Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots #8)

by C. M. Stunich

  I tried not to meet his eyes, keeping my gaze on the bleeding rose pattern that decorated his shirt, convinced that I could see every muscle in his chest and belly through the tight fabric.

  “You're my sister,” he said, and this time, when I cringed, he noticed. “I'm not leaving you at some second-rate, shitty party to get taken advantage of.”

  “It's not your decision,” I whispered as his hands came up and touched my elbows, sliding to my shoulders and pulling the blazer down my arms. Flor's face was ridiculously close to mine when he leaned in and tossed the jacket onto the front seat. I could feel the warm brush of his breath against my lips, like an indirect kiss, a ghost of a wish that would never come true. “And I'm not your sister.”

  Then I did look up at him, meeting his green eyes with my blue ones and trying not to let him see how nervous I felt, how his nearness and his touch undid me. The things I felt for him, that I didn't feel for any other guy, they were wrong. I knew that. I knew that. Still, it didn't matter. He wasn't my brother and I was about three-fifths sure I was in love with him.

  “I know.”

  I thought for one brief second there that Flor was really going to kiss me. I could practically taste his mouth, smell the scent of his shampoo, could practically feel that cinder on my tongue burning against his, igniting some sort of … blaze between us that would burn us both to ashes.

  But he didn't.

  He didn't kiss me, just took a step back and went around to the driver's side of the car, opening his door and leaning on the roof with his arms crossed. His face was smooth-shaven, but the shadows from the trees looming above us played tricks on my mind and made it look like he had stubble across his jaw, rough and untamed. My eyes managed to find the single scar on his chin, the one he'd gotten from a bike ride gone wrong, even in the dim lighting. I focused on that instead of his eyes.

  “Up to you,” he said, and his voice was easy to hear, even with the pulsing thump of music radiating from the old Craftsman. Flor always had a sharp, clear voice and a tone that brooked no argument, not even from his own mother. It was like he just knew everything, and that annoyed me. “Come with me now or I'll follow you back inside and tell everyone that you're fifteen. Then they can kick you out themselves and you can wait on the street corner for your dad to pick you up.”

  “I hate you,” I whispered, even though that wasn't true.

  Flor nodded like the know-it-all jerk he was and climbed into the car.

  I followed after him, slamming my door to let him know I didn't like this and that I was pissed.

  “I really hate you,” I said again, brushing away a slight swell of tears with an angry hand.

  “Yeah, I'm a real piece of shit,” he told me as I slammed my foot on the dashboard and left it there, resting my cheek against my thigh as I gazed out the window. There was a long pause before Flor started the car and when I glanced over, I caught him staring at me. I narrowed my eyes and looked away again before he could see how hurt I was, how desperate I was for his attention.

  Then the engine started and we were whizzing through the city and towards South Hills, towards the four bedroom house that I spent most of my free time in, reading and doing massive amounts of AP homework. Neither of us spoke as Flor drove me home.

  When we got there, I shoved open my door before Flor had even put the car in park and stormed up to the front porch, tugging down the hem of my skirt as I went. Even if Flor didn't rat me out – which I wasn't at all sure about – my outfit might give me away.

  I raced up the cement steps to the dark green door and pushed it open, hearing my stepmom's laughter ring down the staircase. She and Dad were probably upstairs snuggling and watching their evening movie. They always made time for it, no matter what happened. I sort of envied them their relationship. Must be nice to have someone to hang out with all the time. All I had was a best friend who'd just moved nine hundred miles away and a stepbrother that hated me.

  “Hey,” Flor said, reaching out and grabbing at my arm again. The front door shut softly behind him as I turned, looking down at his fingers curled around my bicep. He licked his lips again and for a split second there, he looked almost nervous. “I meant what I said, you know. I won't tell your dad a thing.” I didn't respond. “But that doesn't mean I like what I saw.”

  “Like I enjoy finding you with your hands up girls' shirts on the living room couch.” I started to pull away again, but Flor pulled me back. I spun around, intending to give him a piece of my mind and found him way too close to me, smelling too good, breathing too hard, eyes even sharper than normal.

  “You never said anything before,” was all he said, and since I didn't know how to respond to that, I decided to be flippant.

  “Why should I? It should be obvious. What sister likes to see her brother going at it with a different girl every weekend?”

  Flor stared at me for a good long moment, fingers still curled around my arm and then suddenly, he was pushing me against the wall, pinning my arms above my head with his right hand, and molding our bodies together in a way that brought a small moan tumbling unbidden from my lips.

  “I thought you said you weren't my sister,” he whispered, and then he really did press his lips to mine, slide his tongue into my mouth. I wanted to slap him or scream for joy or run upstairs and call Addison or knee him in the balls or … I found myself arching my breasts against his chest, my mouth moving against his. I melted into Flor as he leaned into me, one knee between my legs, barely keeping me from sliding to the floor in a puddle of surprise and … pleasure. It really, really shouldn't feel this good to be touched, I thought, echoing my earlier feelings. But if Flor's fingers around my wrist had been like a flame, his body pressed into mine was like the sun.

