Stepbrother Bastard

by Colleen Masters

  “If you leave now,” Cash says, catching me by the arms, “How do I know I’ll ever see you again?”

  “You don’t,” I whisper, keeping my eyes trained on his, “I can’t give you any certainty, Cash. I can’t leave you with anything but your own faith in us. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  He stares at me for a long, hard moment, searching deep into my soul for an answer, an explanation…but there’s none to be found. I have no idea what’s going to happen next; to me, to him, to our families. But I’m certain that I have to go. Right now. I’m drowning, here. I can’t clear my head until I’m back on dry land, back in my real life that I’ve built in Seattle. The life that doesn’t include Cash Hawthorne.

  His eyes harden as he realizes that there’s nothing he can do. He lets his hands drop from my arms, takes a step away from me. The first step of many that will carry us both back to the lives we know. The ache in my core as this new, irresolvable distance springs up between us is wrenching, nearly intolerable. I can only hope that each step gets a little easier…whether they lead us back to each other or not.

  “Fine,” he rasps, rubbing his sharp jaw. “Do what you’re going to do, Porter. Just don’t expect me to show up begging at your doorstep. I’m not the type to get down on my knees.”

  And with that, he turns away from me. He strides across the wide lawn with cold purpose, ripping open the driver’s side door of the pickup. The engine roars to life as blinding headlights tear through the gathering twilight. Without a parting glance, Cash peels out of the driveway, tearing off at top speed. As the sound of the racing truck fades away, nature’s nighttime orchestra swells to fill the silence.

  A hollow chasm tears open inside of me as I go to collect my things…I have a feeling that nothing will ever fill that space again.

  Chapter Ten

  No one even tries to stop me as I take my hasty leave from the lake house. My mom, John, the Hawthorne boys, and even my sisters have all scattered for the night. Everyone is busy licking their wounds behind closed doors. But hey—that’s always how we’ve done things in the Porter house. Every woman for herself. Maybe we have more in common with the Hawthornes than I thought.

  By rights, I should be a wreck right now; sobbing, screaming, and tearing out my hair. But as I haul my suitcase back to my car and settle in behind the wheel, I just feel…nothing. Nothing but an indifferent numbness. As I pull away from the Hawthorne house, I have the fleeting hope that Cash might intercept me on the way out. Maybe he’ll have come up with some brilliant solution to our quandary. Maybe he’ll block my way, refuse to let me go. Maybe he’ll just hold me—nothing could seem hopeless with his arms around me.

  But of course, Cash doesn’t miraculously appear as I flee from the lake house, cutting our time here together in half. I set off to retrace my route home unimpeded. The man I’ve fallen for this week isn’t a mirage, after all. He’s not an ideal, unattainable fantasy. He’s a person. A real, complicated, deeply flawed person who I desperately wish could be a part of my life.

  Here’s hoping I didn’t just ruin the chances of making that wish come true.

  I drive until my eyes are bleary with sleeplessness. As I hit the halfway point in my journey and cross the state line, a familiar neon sign catches my eye. “Drink Here,” it commands from the side of the road. I let my lips open as a laugh rises in my throat—but the sound comes out as a ragged sob instead. As I speed past the bar where I first laid eyes on Cash, the place where we spent our first night together, my numbness finally gives way to sharp, slicing pain.

  And here I thought I was going to get away with a little case of the blues.

  I blow past the now-familiar motel, unwilling to take my foot off the gas. I couldn’t bear to revisit the place where I first laid eyes on Cash. The room where we spent our first night together. It’s stupid to keep driving in this state—reckless, even. But at this point, I’m racing my despair home. If I can just make it through the next eight hours, I can fall to pieces in the familiar mouse hole that is my lonely apartment. The comfort of privacy is all I can hope for now.

