The Other Brother Part 1: Forbidden

by Lauren Hawkeye

  It’s still a raw no frills place to work out. And now it belongs to him, one of the only people I’ve trusted in this lifetime, which means for tonight, it can be my sanctuary.

  The gym is nearly empty. There’s one massive giant at one of the heavy bags, pounding the hell out of it, and two guys in the boxing ring, one holding pads for the other to slam his fists into. No women, which suits me just fine at the moment.

  Walking up to the side of the ring, I lean on the bottom rope.

  “Hey buddy,” I say to the light haired man with the tribal tats winding up his strong arms as he spins and backhands one of the pads, “you’re dropping your arm.”

  He stops dancing around and turns to glare at me. Recognition settles in but the glare doesn’t fade as he sneers at my club attire. “Then get in here and show me how it’s done, Fancypants”

  “I need to change first.” I open my arms indicating my denim and leather.

  “Then change. I ain’t going anywhere.” He gives me a lopsided grin, which is amplified by the mouth guard.

  I want to laugh. I might look fancy now, but I still have the mean streak born in prison. Fucker doesn’t stand a chance.

  In the locker room, I search out a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I hang up my own clothes in a locker and return, crossing the gym. I roll under the last rope into the ring. The blonde man tosses me some gloves the moment I’m on my feet, still sneering. The second I have them on and partially tied, head gear on, he’s dancing toward me.

  “Remember how to box, Fancypants?”

  “I think I can figure it out, Twinkletoes.”

  He throws a right hook and I dodge out of the way. He’s not as fast as I know he can be. This guy was the youngest ever to win an MMA middleweight championship title. I watched the match online myself.

  He’s good. I won’t say I’m better, but like I said, I’m definitely meaner.

  We dance around the ring, both landing some good punches. Sweat sheens my skin, and I feel the warm burn of my muscles at work. He hits me a few more times than I hit him. Normally that would piss me right the hell off, but tonight I welcome it.

  Maybe it’s penance for my sins, or the fact that I’m not as quick as I used to be. I haven’t had to use my fists in a long time.

  After a half hour of being used as a punching bag, I pull back, tugging the headgear off, panting. Wiping my arm over my forehead to mop away the sweat, I suck in air and size up my opponent.

  Tristan Hemsworth, the best friend I ever had, shoots me a cocky grin, tears off his gloves and comes at me again, but this time for a hug, slapping me on the back.

  “Took you long enough to get your ass back here.”

  I don’t answer, instead taking off my gloves, tossing them to the side and following Tristan out of the ring. He tosses me a bottle of water and we collapse on the floor, leaning back against the against the ring as we fill each other in on the Coles Notes’ version of each other’s last six years.

  When I’m done, he looks at me, shakes his head and laughs. “Back then you were most likely to land your ass in jail, and now you’re a fucking millionaire. How the fuck?”

  “Well, you were still right about the first part.” Heavy silence descends, and Tristan smacks himself in the head.

  “That was dumb. Sorry, man.” He looks contrite. I’m not actually mad—the past is the past.

  “I’ll forgive you by watching your face when I tell you I’m actually a billionaire.”

  I’m right. His expression is comical. His jaw almost drops to the floor.

  “I... wow. How?” He looks around his gym, as if he’ll find the answers amongst the punching bags.

  “Won’t bore you with basics. Good investments, mostly. And yeah, it still baffles the fuck out of me most days.” I finish the water and reach for a towel, mopping my face off.

  “So, you thought you’d come visit your peasant friend before heading back to the city?” He arches an eyebrow at me, nonchalant, but I think I see a touch of hurt there.

  We might have spent most of our time drinking, but he was still the best friend I ever had.

  “It’s not like that.” I run a hand over my sopping wet hair, trying to find the right words. “I...”

  “You don’t have to explain.” He tosses his empty water bottle into the recycle bin. “Two points. Yeah! Oh here’s something you might find interesting. Guess who comes here all the time?”

  I cock my head in response as I send my own bottle flying. It hits the rim. Damn.

