Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) (25 page)

Luke:
Good to know. Have a good summer.

A
rasping laugh escapes my throat as I read his text. Have a good summer? That
’
s the sort of thing an acquaintance would write in
someone
’
s high school year book
—
and a passing acquaintance at that. He
’
s treating me just like he used to, back when he was
nothing more than my sexy TA
—
with cool nonchalance. Amiable
disinterest. Well, fine. Like Danny said, there
’
s
nothing I can do to control his actions from here on out. If he
’
s going to treat me like a stranger, I just have to
accept it.

…
But that still doesn
’
t keep the silent tears from streaming down my face as
I sink into a numb, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twelve

Against
all odds, I find myself settling into a new routine as summer classes commence.
For nine hours a day, I attended workshops and one-on-one training sessions
with an incredible group of teachers, including my beloved (if occasionally
prickly) movement instructor, Gary, who
’
s running the show. There are only
eight of us students who were selected to take part in these rigorous classes,
and by the end of each day I
’
m too exhausted to dwell on my
stalled love life, the impending sale of my childhood home, or anything else
that
’
s going on beyond the walls of
Sheridan. Sure, I
’
ll have to deal with all of those
things someday. But for the next couple of weeks, I at least get to set my
baggage down for a spell.

At
the end of the first two weeks of summer classes, all eight of us students are
supposed to have a private meeting with Gary to discuss our progress so far. I
head over to his office in the performing arts building at the end of the day
on Friday, excited to talk about what I
’
m learning as a performer in this
intensive atmosphere. Gary
’
s alone in his office when I
arrive, his balding head bent over his desk. I rap my knuckles on the open
door.

“
Hey Gare,
”
I smile brightly,
“
How
’
s tricks?
”

“
Oh. Sophie. Good,
”
he says, having none of my sunny disposition,
“
Come on in and close the door, would you?
”

I
do as he says, slightly put off by his less-than-enthusiastic tone. My teacher
’
s eyes follow me as I cross the room and settle into a
chair before him. I thought these were going to be informal little check-ins,
but I feel as though I
’
m on trial.

“
So
…”
I
begin stiltedly,
“
What
’
s
the diagnosis, Dr.?
”

Gary
folds his hand over his slight paunch, leaning back in his chair and appraising
me.

“
You
’
ve
been getting glowing reviews from the other instructors,
”
he tells me point-blank,
“
They
’
ve been very impressed with your
work so far, Sophie. Your acting teacher, Karen Krause, is particularly
interested in you.
”

I
sit up a little straighter in my chair. Karen Krause is one of our guest
artists this summer. Back in New York, she
’
s the artistic director of one of
the city
’
s most exciting experimental
theatre companies. Being in her good graces is a huge deal.

“
This isn
’
t exactly public information,
”
Gary goes on,
“
But Karen isn
’
t just here as an instructor this summer. She
’
s scouting the eight of you Sheridan kids for a spot
in her apprentice company this coming fall. If accepted, you
’
d be living in New York for at least a year. You could
get school credit for taking part and meet your graduation requirements on the
other side of the country. It would be an incredible opportunity. And Karen has
told me that you, above all the other students, are the person she has in mind
for the spot.
”

My
jaw falls open as I struggle to comprehend what Gary is telling me. I can feel
my mind rebelling against the information, because it seems far too good to be
true. Living in New York City, working with a professional theatre company, all
while finishing up my degree here at Sheridan? That would be absolutely
perfect. Maybe Anna could even come live with me? God knows, New York is a
dream for any photographer
…

My
fanciful daydreaming grinds to a halt as I take in the look on Gary
’
s face. He
’
s practically grimacing at me.

“
Isn
’
t
this
…
good news?
”
I ask him tentatively,
“
Why
do you look like you want to drop kick me out of your office?
”

“
I
’
m
…
concerned. About you,
”
Gary
goes on measuredly, his fingers steepled against his lips.

“
Why?
”
I
ask, cocking my head,
“
I
’
m
doing fine, Gary. You just said, all the other instructors are happy with my
work. What
’
s the problem?
”

“
I did say that all the
other
instructors were happy with you,
”
Gary prods.

“…
But not you,
”
I reply, disappointed.

“
Not me,
”
Gary goes on,
“
Over the past three years, I
’
ve gotten to see you grow immensely as a performer.
You came to me as an angry, closed off little girl with no interest in
connecting to anyone. But you
’
ve worked like mad to open up, let
other people in, be vulnerable. You
’
re far from perfect as a performer.
You
’
re unpredictable at times, you
’
ve got some bad habits to shake, but what I love about
you is that you
’
re honest. You
’
re raw, and messy, and real. At least, you
were.
Up until a few weeks ago.
”

“
I
…
I
don
’
t understand,
”
I murmur, looking down at my hands.

