Fight: A Stepbrother Romance Novella

by Brother, Stephanie

  Man, that wasn’t a good sign.

  My mom’s eyes were bright, and she seemed alert today, indicating her pain medicine must be working, at least for now. I sat down in the chair beside her bed, asking, “Have you eaten anything?”

  She gave me the ghost of a smile, her painfully cracked lips curving upward just a bit. I winced along with her, because I could see the pain even a simple smile caused her. Right then, I couldn’t wait for her to die. That sounded terrible, but I didn’t mean it in a heartless way. There was nothing that was going to make her better. At least after she was gone, she wouldn’t hurt anymore. While she was still here with me though, I was determined to take advantage of it and spend as much time with her as possible. I still felt so guilty that I had let eleven years lapse without trying to contact her.

  Shortly after I had run away, I had tried calling once. Of course, Dirk the dick had answered the phone instead, and though I hadn’t spoken, he seemed to realize it was me. He had told me to disappear and stay gone, or I wouldn’t like the consequences. When I had summoned the nerve to speak, because he had still left me a stuttering mess at that point, I had demanded to know what consequences. I still remembered his chilling words, spoken eleven years ago but just as crisp in my mind: “You might be out of my sphere of influence, but your mother isn’t.”

  Of course that terrified me as a seventeen-year-old boy, especially with my history of the bastard, but I couldn’t believe now, as I sat by her bed with her hand in mine, that I had allowed it to intimidate me for eleven years. Would he have hurt my mother? I didn’t know. The simple truth was by disappearing, I had made it easier on him, and if he had chosen to hurt her, I wouldn’t have been around to stop him anyway. He had succeeded in driving us apart and running me off. I didn’t know if that had always been his goal, or if he had just taken advantage of the opportunity when I had run away, finally having reached the end of my endurance.

  She squeezed my hand softly, her expression gentle. “How have you been, my boy?”

  A sad smile curled my lips at the use of the sweet endearment. I hadn’t been a boy for a long time, at least mentally. I think I had grown up within two weeks of moving into the Gaithway household. “I’m doing all right.” It was a modest answer, but I was doing better than all right. I hadn’t won a championship yet, but I’d won one more matches than I’d lost, and I had a few endorsements. I was currently ranked in the Top Five of the Light Heavyweight division, and my prospects were fantastic. I was going to make it big, and both my agent and Lila agreed and believed in me.

  “I followed your fights sometimes.”

  That surprised me, and I tilted my head slightly. “You watch UFC?”

  She smiled softly. “No, actually I don’t. I was at a store one day, and they had a TV paying highlights of some match. I saw LeChance versus Domino, and when they shot to the fight clip, I recognized my son.”

  I blinked, recalling Mia telling me this morning how she had tracked me down with the help of a private investigator. “Did you tell Mia how to find me that way?”

  She shook her head slightly. “I didn’t even think about it until after she acquired the knowledge for herself. The pain medicine leaves me pretty scrambled. Before that, before I got sick I mean, I hadn’t told anyone, because I figured you didn’t want them to know. If you wanted to come home, you could. I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

  I sucked in an uneven breath, feeling somewhat distraught that my mom had known vaguely how to get hold of me for probably a couple of years, but she hadn’t. It made me sad to realize she had thought I didn’t want her to maintain contact, and I sniffed a couple of times to keep from blubbering like a baby. “I’m just glad I’m here with you now.”

  She squeezed my hand again, though her grip was more feeble this time. “So am I, son.” She took a deep breath, her expressions somber. “Are you ready to tell me why you ran away? Is it something I did?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not.” Indirectly, perhaps, but she hadn’t realized what kind of monster she was marrying.

  Her frown deepened. “Was it drugs? Dirk always said it was drugs, and he claimed he caught you using them and told you if you didn’t stop, you had to leave. And then you were gone.”

