by Lane Hart
Dad’s “overnight trips” became more frequent and lasted longer when I started high school. By my sophomore year, he had moved out. And by the beginning of my senior year, the divorce was finalized. I expected that without all the bickering and hate between my parents, the relationships I had with each of them would improve.
Wrong.
Apparently, I was nothing more than a reminder of the life they hated and endured, which is why my mother left me with my father when she met another man, and my father all but packed my suitcases and sat them by the back door of our old house when he announced he was getting remarried.
I joined the Marines after graduation because I wanted to belong to something worth a shit for once in my life. There I met Austin, who quickly became my best friend. His family also welcomed me into their home when we were on leave. I envied Austin. The loving parents, the beautiful, sweet wife, the adorable son. Austin had it all. So I swore I would do everything I could to make sure he came home to them in one piece.
I let Austin and his family down. His son barely knew his father, and now he never will.
Imagining my father having another son Grayson’s age is mind-blowing. He was never much of a family man or doting father. I wonder if that’s changed.
Heading back downstairs, I find my half-brother in one of the mansion’s dens, sitting on the floor, building something with his Legos.
“You’re big,” he says when he looks up and sees me standing in the doorway. “Bigger than dad. Do you think I’ll grow up to be as tall as you?”
“Probably,” I tell him, unable to stop myself from thinking about how Mina’s long, sexy legs felt wrapped around my waist. “Your, um, sisters are tall, so I bet you will be too.”
“Good! I want to be a basketball player,” he says with a grin.
“Oh really? Do you have a hoop?” I ask, surprised that my father hasn’t crushed his dream yet, demanding that he only consider law as a future career.
“Yeah, out near the garage. Wanna play?” he asks, his dark eyes wide and hopeful.
“Sure,” I agree since I want to try and make up for all the time I missed in his life as his big brother.
Once Michael gets to his feet, he leads the way outside, past the in-ground pool and to a garage that could function as a hanger for small planes.
We play a few rounds of Horse and Around the World, Michael beating me each game, before a white Mercedes SUV pulls up in the garage and a lady with a short, black bob, eyes covered by huge sunglasses and wearing skin tight clothes, climbs out with an arm full of shopping bags.
“Michael, baby, who’s your friend?” she asks suspiciously as I dribble the ball between my legs.
“This is my brother, Patrick!” the kid exclaims.
“Patrick? Wow. Mike didn’t tell me you were coming for a visit,” she says as she trots over on skyscraper heels. With the basketball now tucked underneath my arm, she gives me an awkward hug with her hands still full of bags.
“Do you need me to help with those?” I ask to be polite.
“Oh, sure. It’s so nice to have a little muscle around the house,” she replies with a giggle as I drop the ball and take the bags from her hands. “I also have takeout. Do you like ribeye steak?”
“Yeah, sounds great,” I tell her.
“Well, let’s head inside and dig in,” she suggests.
Sauntering over to the passenger side of the car, she bends over provocatively to grab a few more bags with steakhouse logos on them. “Your father probably won’t be in until late, but maybe you can catch him early in the morning before he leaves for work.”
“Right,” I say since it’s too much to ask that he take a few minutes from his busy life to say hello to his son for the first time in eight years.
…
After a mostly silent dinner, everyone went their own ways. And so here I sit, my back propped up against the ivory headboard in Mina’s room as I flip channels on the small flat screen. Not that I really want to watch television; there’s just nothing else to do at eleven o’clock at night.
I glance around the purple and pink things in the girly room. Mina’s things. There are cardboard boxes stacked here and there like she’s packing things up. A few photographs of her and other girls as well as her and a young, dorky-looking guy, who I assume is her fucking fiancé, are on the dresser. That shit is still scrambling my brain.
Why would a woman sleep with another man a week before her wedding? Unless she’s unhappy about her decision, maybe having second thoughts?
When the bedroom door I left cracked swings wide open, I’m expecting to see Mina, that she needed to come grab some clothes or whatever. Instead, I see my father. The two of us stare at each other in silent assessment for several moments, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Regret? Surprise? Disappointment?
Those are pretty much my thoughts seeing him.
Even at this late hour, he’s still wearing a white dress shirt and gray suit pants, apparently just getting home from work. Michael was right. I obviously buffed up over the years, because my father doesn’t seem nearly as big and intimidating as he did when I was a boy.
“Patrick?” he finally asks in surprise.
“Ah, yeah.”
At least he remembered my name, even if he didn’t think I was good enough to inherit his.
“When did you get here?” he snaps, glancing around the room, almost sounding…angry. Was I supposed to call first? Because he never gave me a phone number.
“I just got here this afternoon,” I answer. “The girls and Valerie said you were working late on a case, so I guess they didn’t want to bother you by calling to tell you.”
“Oh, well, um, glad you could make it,” he says. Lowering his eyes that are several shades darker than mine in thought, he reaches up to smooth his thinning, mahogany hair. “Where’s Wilhelmina?”
“Huh?” I ask, wondering why he’s asking about her, but then I remember I took over her bedroom. “Oh, she offered to let me have her room and bunk with Bridgette while I’m here.”
