SAVIOR: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ora Wilde

  “Probably,” she mumbled as she bowed her head. She didn’t want to witness me like that.

  “Then why do you love him?”

  “Con... I’ve known him far longer than I have known you.”

  “And that’s a reason?”

  “It’s reason enough for me.” Her tone was apologetic. Her mind was set. “I’ve known him for too long... I know him so well... I wouldn’t want to bet against him... to believe that he’s a bad man...”

  “Go,” I muttered as I turned my back on her.

  “Con... don’t be like that,” she begged.

  “Just go,” I repeated.

  Sad quietness filled the air between us. It lasted for seconds... maybe even minutes. It didn’t matter. She has made her decision. She was leaving.

  “Con... good luck on your fight, okay?”

  “Luck is for fucking losers.”

  “Maybe. But please, please, please don’t lose your cool.”

  “The fuck I will! My anger is my weapon. The sooner I’ll lose it, the sooner I’ll win.”

  “People there... they have already judged you...”

  “So what? I don’t fucking give a shit.”

  “I just want them to see you... the real you... the you that I have come to know... and... and...”

  And?

  “Just take care, Con,” she continued, abandoning what she was planning to say earlier. “Just... always remember... there are more important things than a championship.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Respect.”

  “You know what? Fuck respect. Just go.”

  She didn’t move. She wanted me to turn around and face her. I didn’t.

  “Just leave me alone, okay? Get married. Have kids. Start a nice family for all I care. Just go.”

  I heard her sob.

  Then I heard her footsteps... walking away from me... the sound getting fainter and fainter with each step.

  Then silence.

  Complete and utter silence.

  I was alone.

  Again.

  The way I used to like it.

  But it was different that time around...

  There was no contentment in my isolation. No peace. No comfort.

  Only despair.

  A maddening kind of sorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  MEG

  “Are you ready, honey?”

  His question should’ve sounded sweet... but at that instance, as we entered the lobby of St. Montgomery’s Chapel of Love, I found myself dreading every word he just said.

  Why was I in that kind of a situation? It’s not the wedding I have always dreamt of. There, without the presence of my loved ones... not even the few friends I have... I was alone with a handful of strangers and the love of my life.

  The love of my life.

  How romantic that phrase sounded.

  Lucas.

  The love of my life.

  It just sounded so... right.

  Until two days ago, I was confused. I entertained thoughts that may affection for Lucas was just a machinated feeling... a love that was there because he was there... a choice that was made because of all the things we have already shared together.

  The catalyst for my confusion: Conner McXavier. MMA fighter. My stepbrother.

  He showed me a certain kind of happiness that I have never experienced before. A joy that overwhelms me and lingers way through the night, into the next morning. I woke up with thoughts of him. I went to work with thoughts of him. I went to bed with thoughts of him.

  And I began to think that he was the one. Not Lucas.

  But that changed when Lucas said those three words that I have always longed to hear. Three words that he has always hesitated to say before. Three words that I knew changed his life the moment he uttered them. Three words that most certainly changed mine.

  And so I said goodbye to the man who I thought my heart wanted, and reaffirmed my commitment to the man who I really loved.

  “Honey... are you ready?” he asked again, jolting me out of my musings.

  “Y-Yeah... all good,” I finally answered with a smile.

  He smiled back, held my hand, and started to walk past the main door, towards the reception counter where an elderly lady with a wide beam has been waiting for us for a good minute or so.

  “I hope it isn’t cold feet,” she kidded.

  “No, of course not,” Lucas replied with laughter. “We haven’t been this sure about anything since the day we were born, right honey?”

  It took me a second to process what he said. I looked at him, still smiling, and nodded.

  “Oh... two people madly in love with each other,” the lady commented. “I see them everyday and I never grow tired of the sight.”

  Lucas quickly dismissed her remark with some questions.

  “So what do we have to do?” he asked. “Should we fill up some forms? How do we pay? Do you accept credit cards?”

  “Oh, just fill up this piece of paper as truthfully as you can,” the lady said as he handed over a folder containing some documents. “Just a few questions. Easy. And yes, Sir, we accept credit cards.”

  “Alright, good,” Lucas replied. “I’m sorry if we seem to be in a hurry.” He looked at me and smiled once again. “We just want to start our new life together as soon as possible.”

  “Awwww, that’s really sweet, Sir,” she opined.

  “And of course, the honeymoon too,” Lucas added with a chuckle.

  I laughed with him, albeit tentatively, just to be polite.