  “Allegra Flynn.” He runs a hand through the spikes of his hair.

  The fresh water bottle stops mid-way to my mouth. Just hearing her name on another man’s lips, even Tristan’s, has my fingers tightening, slopping cold water onto my hand.

  “Is that so?” I school my face into a mask of stone.

  “Yeah.” Tristan heaves a happy sigh. “She asked me to train her. Nice to see a woman want to get strong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I appreciate the way her ass looks in those tight little pants. She grew up really fucking nice.”

  I can barely refrain my snarl. “Shut it.”

  Tristan chuckles. “Yeah, you always had a thing for her, didn’t you? Not like she was your real sister, anyway. And even then, with those little dresses and those glasses, she was a looker. Jailbait, but a looker.”

  Craning my neck, I glare at my so-called friend.

  Tristan laughs again. “Chill, man. I’ve tried. She’s not interested. Probably every guy in this gym has, but she’s never taken one home. Least, not that I know of. And the way these crass idiots blab, I’m pretty sure I’d know.”

  Slowly, I expel the breath I’m holding, forcing every muscle in my body to relax.

  If Tristan had said that he’d fucked Allegra, I just might have killed him. And I’m not entirely sure that I’m not serious about that.

  “You planning on visiting sweet little sis while you’re in town?” Tristan eyes me sideways, and I try not to show anything on my face.

  This morning, my answer would have been a solid no. Now that I’ve had her bent over my knee...

  I just don’t fucking know.

  With the canny sixth sense that Tristan’s always had regarding me, he pushes just a little further, just enough to get under my skin.

  “If you ask me, someone hurt her real bad. Some guy.” He watches me with those long lashed eyes that all the girls used to swoon over. “By the way she attacks the bag every time she comes in, I’d say she’s working out some issues. Some guy hurt her real bad.”

  Yeah. Yeah, I certainly did.

  Chapter Nine

  ALLEGRA

  Rattled to the core, I found myself with no place to go but home, home being the house I still shared with my dad.

  The fact that I also shared it with Seth is not lost on me, but where else would I go for the night? I’m a waitress. I can’t just splash out money on a hotel room for no good reason.

  “Dad?” His car wasn’t in the driveway, but I need to check, need to know that I’m all alone. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this—weak in the knees and trembling.

  Kicking off those heels that Seth had loved so much, I run upstairs to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to strip off my dress alone, and while I curse the zipper I swear I can feel his hands on me again, stroking over my spine.

  God fucking damn it all to hell. Out. I need his out of my head.

  I turn the water on the scalding, a temperature I can hardly bear, but I can still smell Seth on me. The scent of his cologne lingers on my skin from where he touched me, where he kissed me. I lift my arm to my nose and inhale. Spice and sweat and man fill my nose.

  Never mind the fact that my ass is on fire. Lifting my skirt, I blink at the red handprints left on my pale skin.

  His handprints. His mark.

  It should make me scream. It kind of does, but at the same time just looking at his mark makes me wet all over again.
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br />   Shaking at the realization, I strip off my dress. Instead of climbing under the searing spray, I sit down on the edge of the tub, just letting the steam soothe me.

  There’s no point in lying to myself. I want to kill him, this man who broke up my family. And at the same time, I can’t bring myself to wash him away. I wonder what Dr. Gill would say about that. Probably that it’s normal. That he was at the root of the most intense occurrence in my life, and now he’s also the man present at some kind of sexual reawakening. The latter sounds ridiculous, but again, I won’t be lying to myself.

  When Dr. Gill had suggested a kink club to work out my issues, to help me learn better how to lose control, I thought she’d lost her fucking mind.

  Now though? I’ve had a taste and I know I’ll never be satisfied with vanilla again. Or maybe it wasn’t the kink itself. Maybe somewhere, some part of me knew all along that it was Seth.

  Aaaahh.

