OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance
Page 1
OUTCAST
A Stepbrother Romance
Ora Wilde
Previously Published As A Serial Under The Title STEPBROTHER: A Baby Unexpected
Contents
Copyright
Love…
1. A Portent Of Things To Come
2. Living On A Prayer
3. Stranger In The Night
4. When The Cat Is Away
5. The Writing On The Wall
6. A Weekend Surprise
7. Homecoming
8. The Waiting Game
9. Five Is High
10. As The World Turns…
11. Second Time Around
12. In Dreaming
13. Hitting The Fan
14. Aftermath
15. Hopefully, A Dream
16. A New Acquaintance
17. Revelations
18. One Fine Day
19. Phone Sex
20. And She Rises…
21. Don’t Let It End…
22. Shock…
23. Denial…
24. Bargaining…
25. Anger…
26. Guilt…
27. Depression…
28. Acceptance…
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Ora Wilde
Preview
All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or distributed, either manually or digitally, without the prior written consent of the author. Brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews are allowed.
WARNING:
This eBook contains graphic portrayals of sex. It is not intended for readers below 18 years of age.
DISCLAIMER:
None of the sexual acts depicted in this eBook involve minors, nor partners related in blood. The sexual acts depicted herein are all consensual.
Created with Vellum
Love…
Love that we cannot have
is the one that lasts the longest,
hurts the deepest,
and feels the strongest.
- William Shakespeare
1
A Portent Of Things To Come
The uniform didn’t suit me.
It was too tight, even for my small frame. The skirt was too short, even if I wasn’t tall enough to have noticeably long legs. The fabric’s particular shade of green, light and bright, didn’t really complement the pale color of my skin. And these pompoms... these ridiculous looking pompoms... I have never, not even once, imagined myself holding them in my hands, more so waving them around like a delirious idiot.
Yet, there I was, in the gym after school hours, at the right side of the court, bunched with the other cheerleaders - veterans and trainees alike, practicing basic steps before embarking on more complicated maneuvers.
Jaynie Martell, the head cheerleader, was burdened with the unenviable task of teaching us the fundamentals for what was supposed to be the easiest routine in the repertoire - spelling out “GO ROYALS” with our bodies and our pompoms.
Easiest, of course, is a relative word.
Only four of us were newbies. The others have been with the squad for at least a year. My co-trainees nailed the routine almost immediately - they gyrated their hips on cue, extended their hands synchronically to the letter being yelled, and waved their olive-shaded pompoms with visible enthusiasm.
I was neither as skilled nor as flexible as they were. And three days of practicing with them haven’t helped me any.
“What’s wrong, Andrea?” Jaynie asked. Surely, she was frustrated with my seeming inability to complete a very basic routine, but she was courteous enough not to let it show. It’s a craft she has mastered by having to deal with a lot of people, I thought. Blonde, beautiful, slender, graceful, statuesque and highly charismatic, she was the reigning Homecoming Queen, a title she was poised to win again this year.
“Nothing,” I said, distantly.
“Do we need another rundown of the steps?” she asked politely. “A lot of your squad mates are more than willing to help you out.”
Yeah, right.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw them... my squad mates.
Kyla Sanders, one of the more popular girls in campus - for all the wrong reasons - gave me a look of contempt. She never liked me, that much I could tell. She was probably waiting for the right opportunity to pounce on, to force me to leave their group.
The rest were staring at me irately. They were growing impatient with me. Most of them may even be wondering what I, the plainest of Plain Janes, was doing amongst their ranks.
A look across the court, towards the group of varsity players huddled around their coach, would reveal the answer.
There he was, his arms rested on the shoulders of his teammates, his ruggedly handsome face made charming by his dreamy eyes and his boyish smile, his body lean and toned which revealed a form that was built for all manners of sports, his short dark hair made more radiant under the light.
Captain of our High School’s basketball team. Star shooting guard. Expected to be an All-American by May. Has accepted a scholarship to play for UCLA next year.
Delfin Henshaw.
But I fondly call him Finn.
He’s my boyfriend.
He looked away from their huddle and turned his gaze on me. He smiled and gave me a wink. Amazingly, even after nine months of being together, his simplest of gestures still made my heart tingle with delight.
“Andrea?” Jaynie called out, yanking me from my momentary musing. “Do you need help with the steps?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I told her with renewed enthusiasm. “Sorry, I’m really a slow learner. But I’ll try my best to get it...” I added.