  He opened the folder and filled up what was being asked. He didn’t allow me to peruse it. He filled up the parts that were meant for me. “You don’t have to be bothered by small matters like this, honey,” he mentioned as he scribbled the answers.

  Once that was done, the lady swiped Lucas’ credit card and the payment went through. Then she led us to a small hallway that was decorated by several bouquet of flowers... immaculate white and undeniably plastic. At the end of the path was a room, the arc of which was likewise adorned with blooms that would’ve looked very pretty if they were real.

  The lady opened the door and an old man, bearded and balding and garbed in a black ministerial robe, was waiting inside, smoking from his old-fashioned pipe. He was surprised to see us.

  “Ah! Our first lovebirds for the day!” he proclaimed.

  “Yes... the first couple, and hopefully not the last,” the lady confirmed.

  She ushered us in, and we sat on the couch at the center of the room, right in front of a makeshift altar that was seemingly made out of cheap plywood and covered by a white blanket that one can easily buy from Walmart.

  “I’ll go get the witnesses,” the lady told us, asking us to wait.

  “I’ll go with you,” Lucas said as he stood up. “Can you show me where the restroom is?”

  “It’s at the lobby where we came from,” the lady answered. “Come with me, then. I’ll show you.”

  Lucas squeezed my arm, his way of telling me that he’ll be right back. I looked at him and smiled.

  As soon as they were gone, the minister tried to start a conversation.

  “How long have you been engaged?” he asked. “Wait... don’t answer that. Let me guess.”

  “Okay.”

  He eyed me intently, trying to get some clues... from my mannerisms to the look in my eyes to how I was seated. Then, his face lit up as if he had a eureka moment.

  “Aha!” he declared. “A little bit of anxiety, a little bit of uncertainty... I’d say you just met this evening and it was love at first sight!”

  My eyes widened and all I could do was stare at him.

  “Here’s a little tip, dear,” he began to say. “Your nervousness is killing the moment, burying the excitement that’s deep inside you. Just embrace the moment. You’ll see. You’ll find happiness in this experience... a kind of happiness that you never thought was possible.”

  A loud beep interrupted
him.

  From Lucas’ cellphone.

  He left it on the couch, right beside me.

  Thank God! It was an excuse for the minister to stop talking about his assumptions with regards to my love life.

  “I think I have to remind you to turn off your phone while in the chapel,” the minister said in a fatherly tone.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I reached for Lucas’ phone.

  I never touched his mobile before. I respected his privacy, as much as he respected mine. But it was making a loud, rather scandalous sound so I had to turn it off.

  I pressed on a button and the screen flashed a cluster of words.

  A text message.

  Automated.

  From a sender designated as 777 Betting Station.

  I didn’t want to read it. I knew it was wrong. But Lucas... he was the man I was about to marry... and if he was, in some way, involved with gambling, then I had to know because it would be an issue once we were wed.

  And so I studied the text message.

  This is to confirm that we have successfully

  placed your $5,000 bet on Johnny Jones

  for the Jones-McXavier XFC Middleweight

  Fight. The odds at this point is 3:1 in favor

  of Johnny Jones.

  What?!

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  CONNER

  “Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize!”

  At the dugout, Coach Mikey was delivering his usual pre-fight spiel, trying to fire me up for my upcoming match... the fight of my life... the opportunity I have long been waiting for.

  I would’ve screamed with him. I would’ve raised my fists to show him how pumped up I was. I would’ve hurled a thousand invectives to declare my absolute hatred for my opponent.

  But that moment was different from my previous pre-fight rituals. It didn’t feel the same.

  I didn’t feel the same.

  “What’s wrong boy?” Coach Mikey asked, furiously. “Forgot your lucky panties at home?”

  “No, Coach,” I replied. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Then snap out of any fucking daydreams you’re having!” he ordered. “The time for fucking daydreaming is over! It’s put up or shut up time now, boy!”

  He slapped me on the face just to emphasize his point. It wasn’t a weak blow. It was pretty hard that it stung a little. But there was no ill intent behind it. I knew that it was just his way to ignite my passion.

  Artemis barged into the room, visibly anxious as always.

  “Conner. you ready?” he asked while panting. He has been running around the MGM Grand. Coach Mikey assigned a variety of tasks for him: observe Jones’ camp as they wrapped his fists, coordinate with the AV department to ensure that they’ll play the right song for my entrance theme, watch the preliminary matches to calculate how much time we had before our fight would begin, among others.

  “Yeah,” I told him as Coach Mikey tied up my gloves. “How many more fights before ours?”

