Stepbrother Bastard

by Colleen Masters

  “Isn’t art school where you met Dad?” Anna asks pointedly.

  “It is,” Mom replies, her benign smile faltering for the first time as Dad is invoked.

  “So if that scholarship hadn’t come through, you would have stayed here and married John…” Anna drives on, her imagination reeling. The rest of us return hastily to our plates of food, feeling none-too-comfortable about this line of questioning.

  “That was the plan,” John says with a tight smile.

  “So if you think about it,” Anna continues, looking back at forth between John and our mother, “John is sort of, like, our almost-dad.”

  I nearly spit out my mouthful of wine at Anna’s assessment. God, when you put it like that, my dalliance with Cash suddenly sounds way weirder than it has any reason to. If our parents were engaged once, then what does that make us to each other? And why do I suddenly have the incredible urge to crawl under the kitchen table and never emerge?

  I’m certainly not the only sibling at the table looking a little squeamish at this little revelation. Sophie is staring intently into her wine glass as Luke shovels food very deliberately into his mouth. Even Cash’s face has gone a bit stony—maybe with trying to figure out what this twist means for the two of us.

  “Almost-dad,” Mom giggles airily, “What a thing to say, Anna! You’ve always been the inventive one.”

  “She’s got a point though,” John shrugs, “There’s no way of knowing what might have been, if only…”

  “No real need to wonder about what might have been though, is there?” I snap, surprising even myself with my heated tone, “Seeing as we had a dad, and all. A great dad.”

  “Maddie,” Sophie murmurs, trying to staunch my verbal torrent.

  “Had a dad?” Finn asks from across the table.

  “Yeah. Had. He died,” I say shortly, “But I guess someone forgot to relay that information, too.”

  A tense silence comes down hard over the table, and I feel Cash’s hazel eyes swing my way. There’s a tinge of something like pity in his gaze, and that does me in. All at once, the situation becomes too much for me to handle. Between the revelations about my mom and John Hawthorne’s past, my grief at seeing Mom with another man at all, and the intensely confusing feelings I’m having for Cash, I feel like the whole world as I know it is falling away beneath me.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing back my chair and rising shakily to my feet. “I just…I don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

  I turn and hurry away before anyone can see the tears welling up in my eyes. No one says a word to stop me as I dash through the house and out the front door, dewy grass clinging to my ankles as I beat a fast retreat to my car. I plant my hands on the driver’s side door, steadying myself against the heaving sobs that threaten to overtake me.

  My suitcase is still wedged in the back seat. I could take off now and leave this all behind me, go back to the life I’ve carved out for myself in Seattle. It may be hectic, thankless, and more than a bit lonely, but at least that life is entirely in my control. If nothing else, I know that my heart will be safe there.

  But here among the Hawthorne men? I’m not so sure.

  Before my will deserts me, I grab the handle of the car door. But before I can yank it open, a firm, decisive hand lands above mine, keeping the door sealed shut.

  “Maddie, wait,” Cash says urgently, stepping between me and my getaway car.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my hands balling into anxious fists.

  “I’m keeping you from running away, that’s what,” he says, laying those strong, steadying hands on my shoulders.

  “Get out of my way, Cash,” I say, gritting my teeth to keep from crying, “Whether or not I run away is my call. Not yours.”

  “I know that,” he says fiercely, his eyes fixed on mine, “You have every right to be freaked out about this whole thing. Fuck, you have every right to be pissed as hell at the way it got sprung on us. I know I am. Our parents are a couple of selfish assholes. I’m guessing this isn’t news to you. ”

  “So why don’t you leave, too?” I ask him, desperate for some answers that will set this whole thing straight. “It hardly seems like you and John are enjoying your quality time together.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Cash laughs roughly, running his hands slowly down my bare arms. “I don’t know why I keep giving in and coming back here at all. He and I are never going to get along. Trust me, if this was any other Hawthorne family reunion, I’d already be hitting the road. But this isn’t shaping up to be just any family vacation, is it?”

  “What are you saying, Cash?” I demand, goosebumps springing up along my skin as his hands trace down my arms.