  I balled the hand that wasn’t holding hers into a fist and struggled to take several deep breaths. It was a calming technique, and a way to maintain control, because for just a second, I wanted to storm from the room, find Dirk, and smash my fist into his face a few times. Through gritted teeth, I said, “No, it wasn’t drugs. I’ve never touched those things.”

  That was true, though I’d gone through a period of time when I had been tempted, back when I had first run away and was selling my body on the street to survive. They had seemed to offer temporary oblivion, and I had seen other friends use them and swear by them. At that point in time, I had already felt so helpless and out-of-control that the idea of surrendering my last shreds of control to a chemical substance had held me back—a fact for which I was grateful. A chemical addiction was the last thing I had needed to deal with then or now.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She didn’t seem to have a shred of doubt that I was telling her the truth. Mom licked her cracked lips, her posture slumped over. “Well why then? Did something happen?”

  I hesitated, the little-boy part of me wanting to confide in my mom as much as I ever had, even though I had shied away from it at the time. After having watched her deal with grief and struggle as a single parent after my dad died, I hadn’t wanted to put her through losing another marriage. I also hadn’t wanted to be in a position where she felt like she had to choose, and I admit back then I had my doubts she would have chosen me anyway. I didn’t think it was anything she had ever done that gave me reason to doubt her. My self-esteem and my trust in everyone had just been shattered by that point.

  Before I could give in to the urge, the door opened suddenly. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Mia, so the unwelcome sight of Dirk was something completely different. My stomach churned, and my skin crawled. It was an instinctive reaction every time I saw him, no matter how big it I was now and how much older. He made me want to cower for just a second, so I straightened my shoulders and looked away from him.

  Leave it to that bastard to ruin a moment of lucidity with my mom too. Knowing him, he was probably monitoring the conversation somewhere and watching everything going on. I couldn’t dismiss the paranoid thought once it entered my mind, because it would be just like that controlling prick to observe Laura’s room.

  My stomach dropped sharply as I wondered briefly if he’d monitored my room too. Surely not. That would be a gross invasion of privacy, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Chances were, he hadn’t put cameras or speakers into this room either. Maybe he had been lurking in the doorway, or perhaps he’d just decided to drop in for one of his infrequent visits, according to the nurse I’d spoken to yesterday.

  Whatever the reason he was here, he had wrecked the moment, and I supposed that was a good thing. She didn’t need to know what was really going on, and what had happened back then. That could do no good under the circumstances, as I reminded myself again.

  I got to my feet, squeezing her hand once more, and bent to brush a kiss across her forehead. “I see you later, Mom.”

  She looked like she wanted to call me back, but then her gaze moved to Dirk and back to me. She wasn’t afraid, but she seemed reluctant. I almost considered asking her if she wanted me to stay, but then she squeezed my hand, gave me a smile, and patted my cheek with her other hand. “I’ll see you later this evening then, my boy.”

  I turned and exited her room without looking at Dirk, my stomach still tied in knots from the conversation with my mom.

  I was halfway down the landing when he called out to me. I froze, part of me urging my feet to continue on and ignore him, while the other part of me wanted to know what Dick had to say. Slowly, I turned to face him, determined not to betray any react
ion.

  ***

  I was boiling with rage, and the home gym they had was an inadequate receptacle for the emotion. There was a simple punching bag, certainly not a kick bag, and I was wailing on it, but it was doing very little to make me feel better. His words still played in my mind, but I couldn’t bear to remember them again. He was a sick, disgusting fucker, and I couldn’t wait to get away from here. Right then, I would have happily packed my things and driven away without looking back, if not for Mom. And for Mia.

  In my anger, I missed the bag and ended up hitting the post from which it hanged instead. Pain flared in my knuckles, but it felt good in a bad way or bad in a good way. I couldn’t decide as I did it again and again, uncaring about the torn skin or the possibility of breaking my hands. Nothing mattered except the brief release of emotional pain with the physical outlet of agony.

  “Paxton?”