“
Something has changed in you, since
you
’
ve been away,
”
Gary says with frank honesty,
“
Don
’
t get me wrong, you
’
re still a perfectly competent performer. The best in
your class, even. You
’
ve shown great technical skill
these past couple of weeks, everything by the book, on point. But you know
something, Sophie? Perfect isn
’
t you. Safe isn
’
t you. And I worry that if people start rewarding you
for the work you
’
re doing now, with apprenticeships
and praise and whatever, you
’
ll stop growing. And if you stop
growing, I
’
m afraid you
’
ll never become as great a performer as you have the
potential to be.
”

“
Are you just saying this because
you want me to stay here in Montana?
”
I ask hopefully.

“
You know I
’
d never try to keep you here out of selfishness,
”
Gary says firmly,
“
I
know this is all difficult to hear, but I need you to listen to me now. It
’
s not too late for you to course correct, here. You
’
ve thrown up the defenses around your heart again
since you
’
ve been gone, but that doesn
’
t mean you have to keep them up forever. I don
’
t know what
’
s happening in your life, or what
has you so scared, but you need to face it, Sophie. And soon.
”

Hot
tears prick at my eyes as I look away from my teacher. He
’
s seen right through me, as usual. Why did I think I
could hide anything from him?

“
What if
…
I
’
m not strong enough to face it?
”
I ask him softly,
“
I
’
ve only just barely started working through what
’
s already happened to me, to my family
…
I
’
m afraid that if I let myself get
hurt again, I
’
ll be back to square one.
”

“
What do we always say around here,
Sophie?
”
Gary says,
“
Follow the fear
…”

“…
If you want to find the truth,
”
I finish, blinking back my tears.

He
’
s right, of course. I
’
ve
been barreling along, refusing to deal with what
’
s
happened between me and Luke. Refusing to deal with the loss of him, just like
I refused to deal with losing my dad at first. It
’
s
a different sort of loss, but no less real. And no less destructive, if left
unchecked. 

“
You can do this, Sophie,
”
Gary goes on,
“
You owe it to yourself to chase
down the truth. That
’
s the only way you
’
re ever really going to be happy.
”

I
know whose lead to follow, if I want to find my truth. The problem is, I have
no idea where to find him.

I
offer Gary a murmured goodbye and hurry out of the office. My cheeks are
flushed with embarrassment at being called out by my favorite teacher. I
’
ve disappointed him, and disappointed myself. I
thought I was doing such a good job at moving on from Luke, but all I
’
ve really been doing is shutting out any passing
thought of him. I
’
ve been holding my need of him at
bay, denying how much his departure really hurt me. And it
’
s only now that I realize how exhausted I
’
ve become with the effort.

Bursting
out of the performing arts building, I gulp down huge swallows of fresh air,
trying to keep my tears at bay. But it
’
s no use. I stumble forward,
steadying myself against a park bench overlooking the grassy Sheridan lawns as
I give into my sadness at last. My shoulders shake as I sink down onto the
bench, burying my face in my hands. Warm July sunlight kisses my bare
shoulders, but I only feel a numb chill. I have to face the facts
—
I
’
ve completely messed up any chance
at being with Luke. Why didn
’
t I just tell him the truth, when
he left me here that night? Why didn
’
t I say that I wanted him to stay,
no matter what? For someone so allergic to bullshit, I
’
ve sure been doling out my fair share of it lately.

I
jump as my cell starts to chime in my purse. Sniffling morosely, I dig the
device out and check the caller ID. It
’
s Maddie. I let out a huge sigh,
sinking back against the bench. Maddie only ever calls me for two reasons
—
in case of family emergency, or to complain about Mom.
And to be honest, I
’
m hardly in the mood for either
just now. But then again, this is the first time I
’
ve had an actual call from either of my sisters in
weeks. The most I
’
ve gotten are vague, perfunctory
texts. I can
’
t ignore this.

“
H-hey Maddie,
”
I say, picking up the call,
“
What
’
s up?
”

“
Hey Sophie
…
Are you OK?
”
my big sister replies over
the line,
“
You sound like you
’
re coming down with something.
”

“
No, no,
”
I say quickly, my voice thickening. The one surefire
way to get me crying is to give me an opening by asking what
’
s wrong. I try and outrun the next wave of tears, but
it
’
s no use.