  It’s early Sunday morning before I ease open the front door of my Seattle studio once again. My body aches from my desperate flight as I wrangle my suitcase through the door. Everything is just as I left it a week ago, down to the empty bottle of wine on the counter. But the normalcy of this place doesn’t stabilize me the way I thought it would. It’s all the more disorienting, stepping back into the flow of my real life. Going from the whirlwind, breathtaking, full-throttle spree of this past week to the mind-numbingly normal is giving me serious emotional whiplash. For lack of a better idea, I leave my suitcase by the door and sprawl out on my narrow bed. I can’t muster the will to do much else.

  The second I hear my phone chirp, however, a bolt of energy lights me up from the inside. I spring across the room, praying that Cash has sent some word, any word at all. But my hope dashes itself on the rocks as I look down at the screen and see Sophie’s name.

  Sophie: Where are you?

  Swallowing a sigh, I tap out a short reply.

  Me: Home. I needed to leave early.

  Sophie: Are you OK?

  Me: Not really. Are you?

  Sophie: Pretty far from it. I’m bailing early too. Heading back to school.

  Me: And Anna?

  Sophie: Heading back home on her own. Mom meant what she said about staying.

  Me: Talk about going our separate ways.

  Sophie: Yeah.

  I can’t think of what else to tell my little sister. I almost wish I could confide in her about what’s been going on with Cash. But doing that would mean telling her how I’ve been considering all but cutting myself out of the family for his sake. Our relationship is strained enough as it is. I don’t want it to snap because of a badly timed text. But before I can work out a reply, Sophie goes on.

  Sophie: I’m sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye. Or talk about everything that came up with Mom. I didn’t know you were having such a hard time out there, Maddie. Just know that I’m here for you, OK?

  I smile sadly in my empty apartment. Despite her hard edge, Sophie’s always had a secret soft spot for me and Anna. The three of us are like war buddies, in a way—having gone through the trauma of our father’s death and our mother’s collapse together. Even though our battles are distinct, now that we’re adults, we’ll always be rooting for each other from our respective fronts.

  Me: Thanks, Soph. We’ll make it through this somehow, I know it. I love you.

  Sophie: I love you too. Take care of yourself.

  The only way I know how to take care of myself at a time like this is with a good, long session of girl talk, some trashy takeout, and a bottle of something fermented. And I think I know how I can get a hold of all three.

  I pull up Allie’s number from my contacts and wait for the healing to commence.

  It’s only by the grace of Allie that I make it through my first day without Cash. She races over to my apartment the second I tell her I’m home early, and that I need her. It’s only when she arrives that I truly let myself fall to pieces. She’s my best friend in the world, the only person who was there for me when I nearly dropped out of school, after my dad died. As I let loose the torrent of my conflicted pain, she doesn’t even ask for details. I’ll tell her what I can, in time. But for now, I just need a friend.

  The coming week looms before me, daunting for its emptiness. I still have a week of vacation time left. My bosses aren’t expecting me back until the following Monday. That means I have nothing to do for the next seven days but wallow in my own self-pity and loneliness…And that’s just not something I can bear.

  As hard as it is, I try to keep myself busy. I drive out to my favorite hiking spots outside the city, walking all day to drive thoughts of Cash from my mind. I tear through all my favorite books, willing them to sweep me away to worlds far away from my own. But some part of me always stays anchored in thinking of him—wondering if he�
�s called, hoping that he hasn’t written me off, and wishing that he’d show up under my window with a goddamn boom box like in the movies.

  But as the days wear on, there’s no sign of Cash Hawthorne. No calls, no texts, no sudden appearances. He wasn’t kidding about the ball being in my court, now. If only I knew what my next play might be.

  * * *

  “Hey there, Mads! Long time no see.”

  I glance up from my office laptop with a tight smile for my boss, Brian (i.e. Mr. Intriguing). It’s my first day back at ReImaged, but my brain still feels a million miles away. The only activity I’ve managed to do this morning is run endlessly through all the reasons I shouldn’t care that I still haven’t heard from Cash. It’s been more than a week since we parted ways, and I’ve yet to hear a word. I keep telling myself that I’ve moved from despair to begrudging acceptance of our separation… Maybe if I think it enough times, it’ll somehow become true.