  The sound of my name on her tongue was a cold douse of ice water, and I froze. Unfortunately, the rage still churned in me, and denied the outlet of hitting my hands against the wooden beam, it swelled and threatened to choke me. It had been a long time since I’d felt this out-of-control, and I knew I was breathing irregularly. I felt like a bit like a raging bull, and when I turned to face her, it wasn’t lost on me that she wore a red halter dress. I couldn’t seem to make coherent sounds, so I just stared at her as she came closer.

  She wore a look of concern, and when she reached for my hand, I flinched and pulled away. She put up her hands in a nonthreatening gesture, and the rational part of me realized I was scaring her since I was so out of control. I didn’t want to alarm her, so I tried to submit to her gentle touch when she took my hand again, this time holding it in hers as she examined the self-inflicted collection of wounds.

  She drew in an uneven breath, and I could see the confusion in her eyes. She’d never understand why I had been mutilating myself. In her little ivory tower world, she’d probably never felt the kind of pain and rage that coursed through me, so she couldn’t understand how cathartic physical pain could be sometimes. It was easier to feel an outward pain than the kind that ate deep into your soul.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Such a simple question, but there was no easy answer. I pulled my hand away and turned my back to her, keeping my attention focused on the punching bag. I started hitting it again, this time making a conscious effort to strike vinyl rather than the wooden post that was stained with my blood. I knew as soon as she was gone, I would probably return to hitting the post though.

  “Paxton, please talk to me. How can I help you?” She put a gentle hand on my shoulder as she asked.

  I shivered at the touch of her hand, her palm smooth against my bare shoulder. I had stripped down to just jeans and boxers before I started punching the bag.

  To my surprise, desire coursed through me like a raging inferno, and it mixed with the rage into some kind of combination I had never experienced. Right then, if I could have somehow managed to keep hitting the bag while fucking it, I might’ve found a way to soothe the mix of emotions inside.

  “Just go away, Mia. No one can help me.”

  “No.”

  She came to stand beside me, her body pressed lightly to mine, and I was aware of the softness of her breasts against my bicep. I wanted to turn and rip the dress from her, to sink my cock into her, as I took her hard and rough. It scared me, and I can hit the bag harder, once again missing and slamming my hand into the wood. It provided a way to balance me and gave me a focal point for the rage, so I did it again.

  “Please stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself badly.”

  I breathed harshly, trying to control myself. I had forgotten how this kind of helpless rage made me feel. Never before had I had such an easy target either, and I didn’t mean the punching bag. I didn’t want to say something that would hurt her, or do something horrible, so I tried to keep my voice cold and mean. “Get out and leave me the fuck alone. You don’t want to deal with me right now, so let me use this punching bag however I see fit until I have some control.”

  There was a brief hesitation, and then she moved closer, putting her arm around my waist, her hand on my hip. “Let me help you.”

  “You can’t. Just let me do what I need to and get away from me.”

  There was another brief hesitation, and then she uttered words that sent a stark chill down my spine. “Use me instead.”

  In shock, I froze before whirling around to face her. My hands were bare, unprotected by gloves of any kind, or any wrap, so her smooth flesh yielded easily to the fingers I clamped around her upper arms. I couldn’t help it, and I shook her lightly. “You have no idea what you’re playing with here. I’m trying to do the right thing, not to scare you or hurt you. Just get the fuck out.”

  I saw her shoulders square, and her chin tilted up. Determination flashed in her eyes, and she put her hands on my chest. “Use me,” she said again. “I’ll do whatever you want, or whatever you need, but please stop hurting yourself.”

  I should have pushed her away, and I should’ve persisted in sending her away, but I’m a no good dirty bastard. Instead of doing the right thing, I tangled my bleeding hands in her long hair, pulled her head back roughly, and slammed my mouth over hers. I wanted to make her hurt so I wouldn’t hurt as much, and though it was the worst crime I could think of, I couldn’t stop as I kissed her hard and rough.