There has to be, like, six or seven bedrooms in this place, but I guess there were no spare ones for guests.
“Right,” he says. “Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do the next few days before the wedding, but maybe we can catch up this weekend.”
“Right,” I echo before he backs out of the room and shuts the door.
After nearly eight years since the last time we saw each other, there was no hug or handshake in welcome; just a quick, awkward, thirty-second conversation. He apparently doesn’t care what I’ve been doing with my life during that time. Why should he? As soon as I told him I wasn’t going to college, I was no longer worth his time. Not that I was before that either….
Whatever. Maybe my father really does mean we’ll catch up this weekend and he’s just too busy to take time off. What did I expect? That we’d spend a few days fishing, sharing a beer and shooting the shit like my buddy Austin did with his dad? Never gonna happen. Work has always been more important to my father than anything else. The most I can hope for is a chance to tell him that I haven’t been completely worthless over the years. Surely even he can admire the fact that I risked my life serving our country, right?
Only after I turn the television off, and I’m getting comfortable in the soft sheets that smell of lavender like Mina does a strange as fuck thought hit me.
Why did my father come into Mina’s room so late if he didn’t know I was in here?
…
Mina
Last night I slept like a baby, even with my sister snoring next to me. With Trick here, I was still a little worried that my stepfather would come into Bridgette’s room. But he didn’t. And for some reason, I felt safer than ever before knowing Trick was down the hall, a massive man, bigger than his father. I had hoped our asshole stepfather wouldn’t even consider coming into Bridgette’s room with his lethal-looking son so close by, and I was right. In fact, I stayed u
p until I heard my bedroom door open down the hall and the two masculine voices murmuring quietly.
I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face just imagining the shock on Mike’s arrogant face when he barged into the room expecting me and got Patrick instead.
The alarm clock says it’s almost nine a.m., which means my stepfather has thankfully already left for work. So, I get up and use the restroom before heading down to the kitchen for breakfast. I’m pushing the button to start up the Keurig when he sneaks up behind me, tugging on a handful of my hair to jerk my head backward.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” my stepfather snarls quietly beside my ear. “Think you would avoid me this last week?”
A fearful gasp and near sob are my only response as he continues to jerk my head backward harshly by my hair while his free hand moves under my shirt and squeezes my breast to the point of pain. Dammit, he’s supposed to be gone!
“All you’ve done is made me angry and miss work. I hate missing work, and you’re gonna pay for it,” my bastard stepfather grumbles. “Go to the garage, find the biggest screwdriver I own and wait for me to decide where I’m gonna put it and where I’m gonna put my cock.”
Spinning me around, he gives me a shove toward the back door, causing me to stumble as he lets me go. I quickly turn the knob and hurry to make my temporary escape. The cool dampness of the cobblestone around the pool soaks into my bare feet as I stumble like a zombie in the direction of the garage. Sure, I could run away. The thought has occurred to me more times than I can count, but that would only make him angrier, and Bridgette would be the one to pay for it in my absence.
Of course, this won’t be the first time he’s used an object to penetrate me. All things considered, though, a screwdriver is pretty smooth, better than the wrench or broom handle that made me hurt and bleed for days. I wince at the harsh reminder as I continue walking down the sidewalk toward my fate.
“Hey,” a deep voice says from the dark shadows to my left, startling me so badly that I jump and my heart leaps into my throat. A glance in the direction reveals Patrick, dressed in jeans and a brown tee, aviator glasses over his eyes, slumped lazily in a patio chair with his long legs spread wide in front of him. Jeez, he’s breathtakingly hot.
“Hey,” I repeat, exhaling in relief at the mere sight of him. In fact, I actually smile, wanting to run over and kiss him, because he’s my favorite person in the world right now. There he sits in the perfect place, unknowingly acting as my savior.
I pivot around and walk toward him, taking a thankful seat in the cushioned chair beside him.
“What are you doing out here so early, and why do you look so happy?” he asks gruffly, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“It’s good to see you,” I say honestly, avoiding the first part of his question. “How did you sleep? I slept great.”
“I slept okay,” he answers, his brow furrowed as he pins me with his golden gaze. At least until the back door opens and his father steps out, walking briskly toward the garage, unaware of the two of us yet. Mike pulls out his phone, likely glancing at the time. He really does hate to be late for work. Too bad it will all be for nothing.
“Morning, Dad,” I call out to get his attention, causing his feet to stop abruptly on the cobblestones. I never, ever call him dad or any other paternal-like name, so I knew that would get his attention the fastest.
“Ah, Patrick. Willow. I was just heading to work. Running late,” he says through clenched teeth and subtly tries to adjust the bulge at his zipper. He doesn’t even glance in my direction, but I can see the anger pouring off of him in waves. While he’s bulky and tall, at least six feet, I would bet his son is several inches taller and outweighs him by at least thirty pounds of pure muscle. The two thankfully don’t share Mike’s dark hair color and eyes, I now notice. I try to avoid Mike’s soulless eyes as much as possible. I can see why my mother fell for him since he’s objectively an attractive man even in his fifties. It’s just too bad that there’s so much nasty ugliness hiding on the inside that I find him absolutely repulsive.