  “Hope you’re feeling nice and rested after your trip,” Brian goes on, rapping on my desk with his knuckles. He’s in his mid-thirties, tall and lanky with an eager smile and a Silicon Valley bro’s wardrobe. Brian’s the good cop to his business partner Carol’s bad cop, but I’m having a little trouble matching his enthusiasm this morning.

  “Oh yeah. Montana was very relaxing,” I tell him.

  “Hmm. Montana,” Brian says, nodding his head, “I never consider vacationing there. Very intriguing…”

  Across the room, Allie glances up from her computer and cocks an eyebrow at me. I actually feel like smiling as Brian utters his buzzword for the first of many times today. Maybe this whole assimilating back into my real life thing won’t be so impossible after all.

  “Team meeting in five,” says a no-nonsense voice from the doorway to the conference room. I look up to see Carol there, her eyes glued to her smart phone, as ever.

  “Great,” Brian smiles, “Allie, Maddie, we’re gonna need 100% from both of you for this next campaign, so get ready to dive in.”

  “Oh. Maddie. You’re back,” Carol says, glancing up at me for half a second.

  “Yep,” I reply, “I just got back from—”

  But she disappears from view without another word, completely blowing me off. A few years ago, I’d be miffed. But I’ve gotten pretty used to Carol’s complete lack of people skills since I started working here. There’s a reason Allie and I have the client-facing jobs at this business. You know—the jobs that actually require speaking with real humans.

  As I start gathering my things for the meeting, I sneak another look at my cell phone. Still no messages from Cash—just an endless stream of passive aggressive texts from my mother. As per usual. Allie’s hand closes around my wrist as I stare wistfully at the screen, and I look up bashfully at my redheaded partner in crime.

  “Why don’t you just text him first?” she asks me, “It’s been a whole week, for Christ’s sake. You have a right to know where you stand with him, Maddie.”

  I stuff my cell back into my desk drawer, a tiny twinge of guilt tugging at my conscience. Allie has been a saint all through my moping/moving on efforts. From the moment she showed up at my apartment that first Sunday with three kinds of Oreos, a gigantic bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and a very absorbent shoulder to cry on, she’s been my savior. I told her almost everything about the situation with Cash while we binge-watched about a season and a half of Gilmore Girls. Emphasis on the almost. I filled her in on every aspect of our relationship apart from the whole almost-kinda-related thing. I’m still wrapping my head around how I feel about that—I didn’t want to spring it on her out of nowhere. I couldn't bear it if she thought my feelings for him were strange, perverted even. But not telling her is wearing on me, too.

  “I don’t want to make things any worse,” I tell her, snapping my laptop shut. “Besides, I still need to figure out what I actually want.”

  “You want him,” Allie replies bluntly, “That much is abundantly apparent. I don’t see why you’re not willing to give long distance a shot. Skype sex is actually kind of fun!”

  “You never cease to amaze me, Miss McCain,” I cut the conversation short as we set off for the conference room together. God. If only the single obstacle standing in my and Cash’s way was a little distance.

  Carol and Brian are already sitting at opposite heads of the conference table when Allie and I arrive. She and I will be tag-teaming this next campaign for Asphalt denim, an undertaking that totally slipped my mind while I was in Cash’s orbit this past week. Another reason to keep my distance from him for the time being—I’ve got some serious work ahead of me. My job’s been the most important thing in my life for years. It’s baffling to have found something that even remotely challenges its hold on me. But then again, plenty of things about Cash baffle the hell out of me.

  “OK!” Brian says, clapping his hands together as Allie and I sit down at the table, “Let’s talk denim, ladies! This campaign is going to be a big one for us. We’ve never had a client in fashion before, and Asphalt wants the full ReImaged treatment. If everything goes well, this will be quite the feather in both your caps.”