The other cheerleaders gave me a quizzical look, wondering, perhaps, how long it would take for a slow learner to actually master the most uncomplicated act of their performance.
“Eventually,” I quickly added. “The sooner the better,” I assured Jaynie, with a tone that was loud enough for the rest of the girls to hear.
“Jaynie, he’s looking at us again,” one of the cheerleaders suddenly said with an alarmed tone.
Everyone knew where to look.
They turned their heads towards the bleachers, towards the left corner of the stands that housed the highest row of seats, towards a spot that was almost hidden in shadows.
True enough, he was there. He wore his hood over his head, his face was barely recognizable. Like a vulture that hovered over its prey, he watched us. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands were clasped together, and his chin lied over his fingers. He was motionless... seemingly content in observing the cheerleaders as they practiced.
“This is what?” one of the girls asked. “The third straight day now? That freak is spying on us. Isn’t that a crime or something?”
Murmurs flooded our side of the gymnasium. Who is he, someone asked. Some kind of a peeping tom, another answered. Let’s call Mrs. Henridge, one of them suggested. Screw that idea... let’s call the guard, yet another strongly proposed.
The guys from the other side of the court noticed the commotion. In a matter of seconds, Finn and two of his teammates started to approach us.
“Is everything okay, girls?” he asked. I swear, I felt some of them swoon.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jaynie answered for the group. “There’s just this guy in the rafters who’s been watching us for days now,” she added, pointing to where the hooded figure was seated.
“Alright, we’ll talk to him,” Finn reassured us. He and his buddies started to walk towards the bleachers.
“Finn, wait!” I called out as I grabbed his arm.
“Andrea, I’ll take care of it,” he told me, smiling to m
ake me know that everything was going to be okay.
“No, please...” I pleaded. “Let me do it.”
He gave me a bewildered look. He probably thought I was kidding.
“Andrea, you don’t know what that guy is capable of,” he explained. “Let me and the boys handle this, alright?”
Everyone was listening to our conversation. The girls were getting very anxious, wanting to rid the stands of the stranger who seemed to have a preference for voyeurism.
I had no other choice.
I had to tell Finn... even if other people would hear... even if other people would know.
“Finn,” I started to say, “he’s my brother. He won’t harm me. He’ll listen to me.”
“What?” he said in shock, as the murmurings around us grew louder.
“You haven’t met him yet, but he’s a nice guy,” I continued, unsure whether or not I just lied. The truth of the matter was that I didn’t know the guy in the stands... well, not in the way that a normal person would know her sibling. He was as much of a stranger to me as he was to the girls in my group.
“Alright, then,” Finn replied. “You’ll be okay, right?”
“Of course I will,” I said with a loving grin.
“Fine. We’ll go back to the huddle, but give me a shout out if you’ll need help or something.”
“I will.”
As I walked away from the cheerleaders, I heard their whispers.
Oh my God, a girl with two left feet and her freakazoid brother... who invited her to be one of us?
She’s more trouble than she’s worth.
Jaynie, can’t we just get rid of her?
I tried not to listen, but some of their words were quite painful. They haunted me with each step I took towards the upper portion of the bleachers. Why does he have to ruin this? Why does he have to show his face in my school? He doesn’t even study here? He’s not even enrolled in any school this year?
After a few seconds which seemed like years of agony, I finally reached him. He hasn’t moved at all. He hasn’t changed his position. His chin was still rested over his clasped hands. His dark blue hoodie still shrouded his eyes and I couldn’t determine where he was looking, though his head was still facing the court.
“You’re creeping them out,” I told him.
He didn’t reply.
“Who are you spying on, anyway?” I asked. “Jaynie, most probably, right? She’s the prettiest one there. Sexiest one too. I could just introduce you to her, you know? She’s quite nice.”
Still, he kept quiet, unmoving.
“Nash, please stop,” I began to beg. “You know how much this thing is important to me.”
It was only then when he looked up to meet my eyes. He pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie to reveal his tribal-inspired tattoos on right arm... a design that extended to his biceps. He removed his hood to reveal his face... his strong and rigid profile that gave him a rough kind of appeal that was enchanting and terrifying at the same time, his deep-set eyes that seemingly glowed with savage fire, the tender outline of his jaw that belied the coarseness of his demeanor, his thick black hair that tapered neatly to his collar...