  I arched my back and felt my hips rock against his, felt his erection hot and unyielding against my thigh. I struggled to pull my arms from his grip, to touch him the way his left hand was touching me, sliding down my side, caressing my hip through my skirt. When his fingers met the bare skin of my upper thigh, I gasped into his mouth, felt his tongue dig deeper while my heart split open and released all of the feelings I'd been keeping back for so long.

  Butterflies had taken flight in my stomach, battering at my belly with nervous wings and tightening places low in my body, places that I hadn't even realized could ache like this. Oh God, I didn't think anything could ever ache so bad and feel so good at the same time. That is, until Flor's fingers found my panties, the black silky ones with the lace that I'd put on just because. A lick of flame raced up my spine as he touched me and I found I could barely breathe, let alone think. I knew my dad and stepmom were upstairs, that finding us like this would destroy them both, but I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop.

  Flor pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough that he could whisper my own name against my lips.

  “Abigail.”

  As quick as it started, it stopped.

  “Abi, is that you, honey?” I heard my dad's voice a split second before I snapped my eyes open and found the lights in the stairwell flickering on.

  Florian released me, much the same way the guy at the party had, like I was hurting him, burning him too hot, scorching him too deep. Like I was dangerous.

  His eyes mirrored back a look of hurt, of longing, that I knew was plastered across my own face. I dropped my arms, crossed them over my chest. Ice was seeping into me at that look, at this taboo breath that was passing between us. We both knew we couldn't have what we wanted, and that we never could. I reached out, just once, a single hand grasping for a love I knew could be, but Florian didn't reach back. Instead, he backed up, chest rising and falling with rapid breath, his lips still moist from the touch of my own. And then he turned toward the front door and left. Just like that.

  “Yeah, Dad,” I called back, fighting to keep my voice strong and steady. I didn't want him to find me down here like this, panting and red cheeked and moist lipped and … hurting. I slid to the floor as tears stun
g my eyes again. “I'll be right up.” I put my forehead against my arm and waited for the emotions to pass.

  But they never did.

  And Flor never touched me again.

  We never even spoke of it.

  I set the box down on the counter and eyed Flor's ass as he bent over and set a second, much smaller box on the floor with little care or consideration as to what was inside. I didn't mind scoping him out anymore. I had long given up on anything happening between us. I mean, our parents were head over heels in loco love with one another and they even referred to us as “their kids”. It would kill them if they even knew I thought my stepbrother was hot.

  “Um, hello,” I said, knowing the exact look Flor was going to toss over his shoulder. Ah ha! I was right; it's a scowl. “It says fragile on it. It also says bedroom.” I put one hand on my hip and smirked, knowing how frustrated I was making him, forcing him to carry the smallest boxes while I shouldered the largest ones. Call it a case of raging feminism or what have you, but I liked pissing him off. Big tough guy that he was, I let him carry in the pillows and the lamps while I hauled in the pots and pans, the kitchen stools, and the boxes of books – with great glee, mind you.

  “How the hell was I supposed to know?” he said, letting his scowl relax into a smirk as he leaned back against the counter. “Maybe it said fra-gee-lay. I thought it was fucking Italian.” He stood up suddenly and snapped his fingers, breezing past me before I could get out another word, make fun of him for his infatuation with a A Christmas Story. I decided to follow after him and try anyway.

  “Can't even come up with your own jokes?” I asked, following quickly behind Florian and down the steps to the street. I don't know what was putting the pep in my step – the fact that I got my first place or the fact that I could tell I was getting under Flor's skin. “Have to pull material from old movies? That's pretty sad there, Flor. How do the girls at the shop take that? Or are they even cultured enough to know what A Christmas Story is?” I hated mentioning the girls at my stepbrother's tattoo studio, even as a joke, but Flor's 'groupies' were a fact of life that I'd since learned to deal with. Each one like a thorn in my side, I thought as I continued to scope out his ass. It was watch from afar or do nothing at all. At this point, the absence of Florian in my life hurt more than his distanced presence.

  Flor climbed into the back of the moving truck and grabbed a box before pausing and glancing over his shoulder at me. I noticed it was a heavy one and stepped up, putting my arms out like I thought he was trying to hand it to me. He scowled again and I smiled.

  “What do you take me for?” he asked, raising his dark brows in a way that made my toes curl. “An idiot? That's my pre-sex question right there. Tell me about the leg lamp or I don't take you home tonight. Works like a charm.”

  “Oh, I'm sure it does,” I replied, smothering the surge of jealousy that threatened to take over me and kill my mood. Flor and girls and … sex. This was yet another thing I'd learned to deal with. I wasn't his, and he wasn't mine. We could never belong to one another and much as I fantasized about him staying celibate for me, pining over me every waking day and night, it wasn't going to happen. I was a big girl; I knew that and I could handle it. Or at least I thought I could.