  “I guess I’m saying that I want more than one night with you, too,” he growls, taking my hands in his. “I’m saying that I don’t give a fuck about what else is going on in this house as long as you’re in it.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, with a nervous laugh, “You’re not the least bit weirded out about the fact that our parents—?”

  “I stopped caring about what my father says and does a long time ago,” Cash cuts me off, “He doesn’t control me anymore, Maddie. My life is my own. So fuck no, I’m not weirded out. And I’m not going to let anything he does stand between me and what I want.”

  “And what is it you want now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  I gasp as Cash catches my face in his powerful hands, raising it to his. In answer, he brings his mouth to mine, kissing me hard in the gathering darkness of the night. I let my mouth open to his at once, pressing my body to him as I feel his tongue sweep against mine. We’ve scarcely known each other a day, but my every nerve is already hard-wired to him. My body comes alive as the taste, the smell, the feel of him envelops me. I feel myself awakening with an urgency that only he can set off.

  “I want you to stay, Maddie,” he growls, circling my waist with his thickly muscled arms. “I don’t want you to disappear from my life just like that.”

  “But Cash…” I begin, head swimming as I peer up at him in the dark.

  “Don’t worry about the rest of them,” he tells me fiercely, brushing the blonde hair out of my face, “Just answer me honestly: Am I someone you want to know for more than a day?”

  “Of course you are,” I tell him resolutely.

  “Then don’t go. Not yet,” he says, holding me close as I rest my hands on his firm chest. “Stay, and let me make it worth your while.”

  I pause, biting my lip. As long as I can remember, I’ve put my family’s needs and desires before my own—especially my mother’s. My instinct as a daughter is to get out of her way, let her have this affair with John Hawthorne, even if it only lasts a couple of weeks. Even if it stands between me and the most engaging, sexy, fascinating man I’ve met in my life. But she’s asked me and my sisters here for a reason. I know that deep down, she wants to find a way to have a relationship. And if I’m honest, I want that too. So if I do stay, I guess everybody wins…

  “Come on,” Cash urges, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, “Remember how I followed through with the last promise I made you?”

  The image of him lowering his mouth to my aching sex comes roaring into my memory. I’m gonna make you wish for a whole lot more than one night, he’d told me, before unleashing a torrent of unimaginably wild pleasure inside of me. I feel my thighs clench involuntarily just thinking of it, and know in that moment that I can’t deprive myself of this man just yet.

  “OK,” I whisper, circling my arms around his built shoulders. “I’ll stay here with you, Cash. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

  “You’d better hold on tight, then,” he tells me, grin widening.

  “Why?” I reply, anticipatory butterflies careening around my stomach, “What have you got in mind for me?”

  “You’ll see…” he says, grabbing hold of my hips, “You’ll see.” I let out a laugh as he spins me around, gives me a smack o
n the ass, and says, “Now march, soldier.”

  “Yes sir,” I reply coyly, relishing the way his eyes skirt down my body as I walk out in front of him. I let my hips sway just a little, and hear Cash groan in response.

  “If you’re not careful, I’m gonna have to tackle you right here on the front lawn,” he warns me, catching up, “What would our dear parents think about that?”

  “Do me a favor, Cash,” I reply with a shudder, “As long as we’re here, don’t refer to them as our parents, all right? We’re toeing the creepy line enough as it is.”

  “Fair enough, Porter” he laughs, scaling the porch steps in two effortlessly long strides, “Fair enough.”

  Chapter Six

  Over the next few days, the underlying tensions among our mixed-family party begin to die down. Or at least, they dip back beneath the surface for the time being. Everyone seems able to relax into the spirit of vacation, spending their days as they wish while giving each other plenty of room. Each of us falls into our own routine, coming together maybe once a day to check in. The less time we all spend in the same room, it seems, the better things tend to go.