  “Well, you know how I love to accessorize,” Allie smiles back at him. “I’ll take an extra feather any day.”

  “Right,” Carol says dryly, tapping a few keys on her laptop. At her command, a projection screen lowers down from the ceiling, a presentation about our next client all queued up. “Asphalt has been very specific about their needs for this campaign,” she goes on. “We’re going to help them plan several live events that underscore the more rugged side of their profile. Their new men’s line is less high-fashion, more rough-and-tumble.”

  “So… Live hard rock bands, industrial spaces, partnering with some liquor companies…” I spitball, imagining possible angles for Asphalt’s rebranding efforts.

  “That’s exactly right. Great instincts, Maddie,” Brian says, bobbing his head, “As you know, the client’s current reputation skews a bit elite. They want us to help bring them down to earth. Let the consumers know that ‘real men rock Asphalt’.”

  “Oof. I hope that’s not the final tagline,” Carol winces.

  “Real men, huh?” Allie echoes, her voice taking on a strange, agitated tone. She makes a show of tapping her fingertips on the table, playing at thinking hard. I know her well enough to know when she’s up to something. “Why don’t we lean into that angle?” she continues.

  “Go on,” Carol allows, sitting back in her leather chair.

  “What if we could find ways to incorporate some brand ambassadors into the events? Maybe even some in the general marketing campaign if the client is into it,” Allie goes on. “Asphalt is a west coast brand. What if we found local guys—small business owners, working men, cowboy types—to feature in the ad campaign for the new line?”

  “Huh…Guys you could meet on the street, instead of professional models,” Carol says, picking up on her wavelength.

  “Or guys you could meet at a bar,” she shoots back, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  My stomach flips over as a grin spreads across my best friend’s face.

  “Uh. Yeah. I think I see where you’re going with this…” I say, shooting her a look that clearly asks, What the hell are you up to, lady?

  “I’m liking this direction,” Brian says, “Very intriguing.”

  “How do you see this playing out in the Asphalt campaign?” Carol quizzes Allie.

  “A lot of video content, mostly,” Allie goes on without missing a beat, “We can produce short documentary-style spots of all the men we find, show them in their places of work wearing the new Asphalt line, have some interview footage where they talk about their super-manly jobs and whatnot. We can have the videos running all throughout the event spaces, give guests and investors something to interact with.”

  “So more atmospheric…I see…” Carol says, nodding slowly as she processes.

  “What kind of man are we imagining here, exactly?” Brian piles on, hand
s clasped on the table, “Who can we use as a point of reference?”

  “Actually,” Allie replies, swinging her green eyes my way, “I think Maddie has a great lead on this one.”

  Brian and Carol turn to face me as I feel the color drain out of my face. What the hell kind of scheme does Allie have up her sleeve? Before I can diffuse the situation, Allie’s made her way around to Carol’s laptop and pulled up a new screen. I swallow a gasp as Cash Hawthorne’s sculpted, wryly grinning face appears right there on the projection screen. A real, painful pang of longing twists my core at the sight of him, and for a long moment I’m rendered speechless.

  “An acquaintance of yours?” Carol asks me, her own gaze lingering hard on Cash’s gorgeous face.

  “In a sense,” I say faintly, shooting Allie a helpless look.

  “This is Cash Hawthorne,” my friend continues, “Maddie met him while she was in Montana. I pulled this photo from his business’s website. He fixes motorcycles at a shop he owns near the state line. He’s an Army vet, a tattoo and MMA enthusiast, and an outdoorsman. I think he could be exactly the kind of guy we’re looking for, here.”

  “You forgot to mention the fact that he’s sexy as hell,” Carol says appreciatively.

  You have no idea, I think to myself, blushing as the image of Cash standing in the altogether on the lake that morning of our sunrise fuck springs to mind.

  “I say we move on nailing this guy down,” Brian says, “He’d be perfect for this campaign. Tough, authentic, utterly intriguing. How soon can we make this happen?”