Stepbrother With Benefits: An Opposites Attract Romance (Mason Family Book 2)

by Hazel Kelly

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “No it’s not, James. He molested her.”

  The air left my guts like I’d been sucker punched.

  “Recently, too, far as I can tell.”

  I thought of the day I found her shivering in the bathroom, her clothes sucked to her skin.

  “James?”

  “What else does it say?”

  “I can’t believe she trusts you with her tongue but not her words.”

  “Not the time, Maddy.”

  An old couple assessing pineapples turned and looked at me with wide eyes like they didn’t appreciate my tone.

  “What else does it say?” I asked again, this time under my breath.

  “She’s been sitting in his class for weeks willing his dick to fall off.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “But he’s the head of the department.”

  I covered my eyes with my hand, trying to block everything out.

  “Has she not been acting weird?”

  I sat back against a crate of oranges, their citrusy scent mixing badly with my sudden urge to retch.

  “Don’t answer that,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I feel sick.”

  “How do you think I feel? She’s going through that, and I treat her like a dirty homewrecker. She must think I’m a monster.”

  That word. Monster. Maddy clearly didn’t understand the meaning of it. A sharp shudder charged up my neck as I thought about how I would castrate that fucker with my bare hands if I knew where he lived. “Did you say she’s still going to his class?”

  “It sounds like it. In the article.”

  My eyes burned. “Send it to me. I’m hanging up.”

  “James—”

  But it was too late. I’d already hung up and abandoned my cart. What time did she get off class? I remembered her pointing out the building when we walked home from Cassidy’s that night. It was the big rectangular one, the one with the nicest bike racks. I could find it. I could find it, and I could rip that asshole’s balls off.

  God, what was his name?

  The article came through as I exited between the automatic doors, and I thought I’d be able to read it as I walked. But as soon as I saw her name at the top and read the first sentence, I stumbled towards the closet bench outside the grocery store on weak knees.

  I read about the trust she had in him, about the slow way he’d gained it by feeding on her desire to be a great writer and twisting it to his advantage. I read about how she suspected something was wrong but let his prestigious reputation override her intuition.

  By the time she wrote about attending his office hours, I found myself wishing she weren’t such a good writer. Her account of how he violated her was so vivid bile crept up my throat, and I had to stop reading. Had to know if she was okay.

  I stood and started walking towards campus.

  Maddy texted a few minutes later. “Did you read it?”

  “Yeah,” I typed. “Thanks for sending it.”

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “I’m sick of the secrets and lies.”

  “Me too.”

  “We’re better than that.”

  “We are,” I typed, realizing for the first time that I probably shouldn’t murder Brie’s professor in cold blood.

  “Hope she’s okay,” Maddy sent later, right before I turned down the street that would take me straight to the Liberal Arts Quad. “Really brave thing she’s done.”

  Suddenly, I understood the angry tone of Brie’s article on a new level. Because her whole point was that bravery shouldn’t have anything to do with it. When there’s a system in place that works, no one says people are brave for using it. You go to the police if you’re robbed, and you call the fire brigade if there’s a fire. End of. No judgment.

  But there isn’t a system for sexual assault where victims aren’t guaranteed further victimization, where they aren’t put on trial over and over until their trauma is so entrenched and well-rehearsed they can never separate themselves from it.

  It made me sick to think about, the way she must’ve been internalizing this. Sitting in his class, not knowing what to do. Plotting her revenge.

  And all the while I’d been fighting for her attention, trying to get her to make us a priority.

  What a jackass.

  At least I hadn’t humored her attempts to push me away. It would’ve been worse if she’d been isolated afterwards, right? She must’ve known I was there for her, that I always would be. So why didn’t she come to me with this?

  Was she worried I’d murder the guy or something?

  Because that’s exactly what I was going to do, no matter how deep a groove that fancy bike rack left in my ass. I’d be waiting outside for that fucker, and as soon as he came through those doors, he was going to get…

  Fucking something.

  I hadn’t decided yet.

  F O R T Y F O U R

  - Brie -

  As I cycled past my neighbors’ manicured lawns, I couldn’t help but recall those damning Tulip Trot photos.

  On more than one occasion, James’s mom had caught him admiring me from afar. My favorite series of shots, though, were the ones of me showing him my corsage, which read like a flipbook of my deepening blush.

  There’s an obvious sweetness in the way we’re looking at each other, but it’s not totally innocent. After all, teenage boys aren’t exactly renowned for their subtlety. And even though James always had good manners, I was clearly old enough to be self-conscious about my attraction to him. Not that that had changed.

  I hopped off my bike at the mailbox, remembering how he dragged that wooden Scrabble tile along my collarbone and down the strap of my bra, how he traced the lacy edge that cut across my breast, his eyes tracking the way my skin dipped with his attention.

