Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Novella (2 page)

Chapter 3

Brandon

The attorney Adam
sent was Sammie.  I’m still reeling from seeing her walk into this shit hole,
done up in her suit with that long blonde hair resting over her shoulder like a
spill of gold.  Fuck.  She looked so different but just the same with her
beautiful warm brown eyes that were the only ones, apart from my mom’s, that
ever looked at me with love.  I mentally calculate how many years it’s been
since I had to leave with my dad.  Has it really been that long since Mom died?

I
flex my hands that are now bandaged thanks to Sammie and her demands.  I didn’t
want the nurse to fuss over me but I also didn’t want to be an asshole and tell
her not to do her job.  I couldn’t get over Sammie and the way she spoke,
filled with authority and professionalism.  She’s grown up good.  I always knew
she would. 

The
room is quiet and it gives me too much time to dwell on what-ifs.  What if Mom hadn’t
died?  What if Sammie’s dad Nolan could have kept me?  What if my dad hadn’t
turned out to be such a scumbag? 

What
if?

On
the outside I’ve crafted an image to help me fit in with my world, tattoos and
muscles, street clothes and a scowl.  I’ve modelled myself on the man I despise
most in the world, the man who took me from a happy home only to neglect me as
a kid and use me as an adult.  I’m stuck in a world I don’t want to be in but
there’s nothing for me outside of my current life. 

Except
Sammie.

I
can’t think that way though.  Sending her away is the best thing I can do for
both of us.  She needs to be dragged into my shit like she needs a hole in the
head and I don’t want to spend my time thinking about how things might have
been different if fate had just passed me over for once. 

I
shake my head, stunned at the woman she’s become.  She was pretty before but
she’s become a beautiful woman.  Her lips were always sweet but when she smiled
at me before she left I couldn’t stop looking at them.  And when she turned to
walk out of the room I noticed just how shapely she’s become. 

Fuck. 
I don’t want to notice that shit.  I want to remember us the way we were before
life came along and shaped us for better or worse. 

I
sit waiting for a while, knowing Adam will be getting me more representation
quickly.  He doesn’t want me marinating in a cell, he wants me out there making
him money. I don’t think he’ll be worrying about me spilling secrets but it
will have definitely crossed his mind.  He’s a snake like that.  I guess it’s
only natural for people to think the worst of others if they know they are
capable of acting that way themselves.

Time
passes slowly when you’re faced with nothing but your own company.  I think
through song lyrics in my head, but they all end up being something maudlin
like Johnny Cash ‘Hurt’ and Waylon Jennings ‘The Road’.  The funny thing is
that I wasn’t feeling blue until Sammie walked into the room.  I was feeling
antsy for being locked up, sure.  And smug for beating on that son of a bitch
that thought he could shoot off his mouth behind my back and get away with it. 
There’s been a bit too much of that going on lately, with that new crew setting
up in the north of the city, but that shit doesn’t bother me.  It’s all in a
day’s work, or a night’s scuffle.  It’s sweet Sammie that’s left me feeling
down. 

I
know that wasn’t her intention.  When she said that thing about the wombat I
wanted to get up and hug her, but there it is.  Too many years between us for
that kind of thing.

When
my attorney finally arrives, I’m out in a flash.  Adam’s been working behind
the scenes to get that son of a bitch to say we were messing around, fighting
for fun.  The cops don’t look happy but there you go.  We might be scumbags but
that sure helps when you need to get someone to change their story.

I
shake the suited dude’s hand as we exit the secure part of the PD, and start
towards the door, scanning for Connor.  I find him in the corner and next to
him is Sammie.  I curse under my breath because she didn’t listen and also
because she must have left and come back seeing as she’s dressed in tight jeans
and a loose blousy thing.  Her eyes find mine and it’s like a zap of
electricity hits me when I see the longing in them.  I can feel how much she
wants us to have some kind of reunion, a trip down memory lane or whatever,
maybe because I feel the same.  But the fact that Sammie’s sitting so close to
a lowlife like Connor makes me clench my jaw.  I know what he’s capable of and
she has no idea, otherwise she’d be running in the opposite direction. 