  The juxtaposition of my emotions about him is what sent me spiraling into self-destruction in the first place. I hate him and yet, oh, I want him. I could kill him for what he did to Theo, what he did to this family and what he ultimately did to me. But I was never able to reconcile the indescribably cruelty of the man who almost killed Theo with the tenderness of the boy who’d made sure I was okay after being humiliated at a party.

  Theo. Jesus, I almost forget that he’s coming home. I haven’t seen him in over two years. He’d ordered me to stay away from the prison. Frankly I’m glad. It might make me a bad sister, but I wouldn’t have been able to stomach seeing him in there. Because I know I would’ve thought about Seth once being in there too.

  I suspect Theo will be different. Harder. He already changed after the incident with Seth. He lost his sweetness. Maybe he’d lost is innocence like I’d lost mine—I would imagine that almost dying would do that to a person. He did his own spiraling, though I’d barely been aware of it, too busy looking for acceptance with my legs wide open.

  Theo drank more, stayed out more, and got into trouble. But more, our relationship changed too. He was no longer gentle with me. No longer tried to soothe my hurts. Innocent teasing became insulting. The occasional argument turned into a fight.

  He never hit me, but he did break a mirror with his fist once. It was scary as hell.

  We stopped doing stuff together as well. He would find a million excuses not to hang out with me, but sometimes I would still catch him watching me.

  And when he watched me, it wasn’t the indulgent gaze of a sibling. I couldn’t quite figure out what lay in his head, I only know it creeped me out.

  I shiver, remembering that penetrating glare. Then for the umpteenth time, I think about those words Seth said to me all those years ago.

  Theo will never hurt you.

  Why had Seth said that? I have gone over it again and again. Turning this over and that, trying to make sense of it. I try to shake it off, but seeing him again has brought up all the old feelings.

  Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? These feelings aren’t old. They’re never ending, old and also as new as a shiny penny. They haven’t gone away at all.

  Groaning with frustration, I force myself to stand, to put on my robe. My stomach growls, and I know I should eat something, but I can’t seem to stay still—I’m too restless to just sit and wait, for what I don’t even know.

  I walk down to the kitchen and fetch a glass of water. Leaning back against the counter to drink, I look around, my memory taking me back. Everything’s the same as it was that night six years ago. Same table, same chair—the chair where Seth sat, Theo’s blood on his hands. Those hands. The hands that wrapped around my wrists. I will never forget them; never forget how it felt when Seth grabbed me. How my body responded to the action, to the violence in him.

  I’d wanted so badly for him to touch me then, no matter how wrong it was. I’d wondered what it would feel like to have his skin pressed up against my own.

  And now? Now I know.

  Turns out knowing is worse.

  Opening the patio door, I step out, hoping the fresh air will clear my head. Of course it doesn’t, because I’m on an uninvited trip down memory lane, and I remember being out here that night with the sense of being watched.

  I know it’s ridiculous, but right now, I have the same sense.

  Shivering, I rub my arm with the hand not holding the water glass, looking across the yard to the apartment over top the garage. It’s empty, has been empty since Seth left, unless you count dust and the raccoons that will never seem to leave our yard.

  I can’t stop from trembling again as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’m being ridiculous, memories and old insecurities crashing over me like the incoming tide because seeing Seth opened the door.

  But the sense is strong enough that I turn and go back inside. Placing my empty glass in the dishwasher, I leave the kitchen and head back upstairs.

  I pass my room, Theo’s old room. I should probably put some sheets on that bed—something tells me that as soon as he gets out, he’ll be staying with us for a while.

  I’m too keyed up to do it right now. So I continue on, stopping in the threshold of the other spare room. The one Seth had stayed in before moving into the rooms over the garage.

  Seth’s things are stored inside the closet.

  I nudge the closet door open with my foot. Dusty boxes of his stuff are piled up. My dad had washed his hands of dealing with it. Dinah didn’t have the heart to take it with her when she left us. And I hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.

  Well, I hadn’t wanted to then. But right now, I’m not sure that anything cold stop me.

  Slowly, I open up the first box.