  But then, it’s not like familial tension is new to either of the present families. The relationship between us Porter girls and our mother is rightfully strained. Despite her imaginative and expressive personality, her tendency to be flighty, absent-minded, and self-absorbed have made her a less than ideal mother, at times. I know that no one’s perfect, and I don’t expect her to be either. But her shortcomings have stunted her daughters’ ability to trust and rely on her, especially when we’ve needed it most. I know I’ll keep trying my entire life to have a relationship with her, but so far, it hasn’t gotten any easier.

  What’s interesting, though, is that there seems to be a very similar coldness to the Hawthorne boys’ relationships with John. Luke seems the most determined to keep things civil, but he treats his dad with more respect than affection. Finn, the youngest, seems to have pulled an Annabel and fostered a self-sufficiency that makes a relationship with his dad all but unnecessary. Of all three brothers, Cash seems to be the one who butts heads with his dad the most fiercely. There’s a bitterness to their fighting that tells of deep, unresolved strife.

  But seeing as Cash Hawthorne isn’t exactly a “talk about your feelings” kind of guy, I’m pretty in the dark about his family’s past. I don’t know anything about the circumstances of his enlisting in the army, or what’s beneath the rivalry he has with Luke, or even what the story is with his absent mother. Maybe I’ll find out in time, though I get the feeling that Cash’s emotional side isn’t going to be an easy nut to crack.

  Despite his persuasive promises to make staying here at the lake house worth my while, Cash plays a very cool game with me as the first week wears on. Though we seemed to end up alone at every turn that first day, it’s not a pattern that holds. Sure, I see enough of him—I just never quite catch him alone. Around the house, down by the lake, and even on some excursions into the woods, there’s always someone else keeping us from getting some alone time. He doesn’t seem too perturbed by the constant company—I wonder if he’s letting me squirm like this on purpose? Trying to build up the anticipation or something?

  Whatever the plan is, I hope this phase of it is over soon. I can’t go much longer without another taste of him.

  One afternoon halfway through the week, I find myself lounging on the dock with Anna and Sophie, catching some much-needed rays. My office-bound body is super pale, even compared to my similarly fair-skinned sisters. I’m rocking my favorite bikini—a red bandeau top with matching bottoms—and have my hair pulled up into a white bandana, Rosie the Riveter style. Sophie’s wearing a super skimpy black bikini and huge Jackie O sunglasses, her long caramel hair woven into a mermaid tail braid. Anna’s classic white halter top bathing suit complements her nearly platinum locks, which hang loose over her freckled shoulders. It’s a rare event indeed that all three Porter sisters are in the same place (and good spirits) long enough to have a good old fashioned gab session, but that’s exactly what we’re up to now.

  “I give you a lot of credit,” I tell Anna, letting my toes dangle in the cool lake water, “I wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to take a gap year before college at your age.”

  “Well, you knew what you wanted to go to school for,” my little sister shrugs, lying on her stomach beside me, “I’m still feeling it out.”

  “I just couldn’t wait to get out of the house,” Sophie puts in, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my program at Sheridan. But more than anything, getting away from Mom was the priority.”

  “Yeah, well. Imagine being the only one in the house with her after Dad died,” Anna says with a rare hint of condemnation.

  Sophie and I exchange an uneasy look. Anna was only sixteen when Dad was killed. With me away at school already and Sophie on the cusp of leaving, Anna was on her own with Mom in the aftermath of the accident. As flaky and distant as our Mom was at the best of times, Anna’s experience with her in the throes of grief was on a whole different level. In a lot of ways, our youngest sister had to finish raising herself on her own. And it shows, too. She’s far more mature than Sophie and I were at her age…Or even now, for that matter.

  Now that I think of it, I think that Anna’s even-keeled nature is the trait she most clearly inherited from our dad. Archie Porter was entirely unflappable, utterly dependable, and straightforward at all times. He never lied to us, even when we were little girls. I remember him that way—with his lean, long-limbed body, sandy hair, and horn rimmed glasses—laying his hands on my shoulders and giving it to me straight. I may have gotten his love of literature and learning, but Annabel absolutely got his insistence on telling the truth—whether or not anyone wants to hear it.

  “So, uh…have you given any thought to how you’ll spend the year?” I ask Anna, somewhat awkwardly changing the subject.