She
should be running away from both of us.

Sammie
stands and starts towards me, clutching a big tan purse like it contains the
secrets of the universe.

“Brandon,
you’re out.  What happened in there?”

“Nothing
for you to worry about,” I say reaching out to steer her towards the door. 
Connor watches, his all-seeing eyes following us as we step through into the
street.  “You need to go, Sammie,” I say.

“I’m
not going anywhere, Bran,” she replies, and her use of my old nickname takes me
back to our home and a time when I felt free of worry and guilt.

“Don’t,”
I warn, because I don’t want to feel weak.  I can’t.  The only thing keeping
everything in place is the hardness I’ve packed inside me.

“Don’t
what?  Want to see you and spend time with you after all these years?  Don’t
care about you?  What?” She’s exasperated, folding her arms across her chest
and almost stamping her sandaled foot.  The pretty silver chain she has around
her neck glints in the sunlight, the little angel-wing charm so perfectly right
for her.

“Don’t
think things can be the same as they were.”

“I’m
not stupid Brandon.  We’re not kids anymore.  I’m well aware of that.”  She seems
to emphasize our size difference by making a show of craning her neck to look
up at me.  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t grab a coffee and talk.”

“Talk
about what?” I ask, thinking that I can’t remember the last time I sat down and
had a talk with anyone about real things, things that don’t involve the next
‘shipment’ or some problem with a rival organization that’s trying to encroach
on our territory.  I’m used to talking about business, sports, booze and women,
and I can’t imagine that any of that would interest Samantha.

“About
our lives.  About old times,” she says hopefully.

“Old
times are best left buried, and our lives probably don’t belong mixing in any
way,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and glancing towards the door. 
Connor has stayed where he is and I’m grateful that he’s giving me space to put
this to bed.

When
I look back at Sammie, her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and I feel like a
total prick.  She turns and looks down the road, as though she needs time to
compose herself.

“I
missed you,” she says.  “So much.  But you never called or wrote me.  Why
didn’t you stay in touch like you promised?”

“It
wasn’t because I didn’t care about you,” I say, and I see her swallow hard, as
though she has a matching lump in her throat to mine.

“I
didn’t know how to find you, and by the time I was grown enough I’d kinda got
the hint that you didn’t want to see me again...” 

“I
did,” I say and I know I’m walking a very fine line.  I need her to understand
that I didn’t forget her but I’m not gonna stand in the streets and spill my
guts about my asshole father and my ragged upbringing.  “But what was the point,
Sammie?  We were living in different worlds.”

“We
were still the same people,” she says.  “We still are the same people.”

“No,”
I say.  “I’m not, and that’s why I want you to go, now.”

“Brandon,”
she says and reaches out to cup my cheek.  I want to pull back but the feeling
of her soft hand on my skin opens a crack in my heart and I find that I can’t. 
I want her tenderness.  It’s been so long since anyone touched me like this. 
“Please,” she pleads.  “Just for tonight, let’s go somewhere.  We don’t have to
talk about the past or even the present.  We can talk about the news…anything. 
Don’t walk out of my life again.”

I
put my hand over hers and we stand, looking at each other.  It’s strange to
feel so connected with someone who’s been a stranger for so long, but I do. 
It’s like she knows me, the real me, not this substandard version of myself
that I’ve become.  And I feel like I know her too, the girl inside this woman’s
body who used to tell me ghost stories and cry in her sleep for her lost
mother.

“I
need to tell Connor,” I say, gently taking her hand from my cheek, lowering and
allowing it to slip from my grasp.  I give in even as I know it’s a mistake. 

“I’ll
wait here,” she says and I turn and go back through the door.