  A black t-shirt sits on top. I pull it out and smell it. It’s lost Seth’s scent, and now age and dust and cardboard tickle my nose. I set it aside and continue to dig. There’s another shirt, and as I pick it up I realize there’s something wrapped up inside. I take it out, unwrapping the fabric to find a stack of photos.

  Slowly I flip through them and my stomach clenches when I realize they are all of me. And yet... I don’t recognize any of them. These are not photos I remember being taken, and they’re certainly not ones I’ve seen before. I didn’t pose for any of them. One is of me sitting in the back yard in the grass reading a book. It must’ve been in the spring. Another, I’m playing cards with my dad and laughing. I continue flipping. There must be over fifty pictures here. I’m shocked and a bit unsettled.

  A loud crash comes from downstairs, and a scream catches in my throat, wheezing out into the stale air. I jump and the pictures fall from my hands. I hurry to pick them up and shove them back into the box, somehow feeling guilty.

  “Dad?” I scurry to the top of the stairs. I’d been glad that Dad wasn’t home, because I hadn’t wanted him to look at me with those laser eyes and demand to know what had upset me. But right now? I’m feeling just unsettled enough to welcome the company.

  I wait and listen, my heart pounding in my chest. Then I see a flash outside and I realize it’s lightning, and what I just heard had been thunder. Sighing out a slightly hysterical laugh, I rub at my chest, trying to soothe my racing heart.

  I’m not a damsel. I can handle a little storm.

  The next clap shakes the house, and I instinctively grab for the railing. But then I hear something else, almost masked by the boom. I’ve lived in this house my whole life, and I know its sounds. I know when someone is on the stairs, I know when someone crosses the living room because of the squeak in the hardwood floor.

  And I know when someone has come in through the back door. It’s not Dad. I would have heard the garage door.

  My phone is in my bag downstairs. Do I hide, or do I try to get my phone?

  Pulse accelerating until I feel nauseous, I begin to slide down the stairs as quietly as possible, careful not to step on the one creaking spot on the fourth stair. When I reach foyer I look around for my purse. I’m sure I left it on the side table, but it’s not there. Th
ere’s a landline in the kitchen, if I can just make it there without noise.

  I hear footsteps in the hallway in front of me, and my heart pounds so loud that I’m sure the intruder can hear it. My breath begins to pant. I know there’s someone here. Who? Why? Surely it’s not Seth?

  Even after all he’s done, I can’t imagine him trying to scare me like this. Or maybe... maybe I’m letting my heart—and my hormones—fool me.

  I feel like I’m about to explode. I can hardly breathe, but focus on controlling that, like Tristan taught me.

  I’m strong. I’m fit. I’m mean. I think I can hold my own, at least long enough to get away.

  That doesn’t help me when I’m petrified with fear.

  Jesus, all that training and I’m too shit scared to use it.

  I think again of Seth, of the violence I know he’s capable of, and my stomach sinks. Those photos... and why is he back in Galveston? Did he follow me home? Has he always been watching me, waiting for this moment? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s busy running an empire. Not to mention that’s just crazy.

  It must be a neighbor. A stray cat. Something.

  This doesn’t help my terrified heart.

  A figure appears in front of me, and I can’t help it, I scream. While I scream, I stare, my body rigid, but the figure isn’t advancing on me. Still, I flatten myself against a wall, eyes pinned to the intruder.

  It takes me a minute, but I work through the adrenaline, see that the shape is familiar. I squint and see pale skin in the flash of lightning. Wrinkles around puffy but familiar eyes. Eyes I definitely know. But much harder.

  Crude tattoos on sinewy arms. Oh my God. It’s Theo.

  “Bless your heart, Theo, you scared the ever loving shit out of me. Why didn’t you announce yourself?”

  He pins me with the stare from his deep blue eyes. Once those eyes were innocent, but right now they’re utterly blank, and the lack of expression has a chill crawling up my spine.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” His arms open for me, for an embrace, but somehow it doesn’t feel welcoming.