” Yes!
I squeal, run up and jump on him, hugging him. “Thank you thank you thank you!”
“He stays in your room. You keep him in there. Door shut. If I see him out I’ll get rid of him.” I can feel his strong arms tighten around me as he holds me. His left hand slides down my spine to my lower back, warmth penetrating my core, but then he lets go and I run back up to the house.
“Can I grab Crouton?” I ask Miles. His body language is closed, arms folded across his chest, head bowed almost to his chest; I can sense he was watching us, but he has a smile when he looks at me.
“Crouton?”
“My cat.” He stares at me a moment, as though amused with something.
“Of course. I’ll grab him.”
I peek inside while Miles disappears upstairs. Everything looks the same, but it feels eerie. I’m not sure what to make of it. I watch a tall, slender officer with a mop of black curls place his camera into a black bag and sling it over his shoulder. The laminate I.D. card hanging from his neck swings side to side as he walks toward the door, toward me. He can’t be much older than I am. He gives me a half smile as he passes by. He reeks of cigarettes and body spray.
Miles returns with Crouton not much later. Our fingers graze each other’s when he hands me the carrying case. Crouton whines, claws through the holes in the side of the case in protest.
I thank Miles and turn to leave. I’m halfway down the stairs when he calls out.
“I meant what I said. If you need a place to stay…”
I smile politely at him, but keep moving. I’
m not ready to face my past.
Most of the commotion from earlier has died down. Cops are packing up, crowds dispersing, and I’m ready to follow suit. As I’m walking to Luke’s car, I see the tiny, shawled figure of Mrs. O’Malley standing next to it pointing and yelling at Luke. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but Luke seems not to be paying any attention to her. In fact, it looks like he’s amused. Although I might be imagining it: it’s too dark, and he’s too far away.
By the time I make it to the car, another officer—the one who was flirting with Luke earlier—has taken Mrs. O’Malley by the arm and is trying to calm her down. Her face is bright red and puffy, tears stream through the deep wrinkles around her cheeks and mouth. I’m not sure how old Mrs. O’Malley is. She was living next door to us when we moved in, but she seems just as old now as she did back then. She was always nice to me; It’s sad to see her this distraught.
I can make out fragments, bits and pieces of her incoherent rant. She points to Luke, then turns to me and before I have a chance to react, she lunges at me with amazing quickness and dexterity for a woman her age and stature and grabs me by the arm. I nearly drop Crouton. His case swings in my hand but I hold on.
Her eyes are wide, fierce and clear. “Run.” She rasps, bowing her head as the officer pulls her away and escorts her home. I’m frozen in place trying to figure out what just happened. Luke rolls down the window.
“You coming?” He’s brusque, irritated by something. What the hell did I do?
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t in the car long before I figure it out.
“Don’t talk to Miles.” Great… here we go again.
He’s jealous, defensive, as though someone else is encroaching on his territory. It seethes from him, through his voice. The way he’s gripping the wheel, I’m surprised he hasn’t crushed it yet.
“What makes me think you can tell me what to do?” I push back. His jaw clench, then relaxes.
“You’ll do as I say if you want to stay with me.” And there it is. There’s always some caveat with Luke. If you want x then you better do y for me. And he knows I have no other option. I have no money, no friends, no where to go. There’s Miles’s offer, but I’m not so sure I’d be better off with him.
“I saw the way he was staring at you.” He snarls, continuing with his rant. “He’s unprofessional. A creep.” He says it as though he hasn’t been looking at me the same way. I noticed it the first times our eyes met, when his hand lingered on my leg longer than it should have when he was bandaging the scrape on my leg.
“And officer fake tits was any more professional? I’m surprised you haven’t fucked her yet.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I could feel myself flush. He always finds a way to weasel his way under my skin. I snap the band around my wrist. Again. And again.
“Why do you keep doing that? That thing with your wrist?”
I ignore him.
We’re silent the rest of the way.
CHAPTER FIVE
LEAH
AN HOUR LATER AND we’re at his apartment, a penthouse in the heart of downtown Austin. Moonlight streams through floor to ceiling windows, dapples the sleek grey furniture and hardwood floors. It’s refined, elegant, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My mouth is dry—it’s been wide open since pulled into his private garage, rode his private elevator to the top floor and opened the cold, metal door of his apartment.
I set Crouton’s case down on the floor, open the front to let him out. He sniffs cautiously at first, pokes his head out and then shoots off down a dark hallway.
“Remember our deal.” Luke says sternly as he tosses his keys into a basket next to the door. “Keep him in your room.”
“Sorry. I’ll go grab him.” I don’t know why I was apologizing. It’s not like I wanted to be here. Luke basically forced me. He loves to control other people and I hate that I allow him to do it to me.