Chapter 4

Brandon

Connor is waiting
in the same chair, looking thoughtful.  He raises one eyebrow at me but says
nothing.  It’s the technique he uses to get people to talk.

“I
don’t need a ride,” I say.  “I’m gonna make sure she gets home safe.”

Connor
nods and stands.  “You’ll come by the bar later?” he asks, but it’s not really
a question, it’s an order filtered down from Adam.

“Yeah.”

I
turn to walk back out the door and he follows.  “See you,” he says, turning to
leave down the busy road. 

Sammie
is leaning against the wall with her hands in her pockets, waiting.  She looks
classy and sexy.  I’m a man and I can’t help noticing how good she looks but I
feel like a shit for it.  She used to be my stepsister – technically, I guess
she still is – and those kinds of thoughts have no place between us.

“You
ready?” she asks, stepping away from the wall towards me.

“Yeah,
let’s go and grab that coffee.  Somewhere that’s got food ‘cause I haven’t
eaten all day.”

“Great,”
she says, and slips her hand around the inside of my arm so we can walk close. 

When
we were younger I would give her piggy-back rides and we’d wrestle and muck
around.  Everything is innocent when you’re a kid, but her touching me doesn’t
feel innocent now, at least not for me.  Her hand is warm and her grasp is comforting
and I want to pull away as much as I want to draw her closer.

We
stroll along the road, not talking at first.  I wonder if she’s as lost in her
thoughts as I am in mine.  I wonder if she feels that things are weird between
us.  Different.

“Where
do you live now?” she asks.  “Did you get married?”

“I’ve
got an apartment but it’s nothing special,” I say, avoiding telling her where. 
“And there’s no one sharing it with me.  What about you?  Someone snap you up
yet?”

“Nah,”
she says, with a hint of sadness in her voice.  “I dated someone for a while
but it didn’t work out.”

“He
must have been an idiot,” I say, prickling at the idea that someone might have
had the gall to reject her.

“Yeah,”
she laughs, squeezing my arm.  “How’d you know?”

“Most
men are.” I include myself in that statement because I’ve spent most of my
adult life working my way through women and trying to avoid them the next day. 
People in my walk of life tend to be the type with issues and I’ve got enough
of them myself, I don’t need to be taking on anyone else’s.

“So,
what happened to you when you left?” she asks and I must flinch because she
looks up at me with a frown creasing her brow.

“I
went to live with my dad.  You know that.”

“Yeah,
I know that.  I mean, what did you do?  Where’d you go to school?”

“There
was a high school not far from his house.” I say.  I don’t tell her how rough
it was or that I dropped out before I should have, to avoid the intimidation.  That,
and my dad didn’t see the point of me studying if I could be out with him
making money.  As soon as I hit six foot he had me down at the gym, lifting
weights and getting trained by his friend who’s a boxing coach.  My fists are
what make me useful in my world, and my cool temper, although last night it
wasn’t that cool. 

We
come to a café that doesn’t look great but I want to end Sammie’s line of
questioning and need food.  “How about this place?” I ask, stopping us both on
the pavement outside.  She wrinkles her nose and looks up and down the road for
a better alternative.  There isn’t one so she shrugs. 

“I
don’t know.  It looks like food poisoning waiting to happen.” 

“There
isn’t anywhere else,” I say as my stomach clenches with an accompanying growl.

“We
could take a cab back to my place.  I’ve got steaks in the fridge that I
brought for when my dad comes visiting, but I can get more tomorrow.”

“You
wanna cook me a steak?” I say, laughing.

“What?”
she says shaking her head, confused at my reaction.

“I
thought you were a vegetarian!”

“Nah,”
she giggles, realizing why I was shocked.  “That only lasted a few months, then
my dad kept cooking bacon in the mornings and I couldn’t resist.”

I
look into the dive behind us, thinking about the dirty hotdog I would probably
order in there.  Going back to Sammie’s wasn’t on the agenda but I’d be
escorting her back there later anyway.  No way would I put her into a cab by
herself. The prospect of a home cooked meal and a chance to check out her place
isn’t something I’m going to pass up despite my reservations about this whole
thing. 