  I took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over my curls, hoping they hadn't already dissolved to stray strands of fluff in the blustery afternoon air. Addison was going to be here any minute, dragging her longtime boyfriend and his brother along for the ride. She'd promised me this one was cute, tall enough to wear heels with, and had a brain at least three times the size of my brother's. “I bet they just can't wait to dive into bed with an underdeveloped boy who still watches his favorite Christmas movie every night before bed.”

  “Not every night,” Flor said, pulling the box from the truck and purposely sidestepping around me. He leaned in and breathed hot breath against my ear, making me shiver. “Just on weekends. And who said I was underdeveloped?” I kicked him lightly with my bare foot and climbed into the truck, searching for a very specific box that had somehow gotten lost in the fray. Inside was my long ago dismantled shrine to my stepbrother: a series of pictures and notes and gifts that he'd given me over the years. I used to keep it all in one of the bottom drawers of my dresser, but after … the 'incident' as I liked to refer to it, I put it all away in a box, taped it up and hadn't looked at it since. Unfortunately, it had somehow ended up on the truck even though I'd meant to throw it away. For three years it had sat on the top shelf of my closet collecting dust. I was lucky the bastard never found it, nosy little asshole that he was. Once, I'd come home to find him sitting on the edge of my bed, an unlit cigarette between his lips, and a condom I'd gotten from my sex ed class clutched between two of his fingers. It had taken me an entire hour to convince him that I was actually still a virgin, not that it should've been any of his business anyway.

  I felt a frown crease my lips as various Florian flavored anecdotes flashed through my memory, several of which involved Flor's bare ass as he screwed whoever happened to be the flavor of the week. Why could he never manage to close his damn door?! I wondered as a hot flush lit up my cheeks.

  “Boo!”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin, spinning to find Addi standing on the street with her hair in pigtails and her shirtsleeves rolled up, ready to move her stuff into our new place. Even dressed as practically as she was, she was still stylish in a way I could never be – partially thanks to her longterm friendship with a drag queen named Theo. That man was the epitome of glamour and, although I might not ever admit it, I was horribly jealous of his ass. It wasn't fair for a man to be so much prettier than me.

  I clutched a hand to my chest to still my beating heart and felt a grin split my lips. Here I was, knocked out of my reverie by the best friend I hadn't seen in person more than a half dozen times in the last few years. With Instagram, Skype, and Facebook however, it didn't feel like it'd been more than fifteen minutes. Probably because it hadn't. Pretty sure I'd snapped a photo of Flor's ass and texted it to her when we'd first gotten here, not that she appreciated him the way I did. Honestly, I was actually a little suspicious that she wished him an untimely death at the jaws of rabid wolves.

  “Addi!” I squealed as she climbed into the truck and we proceeded to squeeze the life out of one another. She always seemed to bring out the kid in me, something I desperately needed. It didn't take Flor's constant nagging to remind myself that I could be a little too serious sometimes.

  I pulled back and grinned at my best friend who returned the smile, holding my hands in hers as we passed silent signals to one another. We're finally out. We have our own place. This is going to be fucking awesome. I think I also detected a slight twitch of her brow and a little, you better not still be on about that, bitch in regards to Florian, but I couldn't be sure. Maybe I was projecting? “I cannot even believe you're here.” The words came out in a rush as I tilted my head back and stared up at the rusted white ceiling of the moving truck. No more hanging out with people I can barely stand, who use me to hang out with my brother, just so I can have a social circle. The thought that some of those same said people were going to the community college instead of to the university with me didn't escape my notice. It wasn't that I was reveling in being better than them, only that I knew how lazy most of them had gotten the last few years of high school.

  “You better believe it,” she said, pulling her hands from mine and poking me playfully in the shoulder. “Because I just drove halfway across the country to go to school with your ass – and be an Oregon Duck.” Addi shivered, not at all impressed by our university's stellar football team. The only kudos she would grant them was that they'd made a pretty awesome parody video of Psy's song, Gangnam Style. “Now. Show me our new place, Abigail Sharp, or more specifically, the bathroom. I have got to piss like a racehorse.”

  “Classy, Addi,” I said as I swept past her, still surreptitiously looking for the missing box. If Flor found it before I did, I co
uld be in for a world of trouble; I'd never hear the end of it from him. “Nice to know you've matured well beyond the foulmouthed fifteen year old you once were.” I gave her a wink while she simultaneously flipped me off, and jumped from the back of the truck, pausing to examine the two men waiting a respectful distance away from us. Addi climbed down next to me and elbowed me in the side with a Flor-worthy smirk plastered across her full mouth.

  “What do you think?” she whispered, raising a dark brow and running her tongue along her lower lip as she gazed through lovestruck eyes at the man in the short sleeved white button-down. He had red curly hair and skin as milky white and pale as Addi's was rich and brown. I sat somewhere in between with skin the color of a really good caramel macchiato from Starbucks – with just a dash of extra cream. Or maybe that was my mind fantasizing about coffee again. Flor and I had yet to find the coffee maker his mother had bought for me and proudly loaded on the truck herself. She was as happy for me to start my life as she'd been for her own son. It made me feel almost guilty for checking out his beautiful butt no less than three times today.