  “Mostly just building up my photography portfolio,” she replies, rolling onto her back on the warm deck boards. “I want to get some more portraits and event photography.”

  “I could hire you for the next ReImaged party!” I offer enthusiastically. It’s not often that Anna’s world and mine intersect, and I can’t help but leap at the opportunity.

  “Yeah, maybe,” she replies noncommittally, puncturing the bubble of my excitement, “I was thinking of heading in a less corporate direction, though. Finn’s letting me tag along to his band’s show tonight to take some shots of them, actually.”

  “Finn’s in a band?!” Sophie exclaims, sitting bolt upright.

  “Yeah. He’s the lead vocalist,” Anna replies placidly.

  “But I’ve barely heard a full sentence out of him,” I say incredulously. I can’t deny that I feel a little pang of jealousy that Finn’s work is more interesting to Anna than mine.

  “Yeah. I didn't realize he spoke in full sentences,” Sophie adds.

  “Maybe that’s because neither of you lets anyone else get a word in. Ever think of that?” Anna shoots back, that hint of heat rising into her usually cool voice once more.

  “Whoa, Anna…” Sophie replies, stung. “That’s a little harsh.”

  “Yeah, well. The truth can be a bitch,” Anna shrugs, pulling herself to her feet.

  “Did we do something wrong?” I ask my little sister as she gathers her things, “You seem really pissed off at us.”

  Anna levels her gold-flecked eyes at me, with a frankness that reaches down to the corners of my soul.

  “I just wish the two of you would think about someone besides yourselves once in a while,” she says, swinging her gaze between me and Sophie. She doesn’t sound angry, or even sad—just terribly disappointed. It’s the sort of tone that makes you feel about two inches tall, especially when it’s coming from someone who’s supposed to look up to you.

  “Anna, what are you talking about?” Sophie asks her, looking as wary as I feel.

  “Come on,” Anna says, shaking her head, “You c
an’t play dumb with me, you guys. I know you too well for that.”

  Before we can utter another word, Anna turns on her heel and marches away. As she goes, a knot of unease twists in my stomach. What have I done to make her so upset? Could it be possible that she’s somehow caught wind of what’s going on between me and Cash? She’s always been crazy perceptive, and that would certainly explain her disapproval of me. But then what the hell could she have on Sophie?

  “Do you have any idea what she’s on about?” I ask Sophie, trying to keep my voice light.

  “Nope,” Sophie replies, a little too quickly. “No idea.”

  “Huh. You know Anna. Always the sensitive one,” I offer, convincing no one. “We should probably just let her go off and do her own thing. Close quarters do weird things to people…”

  Sophie and I fall into an uneasy silence, angling our bodies away from each other. Try as I might, I can’t think of anything neutral to say to her. We’ve already burned through all our small talk about work and school, and the only thing we seem to have in common these days is our dysfunctional family.

  What I wouldn’t give to have that closeness the three of us shared as little girls. I remember being nine years old, with six-year-old Sophie and four-year-old Anna, living on our sprawling farm in Vermont. We’d roam that land for hours on end, making up games and languages, sharing stories and secrets. Three tow-headed, rough-and-tumble girls, united in the kind of love that only sisters can know. God, how I mourn the loss of that closeness. Though this is the first time in a long while that all three of us Porter sisters have been in the same place, I’ve never felt further away from them both.

  A flash of bright red catches my eye up by the house. As I turn to get a closer look, my eyes land squarely on the fine, perfectly balanced form that’s occupied my every waking daydream these past few days—that of Cash Hawthorne, of course. And a shirtless Cash Hawthorne, nonetheless.

  His defined pecs and gloriously cut abs are getting tanner by the day, here by the lake. He’s got one end of a red kayak balanced on his shoulder, holding it up effortlessly with his thick, powerful arms. His long dark curls are pushed back from his sculpted face, and his light blue jeans are riding low on the muscular “V” of his hips. So entranced am I by the sight of my tatted up, scruffy paramour that I barely notice Luke holding up the other end of the kayak. When it comes to the Hawthorne brothers, I can’t help playing favorites.