“Come
on,” she says, putting her hand out to flag a passing cab.  We get in and she
tells him her address which is in an upscale neighborhood.  Sammie’s done well
for herself and I’m so damn happy to see it.

We
try to talk a bit during the ride but the driver keeps interrupting with curses
about the other road users and useless, uninteresting details about his life. 
Sammie politely joins in but it leaves me frustrated. 

We
pull up outside a nice block.  The outside is new and well maintained, the
grounds lush with tended grass and shrubs.  I get out first, reaching to help
her out of the cab.  Her palm is dry and her smile warm as she comes to stand
in front of me, straightening her clothes and hitching her bag up onto her
shoulder.

“Come
on, Bran,” she says, leading the way into a spacious lobby with an elevator at
the back.  It smells fresh and expensive and I’m glad she suggested we come here
rather than go to my place.  My stairwell smells of weed and ramen noodles and
I’ve never taken a woman there before for that very reason.

In
the elevator I check my cell phone, finding a missed call from Adam.  I guess
he must be pissed that I haven’t returned to business right away, particularly since
he footed the bill for my representation.  Fuck him.  I’ve picked up enough of
his shit and dealt with it over the years.  He can wait while I have some
decent food and a dip a toe into a life I was ripped out of against my wishes.
Then I’ll be his all over again and I’ll make sure that Sammie understands that
she can’t come looking for me no matter what.

When
I look up, Sammie’s watching me with that frown again.  I want to stroke my
thumb over it and ease it away.  Worry has no place on a pretty face like hers
and I hate that I’ve put it there.

“Something
wrong?” she asks and I plaster on a smile and shake my head.

“Nothing
at all,” I say.

The
elevator stops and the doors open, then we’re walking through a bright corridor
filled with plants and nice artwork.  Sammie’s door is at the end and she looks
up at me when she unlocks it, hesitating to push it open, as though she’s
remembered something in there that she doesn’t want me to see.

“What?”
I ask.

“Nothing.” 
She shakes her head and I follow her in, closing the door behind me, feeling
like things are getting more uncomfortable between us the longer we spend
together.

“Let’s
get the food going.  You must be famished.”

Her
apartment is something else.  Floor to ceiling windows on one side showcase a
stunning view.  The kitchen is open into the den.  She drops her bag on the
counter and heads for the fridge, pulling out a big pack of steaks and some
vegetables to make a salad.  I walk around, scanning the shelves that line one
wall.  Sammie was always a big reader and her shelves are packed with books,
some names I recognize and others I don’t.  There are massive legal books there
too and a pretty big CD collection.  I’m pleased to see she still likes some
classic country although I wonder if it’s hard for her to listen to like it is
for me, a reminder of bittersweet happy times.

I
stand in front of a shelf of framed photos, looking at Sammie with friends on
nights out and on sandy beaches, making funny expressions and smiling like her
face might crack.  She seems so happy but inside my heart clenches.  I want to
feel good about the way her life has turned out but there’s a tiny, horrible
worm in my chest that resents it too; resents that it’s not me next to her with
the megawatt smile, sharing all her good times.  Lower down there’s  a
gathering of family photos and I reach out and pick up one that’s slightly
faded, like my memories of the day the picture was taken.  It’s me and Sammie
in our yard, dressed in our swimsuits, holding our arms in the air and sticking
our tongues out.  We’ve got the scrawny bodies of preteens, ribs showing
through our skin, and skinny legs.  Sammie’s hair is plastered to her scalp
from where we’d been dancing in the sprinklers and I’ve got mud on my cheek. 
We look like two urchins. 

The
photo is perfect. 

“I
remember that day so clearly,” Sammie says from over my shoulder and I jump
because I hadn’t realized she’d come so close.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. 
I was so damn happy…I felt invincible.”