  ***

  Mia

  What had I done? As his mouth ravished mine, somewhere between pleasure and pain, I asked myself that question. Part of me wanted to pull away and leave the gym, to run away and forget what I had seen. But another part of me, the part that was already caring for Paxton way more than I should, couldn’t leave him in this raw state of rage to hurt himself. It had been a natural, almost easy, offer to take on his pain.

  I was frightened, but not of Paxton. Even in this state, I didn’t think he would really hurt me, though I probably have some bruises in the morning. I was actually more afraid of the raw lust he was unleashing in me, a complete lack of control I had never experienced before. I liked the way he pulled my hair, and when his teeth grazed my lips, I enjoyed the flash of pain. I didn’t think I was a masochist, and I didn’t think he was a sadist. There were no easy labels. We were just two people clinging to each other, coping as best we could.

  He trailed a string of biting kisses from my mouth down my jawline and across my neck. He nipped hard at the bend of my neck, where the skin was so sensitive, and I yelped. In retaliation, I tugged sharply on his hair as I wound my fingers through it.

  His mouth gentled slightly, and while he was still rough, there were certainly more pleasure than pain now.

  I couldn’t help small gasp of shock when his hands tore at my favorite red dress, reducing it to shreds of material on the floor in seconds. As usual, I hadn’t worn a bra, and he made a sound of delight at the discovery.

  I cried out in surprise when he suddenly lifted me, but I wrapped my thighs around his waist as he carried me to the yoga mat in the corner. He dropped me a little less than gently, and the impact jarred my body, but he was soon atop me to soothe any discomfort. His mouth went to my breast, tongue and teeth devouring my nipple, making me cry out. I couldn’t completely decide if I liked it or hated it, and I assumed it was some strange combination of the two. It certainly sent intense shudders through my body.

  My nipples were so sensitive by the time he finished torturing both that I figured one more gentle flick of his tongue across the tip of either would make me come. He pulled away to shed his jeans and boxers, tossing them where he’d left his shoes and shirt. I had seen them on my way in. A second later, he was back between my legs, splaying my thighs wide so he could stare down at my core.

  My panties were gone in a flash, the rending sound of fabric filling the air. If I was going to continue to fuck Paxton, I was going to need a new wardrobe, I thought with a flash of amusement. Thus far, he had managed to rip off every stitch of clothing I�
��d worn around him both times we’d had sex. Not counting the shower, because I had worn nothing then.

  He went to my breasts again, avoiding the nipples this time. He bit me hard enough to make me yelp again, and he lifted his head. When I looked into his eyes, I could see some of that mindless rage had faded, and he looked remorseful.

  “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I lifted my hands, stretching to touch his shoulder as he started to sit up. “It’s okay. I told you to use me however you need. I just want you to feel better, and I can’t deny most of it’s feeling pretty good.”

  His eyes widened, and he seemed disbelieving of my claim. I arched my hips and wiggled my butt. “Go ahead. See for yourself how turned on I am.” I was a little embarrassed by the admission, but I sensed if I let him pull away now, it would only make his problem—whatever it was—that much worse. He’d add a heaping dose of guilt for what he’d done to me, though I had been completely willing and had made the offer.

  Hesitantly, his hand moved between my legs, fingers trailing down my slit. His exquisite gentleness was such a contrast to his roughness of a few moments ago, and surprisingly, I found myself wishing for the rougher lover again. I was in the mood for that kind of sex—the biting, scratching, hair-pulling kind.

  He sighed softly when his fingers glided easily into me, my sheath contracting to draw him in greedily. Even two of his large fingers were no match for the cock waiting between his legs, and I wanted it desperately. I scooted up and around, until I was kneeling in front of him. I wrapped my hand around his erection, and when he would have pulled away, I tightened my hold and deliberately pressed my fingernails lightly into his tender skin.

  His breath hissed between his teeth, and though he had clearly found it uncomfortable, his eyes closed partially in his pleasure. I didn’t pretend to understand why pain would give him pleasure, and I didn’t understand why it had done the same for me. Right then I didn’t give a shit about analyzing the whys or wherefores.