“See you both late tonight,” Mike tells us when he recovers from his shock and disappointment. “Maybe I’ll get caught up today at work and take the next few days off.”
As he storms away, I know his words are meant to be a threat to me. A weak one, since last night he proved all I need to know. Mike won’t dare make a move on Bridgette or me with his hulk of a son lurking nearby. It’s the reason he was gonna fuck me in the garage this morning, far away from the house.
“Wow, is he always so snippy?” Trick asks after his father opens the door and disappears into the garage that’s as large as most middle-class houses.
“Yep,” I answer. “That was him being pleasant.”
“Really?” Patrick asks in surprise.
Shit. I’ve got to watch myself. That evil man is Patrick’s father. Patrick doesn’t know me from Adam, and if my own mother wouldn’t believe me about the abuse, there’s no way Patrick will either. And if he were to find out, he would probably say shit to Mike, Mike would deny it, and then I would pay the consequences. Or Bridgette would. It’s not worth it. In a few days, my sister will be hundreds of miles away from our stepfather, and this hell I’ve had to endure for years will finally be over. I can move forward with my life, far away from the likes of him, safe and sound in a new home with Derek. There are just four short days left to endure.
That’s when it hits me.
Patrick will be here all week, until the wedding. If I don’t leave his side during the day and sleep in Bridgette’s room at night, I’ll be able to get through the next few days untouched by his nasty father.
“I would really like to spend some time with you this week,” I tell Patrick.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding with your fiancé?”
“Mom took care of most of that stuff months ago,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “So, what do you want to do while you’re in town?”
“Um, well, I dunno. What is there to do around here?” Patrick asks.
“There’s the pool, which is heated, or the beach…”
And, yum, both would mean seeing his amazing body shirtless. Okay, so maybe that’s not the best idea in the world since I’m trying to forget how hot he is.
“I haven’t been to the beach in a while,” he says.
Too late to turn back now. I’ll just have to use a buffer between us.
“Good! We should go even if the water will be too cold to get in,” I exclaim, getting to my feet. “I’ll go wake up Bridgette so she can come with us. Michael’s already gone to school, of course.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll get changed into some shorts,” Patrick replies, standing next to me, or more like towering over me. Jeez, he’s tall. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Sure,” I say, nearly skipping back into the house. Spending time with Patrick is no hardship; and if it means keeping me free of Mike until Saturday, I’m all for it.
Upstairs, I dive onto my sister’s bed and shake her shoulder to wake her. “Bridge, get your ass up!”
“What?” she asks groggily. Rolling over, she puts her back to me and pulls the covers up over her head. “Leave me alone.”
“No, come on. We’re going to the beach with Trick.”
Yanking the covers down, Bridgette looks over her shoulder, blinking her dark blue eyes open to stare at me. “Trick? You mean Patrick? What’s with the nickname? And how do you two know each other?”
“I saw him at a club Saturday night, no biggie,” I tell her a partial truth. “Now get up and get ready.”
I leave her room before she can ask any more questions, heading down the hall to change into my bathing suit, belatedly remembering Patrick’s in there until after I’ve opened the door.
“Shit! Sorry!” I exclaim, but I don’t cover my eyes or turn around and leave. Instead, I watch him resume pulling up a pair of brow
n boardshorts over his firm, muscular ass before he turns to face me. All I see after that is his massive, bare chest and raging abs of steel. My skin flushes from head to toe with warmth, the heat most noticeably between my legs. If ever there was a walking orgasm, this man would be it. No one has ever caused me to have such an instant physical reaction. This must be what pure, unadulterated lust feels like.
My experiences with sex have been anything but normal. Sex is nothing more than a dirty, necessary deed, a part of my life that I had to suffer through because it was forced upon me. Required. There was no alternative, no avoiding it. Then, with Derek, I had sex with him because it was expected after we dated for a year. Sex has always been nothing more than a physical act that I endured and then tried to forget after it was over, the sooner, the better. I’ve never just wanted anyone because I was attracted or aroused by them. Until the night when I met Patrick.
Vaguely, I realize that Patrick’s stalking toward me, bringing his mostly naked body closer to where I’m standing in the doorway like a statue. His muscles flex and tighten hypnotically as he moves.
“You still want me,” he says quietly, his deep voice so rumbly it’s difficult to understand his words even though he’s only a few inches away. So close I can almost taste his minty breath.
“N-no, I don’t,” I stutter while staring at a group of metal dog tags hanging around his neck. The significance barely penetrates my lust-hazed mind once I tell him a partial truth. This pressure bubbling up from deep inside me is more than want. It’s need.
“So, if I were to slip my hand down into your panties right now and run a finger over your pussy, it wouldn’t be wet?” he asks. I gasp, either from Patrick’s naughty words or the way he slaps one hand against the door frame and the other on the open door, caging me in with his thick arms. The only direction for me to go is backward into the hallway or forward into his body.