  “Just one more,” he said. “Stevens vs. Henry ended early. Vicious, that one. First round TKO. Henry caught Stevens with a Superman punch.”

  “Heh! I don’t know why people fall for that shitty move,” Coach Mikey laughed. “That’s the most telegraphed blow in the fucking sport!”

  “Well, Henry’s really fast,” Artemis said. “He’s number two in the rankings now. He called out Johnny Jones during the post-fight interview. He said he wanted his shot.”

  Normally, that would’ve riled me up. Henry assumed I would lose to Jones, hence, he challenged Jones instead of challenging me. I would’ve gotten so mad that I could’ve left my dugout and ran to his. I would’ve confronted him for disrespecting me.

  I guessed that Coach Mikey and Artemis expected that. They actually signaled for Jersey and Pearson to block the door.

  My apathy surprised them.

  “Conner? I think this is the time when you should get angry,” Artemis tried to remind me. “As in really, really angry.”

  I didn’t answer him. I just sat on the bench and allowed Coach Mikey to finish tying up my gloves.

  “Listen, boy,” Coach Mikey interjected. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re going through... what’s running in the sick head of yours... but now is not the time to be sentimental and shit!”

  “Yep,” I responded. I didn’t even try to look at him. My eyes were staring blankly at my gloves.

  But my mind...

  My mind was elsewhere.

  She was getting married at that exact moment.

  Or did she already get married? I wouldn’t know. We haven’t talked since that day when she said goodbye under the most painful of circumstances... when she made her decision... when she chose him over me.

  That should’ve made me angry... but it didn’t.

  I was too shattered... too broken... to feel anything. I guess it hurt so much that I have become numb to the pain.

  A member of the production crew entered the room, squeezing his way past Jersey and Pearson.

  “Hey guys,” he said. “I just want to let you know that Brooks vs. Droganovic is about to start, and your fight is next. Someone will pick you up when it’s time to do your march. I hope your preparations are about to wrap up? You guys ready?”

  “What the fuck do you think, you idiot?” Coach Mikey impatiently asked. “Can’t you see I’m already tying up his fucking gloves?”

  Wide-eyed and shocked, the production assistant swallowed some air and hurriedly left the room.

  “This is it, Conner,” Artemis uttered nervously. “This is what we’ve been waiting for all these years.”

  “Yep,” I muttered once more.

  “McXavier, you fucking cunt!” Coach Mikey screamed at me. “You listen to me, boy. Not everyone gets a chance like this. You have it. You fucking do the most out of it! No, scrap that! You fucking win this thing! Break that ass biscuit’s face and bring home that damn belt, you understand?”

  I couldn’t reply. I tried to grab on to Coach Mikey’s words and use them as motivation... as fodder for the rage I knew I had to unleash. In doing so, I fell silent.

  And he slapped me again.

  “I hate to do this to you, boy,” he said, “but that slap? Just think that it came from that cunt your sister’s gonna marry.”

  I turned to look at him with fire in my eyes.

  “Oh shit!” Artemis mumbled. “Mikey... did you have to say that?”

  “Say what?” Coach Mikey questioned. “Everyone knows he’s got the hots for his sister. I know. Pearson knows. Jersey knows. You know! The entire world fucking knows, thanks to that crap TV thing they showed! We just kept silent to help him focus on his training. But if his sister’s gonna be a distraction, might as well use her to get his damn balls back!”

  “Stop... stop talking about her like that,” I struggled to say as I tried to keep my anger in check.

  “Yeah, Mikey... maybe you can use something else?” Artemis suggested.

  “Ohhhh... stop what?” Coach Mikey mockingly asked. “Stop talking about your sister and the pussy face she chose over you?”

  “Stop... please stop,” I stammered amidst my wrath.

  “You know what, McXavier?” he continued to press. “That ass licker who she’s gonna marry? I think he’s way tougher than Johnny Jones. And if you can’t beat Johnny Jones, how the hell will you be able to beat that ass wipe?”

  I stood up and slammed my fists against each other.

  “You wanna see me mad?” I challenged him and everyone else in the room. “You wanna see me fucking mad?”

  “Oh you bet we do, you spineless wimp!” Coach Mikey yelled back.

  “Then let’s get in the ring right now and I’m gonna murder that son of a bitch!” I screamed.

  “You better, you motherfucker!” he egged me on. “You better!”

  “Don’t you think that... uhm... murder... is a rather inappropriate term to use,” Artemis edgily remarked. “Considering the last fight,
that is.”

  “You shut your hole, Jew!” Coach Mikey shouted at him.