“The guest bedroom is the second door on the right, just down the hallway,” He says, pointing the same direction in which Crouton scampered off. He’s moving around—nervous energy—picking things up, throwing things away, turning on lights and switches, putting things in order. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry. I left in a hurry.” I look around and can’t see the mess he’s talking about. The apartment feels sterile, clinical almost, as if it hadn’t been lived in.
It’s been a long day. So much happened and I just don’t know how to react to it all. I should feel sad, angry—something—but I just feel numb. I want to hold Crouton. Just fall asleep and forget everything. But I know it isn’t that simple. It never is.
“You’re probably tired.” Sometimes I feel he can read my thoughts. He walks over to me; I can feel an intense energy surge between us. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to look at him, really look at him since he’s been here.
He’s gained weight. Not in a bad way—he’s more muscular, filled out. His face, like the rest of his body, is lean. He moves with confidence and grace, with purpose. My nostrils flare as his scent reaches me, floods my senses. “You should probably get some rest.” My heart skips a beat as his hand cups the left side of my face, warmth radiating from his touch. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. I look into his eyes, pale blue in the moonlight, then to his lips. I imagine them on mine, but I shake off the thought.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I say. I can feel tears building, but I hold them back.
“You’ll stay here with me.”
A part of me wants to, it craves him, his touch—closeness. But the other, more rational part of my brain can’t help but chime in: He left you once, what makes you think he won’t do it again? Tread lightly… you don’t want to end up at Millwood again.”
“I can’t stay here forever.”
“Of course, but a week wouldn’t hurt, right?” I’m not so sure. He lets go of me, and walks towards the kitchen. “Besides, circumstances… have changed.” He opens a bottle of water, takes a sip, and sets it down on the counter. Then looks at me, hoping that I take the bait. I’ve played this game before. He wants me to beg, plead with him to explain what he means. He’s just toying with me, offering vague bits of information he has no desire to elaborate. I won’t indulge him.
“Fine. Whatever.” I pull away from him. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“First door on the left.” He points down the hallway, then takes another sip of water. I can feel his eyes follow me as I pass by him. “I’ll put a change of clothes on your bed.”
I walk down the hall, open the door to my room and find crouton curled up in a ball on my bed. I feel his soft fur in my hand, stroking him gently as he purrs with approval.
I leave Crouton alone on the bed and find my way to the bathroom. The room fills with steam as water streams down my body. Flowery soaps and scrubs and body washes litter the shower and I wonder how many women he’s fucked in here. I can’t stay here—it’s not right. Every second I’m near him I find myself being drawn to him, pulled to him by some invisible force I have no control over. As much as I hate to admit it, I like it. I like how he affects me—how I can actually feel something when I’m with him.
It’s why I started cutting: to feel something, to get rid of the numbness.
But that’s why I have to leave. It’s not right, my feelings for him. Besides, it’s not like he’d ever feel the same way about me. How could he? He could have girl he wants. I’ve watched how women fawn over him, unabashedly throw themselves at him. Why would he ever want me?
I have to leave. I can’t face another heartbreak, and I can’t rely on Luke to help cure this numbness.
I turn off the shower, wrap myself in a towel and head to my bedroom. The apartment is dark except for the light filtering into the hallway from Luke’s bedroom, the door cracked open. I push open the door to my room.
Before I have a chance to react Crouton bolts out of the room and down the hallway. “Crouton!” I yell as he weaves in and out of other rooms.
He’s sitting at the end of the hall, staring at me, his tail twitching as though he’s asking me if I want to play this game of his. No is my obvious answer, but unfortunately for me I have no way of getting that across to him.
“Crouton!” My voice is low but strained. “Get. Over. Here.” I wave at him, hoping by some miracle he’ll follow me. “Now!” But he remains steadfast, staring at the funny-looking human in a towel, waving her arms like a madwoman. I groan as I trudge reluctantly over to him. Just as I’m reaching down to grab him, he spins around and dashes through the door behind him, forcing it to swing open a hair wider. But that’s just enough.
I look up and see Luke, bent over as he’s pulling on his boxers. He’s naked and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. His legs, his arms, his torso—every part of his body—looks as though he were chiseled from marble, a representation of a Grecian ideal. My core floods with heat, my mouth hangs open. His cock hangs between his legs, thick and long and hairless. He’s looking at me, the corners of his mouth curl up slowly into a smile.
And it’s then that I realize I’ve dropped my towel.
My breath catches in my chest and I feel a shock jolt through my body. I grab the towel, clutch it tightly against my chest and turn to run. “Sorry!” I yell over my shoulder as I sprint down the hallway to my room.
Stupid, stupid cat.
It feels as though my entire body is on fire as I shut the door behind me.
I want to scream. I need release. I finger the rubber band around my wrist. Snap—calm slowly returns, my breath less ragged. No big deal, right? Ugh! I want to curl up into a ball and die.
Stepbrother: Scar Tissue - the Complete Serial (An Alpha Stepbrother Romance) Page 3