  No one had ever looked at me like that, celebrated me like that. It was hard to believe anyone ever would. And here I thought Crystal was being dramatic about never finding another Darnell.

  But it wasn’t just sex with James. He may have branded me with his tongue, but he also had the ability to make me feel loved even when he wasn’t around. And with every passing day, the storm of feelings brewing inside me was collecting speed, energizing me more than anything ever had. Even writing. And like a storm, I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop that feeling of wanting to trust him with my heart.

  I took a deep breath as I walked my bike up the driveway, my eyes on the trio of letters tucked in the basket. They were probably rejection letters. Most likely, the first of many. Still, I humored the hopeful flutter in my chest since I’d contacted so many publications my odds felt better than normal.

  I didn’t know whether I’d been driven by rage or frustration or anger. All I knew was that I probably should’ve let someone else read the damn thing before blowing a whole day’s wages on postal supplies. Oh well.

  Even if nothing ever came of it, at least forty-two people would hear my story, which seemed a consolation of sorts. Then again, I’d never get another decent night’s sleep if Professor Herstall went unpunished. Not that I was naïve to the presence of evil in the world, but most of it wasn’t my fault. Whereas this evil, if it were allowed to continue, would weigh on my psyche for the rest of my days.

  Once inside, I set my bag on the counter and tore into the first envelope. It was a rejection from Worder’s Digest saying the piece wasn’t “feel-good” enough for them. That didn’t bode well for the note from Ladies’ Book, which was also a rejection. On the plus side, there were a few handwritten words of commiseration below the printed signature, which took some of the sting out. Third time wasn’t a charm either, but I knew getting a piece in A-Listers was a long shot. I was too big a nobody to land space in a magazine about celebrities.

  I stuffed the generic rejection back in the envelope, and when I looked up, James was standing in the door to the mudroom. His hair was disheveled, and his tie was pulled loose beneath the open b
uttons at the top of his collared shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, the pain in his face suddenly making sense.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and before I knew it, he’d wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to his chest. I don’t know how long we stood like that, but it was long enough for me to realize that of all the feelings coursing through me, the strongest was relief.

  “You should’ve told me,” he whispered, lowering his lips to the top of my head without loosening his grip.

  I let my hands find each other behind his back before flattening my palms, my fingertips finding comfort in how solid he was. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset,” he said. “I’m positively murderous.”

  I hugged him harder, wishing I’d done it sooner.

  “I just followed the guy to his fucking house. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You what?!” I leaned back.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t come up with any ideas that wouldn’t land me in jail.”

  My hands went to my head.

  “And I needed to make sure you were okay.”

  “You followed him home?” I braced myself against the counter. “What were you thinking?”

  “That bashing his skull in with a rock might make me feel better about the fact that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”

  I covered my face with my hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Brie.” He pulled me against his chest again and squeezed me so tight there was no room for the shame inside me to grow, so tight tears seeped from my eyes. “I hate you for not telling me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “For going through this alone.”

  A tear escaped down my cheek when I looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what hurts the most,” he said, his eyes on mine. “That after all this, you’re sorry.”

  “I just meant I’m sorry you hate me,” I said. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “And I’m sorry you almost bashed a man’s skull in because of me.”

  “I didn’t though,” he said, taking my head in his hands before stooping to meet my eye. “Because this is the head I’m concerned with, okay? This is the head I’m sworn to protect.”

  I laughed through my tears.

  He dropped his hands to my shoulders, his gaze sweeping my face like he was looking for scratches and bruises. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes smiled gratefully at him, his attention making me feel safe and light for the first time in too long. “I am now.”

  F O R T Y F I V E

  - James -

  She was so beautiful, so kind. It boggled my mind that anyone would want to hurt her. Just one of her smiles was enough to break everything inside me.

  I was no knight, but I would’ve shielded her from anything if I could. Yet I’d failed her so badly I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to forgive myself. But she hadn’t told me. I wanted to understand why, wanted to tell her how much that hurt. But more than anything, I didn’t want to make this about me.

  “Wait.” She shook her head for a moment and a sharpness returned to her shiny eyes. “How do you even know?” She took a step back. “Did you open my mail?”

  I flinched. “Of course not. Maddy sent me the article.”

  “Maddy?!”

  “She got her hands on it at BELLE.”

  The color drained from her face. “I thought you said they only trusted her with hangers?”

  I shrugged. “Guess she’s moving up in the world. Or maybe she has a friend in the editorial department. I didn’t ask.”

  “God, she must think I’ll do anything for attention.”

  “Actually, she was just concerned about you.”