“You
were something alright,” I say and she elbows me in the ribs. 

“Watch
it, Bran,” she says grinning. 

I
raise my eyebrows and nod back to the kitchen.  “Those steaks aren’t gonna cook
themselves you know.”

“Are
you ordering me back to the kitchen?  Caveman!”

“Hey,
you promised me a home-cooked meal…don’t try and wriggle out if it now that I’m
standing here salivating like a dog!”

“Okay,
okay,” she says, strutting off. 

I
get a lump in my throat when I spot a photo of my mom and her dad on their wedding
day.  Mom’s looking at the camera with shining eyes and a smile that’s just
like mine.  Sammie’s dad is in profile, gazing at Mom like she’s his dream come
true.  The moment snapped in time seems like a dream.  Happiness has always
seemed like a fleeting thing to me.  It’s never stuck around for very long and
afterwards, when things are back to their usual greyness, I wonder if it’s me,
if I scare the good times away or somehow don’t deserve them for more than a
moment.

I
hear the sizzle of oil in the pan and turn to see Sammie lowering two big slabs
of meat into a skillet.  She’s put her hair into a messy bun and is wearing an
apron tied tight around her middle.  It’s the picture of domesticity and so
damn weird for me to see. 

“How’d
you like your steak?” she asks, turning with tongs in her hands.

“Rare.” 

“I’d
have guessed well done.” She laughs and shifts the steak around so it doesn’t
stick.

“Why
well done?”

“I
don’t know. I remember you always eating the most burnt chicken from the grill.”

“Your
dad burned all the chicken.  He was a terrible outdoor cook.”

“Yeah.” 
Her mouth is soft when she says it, her expression warm.  “He still is.”

“Is
he doing okay?”

“He’s
getting a bit forgetful but he’s good.”  She studies me for a second and I can
almost see her mind working, considering whether to say what she’s got brewing
in her brain.  “You know he’d love to see you.”

I
shake my head. 

“Why?” 

“Because
it’s just better this way.”

The
frown lines are back on her forehead and she turns back to the stove, turning
the steaks and then dressing the salad.  I run my hand over the marble counter,
the coolness soothing against my skin, but inside I’m burning.  All the
frustration is there, eating away at me.  I have this urge to slam my fist hard
against the rigid surface, to split my skin open again and let out some of the
seething fury I’ve been suppressing.  I’ve never wanted the life I ended up
with.  I’m like a square peg in a round hole most of the time, but I’m in too
deep to get out unscathed. 

“You
wanna beer?” Sammie asks and I nod, pushing it all back down again.  I gulp
down half the bottle and tell myself I’ll get through dinner and then make my
excuses and leave.  And when I’m out of Sammie’s door I won’t look back again. 
It’s too hard being reminded of the past when your present is a grind and the
future isn’t somewhere you want to travel to.

Sammie
puts our delicious looking meals on the counter and we sit on bar stools. 
Everything she’s put together in ten minutes tastes amazing and I barely talk
outside of a compliment until the plate is clear.  She’s watching me when I put
the cutlery down with a satisfied expression. 

“You
know what they say about the way to a man’s heart?”  I ask, and she nods. 
“Well, don’t go cooking for any old idiot unless you want him to fall in love
with you.”

She
blinks and then blushes and that swell of awkwardness is back between us.  I
kick myself for my stupid mouth as she gets up to put our plates near the
sink. 

“Can
I show you some stuff?” she asks.

“What
stuff?”

“Call
it a trip down memory lane.”   She starts walking towards a door in the back
corner of the den and I follow into a short hallway and further into a
bedroom.  I know it’s hers because it smells of the perfume I keep catching on
the air around her.  The bed is huge and made up with white linens and a chunky
grey blanket.  The floors are dark wood and match the dark wood of the
furniture.  It’s not very girlie but I hadn’t expected pink cushions or hanging
butterflies.  Even her childhood bedroom was painted blue.