He stood up and, for a moment, I was mesmerized by his imposing form. He wasn’t overly muscular, but his body was tight. He was tall, though a few inches shorter than Finn. He was firm all over, and his sweater wasn’t able to conceal how strikingly appealing his physique really was.
At first glance, there was no doubt that Nash was a very attractive young man... in an untamed sort of way, that is. If he wasn’t too weird, some of the cheerleaders might actually take a liking to him. But there was something about Nash that contradicted his seemingly virile appeal. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but it was there... a constant reminder that he was just nineteen... no longer a boy, but not yet a man.
“This is important to you?” he asked, calmly, but there was inherent strength in his tone.
“Yes, it is, and you know why,” I replied.
He bowed his head and fiddled with the strings at the lower ream of his hoodie.
“Why are you spying on them?” I asked once again.
“I wasn’t spying on them,” he answered.
“Then why have you been hiding here, for three straight days, watching over our practices?”
“I... wasn’t spying on them,” he repeated. I felt that he wanted me to analyze his words... that there was something there, a hidden message, that I could easily discover if only I’d take some time to study what he said.
I looked down towards the court and I saw the girls watching us intently, wanting to know if I’d be able to get rid of the intruder they have branded as a pervert. I looked farther out, towards the other end, and Finn was there, standing a few feet away from his teammates, observing us, observing me, trying to determine if everything was going well.
“They’re staring at us,” I stated, without turning my head to face him.
“I know,” he answered. “Sorry.”
Then he started to walk towards the exit, away from the gym, away from me.
I was left alone in the rafters. The girls figured that the show was over, so they resumed their practice. Finn gave me the thumbs up and he rejoined his teammates.
The world was right again.
But somehow, I started to feel something strange, something that emanated from my gut and quickly surged throughout my body.
An ominous feeling.
A portent of things to come.
The world was right again... but somehow, I felt that mine was about to change.
2
Living On A Prayer
The delicious smell of beef stew emanated from the kitchen, and it quickly spread throughout the first floor of our two-story house. That dish was my Aunt Susan’s specialty, and to be greeted with its smell as soon as I got home, from a tiring day of school and cheerleading practice, was truly very comforting.
My dad was sitting on the sofa at the right side of the door when I arrived. He was reading the latest issue of Newsweek Magazine.
“Hey Pops,” I greeted him as I dropped my bag near the base of the stairs in front of the door.
“Thirty-one percent!” he yelled at me.
“Huh?” I uttered, befuddled by what he said.
“Thirty-one percent of Americans who did not finish college are unemployed,” he explained. “That’s like more than a quarter of the adult population in the country.”
“That’s a sad fact, Dad,” I replied. “Thanks for sharing it with me as soon as I got home, still tired from a hard day at school.”
He didn’t pay attention to my sarcastic response.
“Only fourteen percent of college graduates, however, don’t have jobs,” he added.
“I will keep that in mind,” I told him as I started to walk towards the dining table, excited about dinner. I was starving.
“Do you see how important college is, Andrea Higgins?” my dad said as he stood up from his seat. He called me by my complete name, which only meant that he was dead serious. “College is your key to a more secure future.”
“Uhuh,” I said as I grabbed a spoonful of mashed potato and gobbled it up quickly.
“Andrea, wait for all of us to be at the table so we can pray before eating supper,” he reminded me.
It has always been a family tradition, to sit around the table and say our graces before enjoying our meal. My dad was ultra-conservative. Born and bred with time-honored values, he proudly proclaimed more than once. He wanted us to observe his customs with him.
Us, meaning my mother - and after she passed away, my stepmother - and I. Nash excluded.
Nash seldom - as in very, very, very rarely - ate dinner with us. Ever since my dad married Aunt Susan some four years ago and she moved in with her then fifteen year old son, Nash has always been distant. He’s a loner, Aunt Susan once said, please forgive him but he never means any disrespect.
My dad would’ve preferred otherwise
. But he didn’t want to interfere. He’s your son, he told her, I don’t intend to replace his dad but I could always be a father for him if he wants me to.
Unfortunately, Nash never showed any sign that he wanted my dad to be his father as well.
On his way to the table, my father noticed my cheerleader uniform.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to what I was wearing.
“Dad, it’s our uniform. Cheerleading practice. Remember?” Though I’ve been with the squad for three days now, it was the first time I actually got to wear their official attire. The previous days, I had to settle for a loose shirt and a pair of leggings because the school’s tailor hasn’t delivered my uniform yet.