  Brie crossed her arms and hugged herself. “So you read it?”

  “Most of it,” I said. “Though I started skimming when I couldn’t see straight anymore.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know how,” she said. “I still haven’t said any of it out loud.”

  Jesus.

  “I felt so violated afterwards.” She shook her head at her feet. “Reliving it was the last thing I wanted to do.”

  My heart ached at the pain in her voice.

  “When you don’t see yourself as a victim, it’s hard to admit you are one.”

  I stepped around her, dragged a barstool over, and helped her up.

  “I know other women have come forward with this kind of thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to do. If anything, it’s harder than ever because it’s not just a matter of whether you’re telling the truth. It’s a matter of whether you’re a credible person. So on one hand, you’ve got a bestselling author who’s graced every living room in the country on the morning talk show circuit, and on the other, there’s me.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “Child of an alcoholic with a collection of rejection letters that stretch halfway to the moon and a dead-end job serving the same flavors of ice cream I’ve been scooping since I was sixteen.” She sighed. “It’s no wonder he picked me. Who would possibly believe me over him in this situation? He’s the head of the department! And I have every reason to be jealous of him! People so badly want to read the words he writes they’ll line up around the block just to watch him sign a book he wrote thirty years ago.”

  “Brie—”

  “Let me finish,” she said, gripping her knees. “I know this might sound stupid, but wanting to do the right thing and knowing what the right thing is aren’t the same. And if you come forward and no one believes you, then not only do you have this trauma to deal with, but your reputation is ruined, too. It’s not fair.”

  I reached forward and rubbed her arm. “Breathe.”

  She nodded at me. “I’m sorry to get all worked up.”

  “Please stop apologizing. You sound ridiculous.”

  “I don’t want you to be angry with me,” she said, her eyes pleading. “But I don’t want to talk about it with you either.”

  I swallowed.

  “Being pitied by you would only make me feel weaker than I already do, and I’m trying so hard to be strong.”

  “I understand,” I said, resting a hand over hers.

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to think about that prick laying his hands on you any more than you do.”

  Her eyes clung to mine. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate not being on trial.”

  “Hey.” I dipped my chin. “The only thing you’re on trial for with me right now is lying.”

  Her face fell. “What?”

  “All this pretending you’re not crazy about me, pretending you aren’t convinced I’m the guy for you.”

  “James—”

  “It’s ludicrous.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip.

  “You couldn’t stop loving me any more than I could stop loving you.”

  She glanced down at my hand on hers.

  “But we can talk about that later,” I said. “For now, you need to prepare yourself for the fact that BELLE might run your article.”

  “Really? Did Maddy say they were going to?”

  “No,” I said. “She couldn’t say.”

  Brie’s shoulders sank a few inches.

  “But I saw how many letters you sent.” I glanced at the envelopes on the counter. “And while I’ll never ask you to relive what happened, someone else might.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really proud of you for not staying silent.”

  Her brows lifted. “You are?”

  “Of course,” I said. “But you need to think about what you want out of this.”

  “I want him to not hur
t anyone else,” she said, her voice shaking. “That’s all I want.”

  “You realize you mightn’t have gone about this the easy way, right? That’s all I’m saying.”

  “There is no easy way, James! That’s the whole point. When someone physically violates you, there’s no easy way to get your dignity back.”

  “Yeah, but if you’d come to me, we could’ve discussed other options.”

  “Like what?” she asked. “You bashing his skull in with a rock?”

  “It’s not too late for that.”

  She laughed and more tears leaked from her eyes.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” She waved a hand through the air. “Fine.”

  “Really? Because the whole insisting-you’re-okay-while-you-cry thing is sort of freaking me out.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, wiping her wet cheeks. “They’re just stale tears.”

  I stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Think it’s a delayed stress reaction. They’ll stop eventually.”

  “Let’s go out for dinner.” I must’ve startled her, because she answered me with a hiccup. “Just you and me. We’ll go somewhere new.”

  She blinked at me, her hiccups distracting her from her tears.

  “It’ll be fun. We’ll talk about superficial crap.”

  Her lips crept towards a smile. “Like we used to do back when we tried harder to hide our feelings for each other?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “Except you’ll be more dressed up, and I’ll make an extra-special effort to treat you like a lady.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “I know. That’s why I suggested it.”

  She slid off the barstool and laid her palms on my chest. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She dropped her eyes to her hands before lifting them again. “For being so great about this.”

  “Thank me by wearing something hot.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Like that peach towel, for instance.”

  She laughed. “I can’t wear a towel to a restaurant.”

  “Mmm.” I furrowed my brow, pretending to think. “Good point. In that case, surprise me.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I love you, James.”