by Joey Bush
I was so desperate to get over the incredibly shitty mess that I almost considered going to the school shrink. I knew he sucked; one of my roommates had gone to him for her generalized anxiety disorder and he was terrible at helping her. But I thought, if there was anyone on campus I could possibly talk to about it, it might be that guy. I decided against it when I realized that he’d probably think lusting after my new stepbrother was a sign of some kind of mental instability. It definitely occurred to me to think that if he did think that he’d probably be right—what kind of mentally ill person went after their sibling? But I kept telling myself, over and over again, that it couldn’t be that weird. That I’d been into Jaxon well before I’d even known he was my stepbrother. The fact that I’d kept going for him—even though I knew it was weird, even though I knew that it made everyone else uncomfortable—was just because I couldn’t get over him.
But if I could just stay away from him, if I could make myself stay away from the frat and Jaxon, I could get over him. I’d gotten over other guys plenty of times. I just needed time and space and I’d get out there again and find some other guy and Jaxon could just be my stepbrother. Everyone could be happy. But the idea of Jaxon being my brother still made my stomach turn flip-flops inside of me. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone being my brother who’d seen me naked, who I’d had sex with. It was horrifying. I couldn’t stand how much it hurt my mom to find out, but even though I knew I should be disgusted—and even when I was—I couldn’t stop myself from remembering how hot Jaxon was, how good he’d felt inside of me. I knew it would take time, and I couldn’t see any way out of it, but I hated every moment of it, and it didn’t seem to get any easier.
Chapter Two
The first day of classes, I hurried out of the dorms and kept my eyes straight in front of me. I left for my early class with just enough time to grab something from the dining hall—coffee and a banana, a granola bar for when my stomach started growling halfway through. I was in and out in less than a minute, and on my way to the building. I was glad that only a few of the people I knew from the frat bothered taking early-morning classes—or any class that met before lunch, for that matter. I knew I should probably at least answer the texts that the guys were sending me, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t pretend that everything was great and fine and I was the same person I’d ever been; not yet anyway.
I got to class with time to spare and thought about where I wanted to sit. Normally I was in the middle—the few people I knew usually sat there, and we could talk a little bit when it was time to work on the assignments the professor gave us. But some of the other guys I knew always, without fail, sat in the back. I picked a desk off to the side and almost at the back, where no one ever sits, close to the AC and heating vents. It was never a comfortable place to sit—you either froze or burned up—but at least I could count on not being bothered there.
Halfway through class I had to wonder why I’d even bothered. I was taking notes, I was doing my best to listen to the lecture, but my brain kept replaying the holiday. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from thinking about Jaxon and me having sex, or Mom walking in on us, or the horrible fight that Jaxon had had with his dad at the lodge. Even trying to think about how good the snowboarding had been brought back memories I’d rather have forgotten: Jaxon and me on the slopes alone together, talking and comparing strategies, giving each other tips, getting closer and closer. Or, even worse, how horrible it had really been after Mom had walked in on us and yet still insisted on having “family day” out on the slopes.
It was obvious to me that the only way to deal with the situation was to avoid Jaxon at all costs, which meant avoiding all of his friends, even if they were my friends too. I didn’t want to give up the team, but if things got really bad, that might be what I had to do. I’d have to accept that my mom and Jaxon’s dad had screwed up both of our lives even if they hadn’t meant to. I’d have to just deal with it. But it was so hard to make myself think the things that would help me move on.
I couldn’t think about my Biology class without thinking about Jaxon. Even when I’d been walking to class, I’d remembered him meeting me on my way from the dorms, chatting me up and flirting with me while he walked me to whichever class I was going to. Biology made me think of Jaxon tutoring me. Every class I was taking had some kind of memory linked to Jaxon in my head. I hated it. I wanted to cry, but if I went around crying, everyone would notice and someone would get to the bottom of it; on top of which, it would absolutely ruin my reputation with the guys I hung out with. I’d just be another girl, crying over some guy.
So as soon as my classes were over for the morning I hurried back to the dorms, telling myself not to even think about Jaxon running into me accidentally-on-purpose. The less I could think of Jaxon the better off I would be, but the more I tried to forget him and not think about him at all, the more I found myself dwelling on him. Was he having the same problem? I couldn’t know. I knew that he obviously hadn’t gotten over me when he’d pushed me away the first time. If he had, we wouldn’t have ended up in my bed; we wouldn’t have ended up screwing on a lounge chair by the pool at Bob’s house. We would have been able to keep up the ruse of not knowing each other at all and pretending to get to know each other.
But I couldn’t imagine a guy like Jaxon being all torn and upset by what had happened—not the way I was. I mean, Jaxon had girls throwing themselves at him constantly. He’d been practically making out with some girl, dancing with her at the Phi Kappa party when I’d confronted him the first time. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of opportunities to move on. And I couldn’t make myself believe that the guys at the frat weren’t partying it up from the time they got back from the holidays. That was just the kind of guys they were; they took any excuse they could to party. I’d gotten texts from them complaining about how incredibly boring it was at home with their families—until things had really blown up with Jaxon I’d even laughed at them and told them to enjoy the rest from the constant party life.
I got back to the dorms as quickly as I could and that was my strategy. I would leave as close to the time for my classes as possible and go straight there and straight back. If I had to get food from the dining hall, I’d get it to go and bring it to my room. I thought about spending some time in the library—they had private study rooms where I could be completely by myself and no one would even know I was—but the private rooms were almost always spoken for before classes even started for the day.
Everyone who knew me knew that something was up; even when I’d been avoiding Jaxon, I’d managed to make it over to the frat, to hang out with the guys who I’d been friends with far longer than Jaxon. I’d hit the courts, I’d gone out and done things. I got texts from everyone inviting me to come watch the game and have a couple of beers, or to come play a pickup game, or to hit the gym. Yo, Mia, what’s going on? Mia, grab dinner with us. Yo—they’re doing a BBQ down by the volleyball court, you in? I’d tell the guys I’d really spent time with that and I didn’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything; it wasn’t really an excuse and I knew they could see through it, but it was better than the nothing I had for everyone else.
I just didn’t have the time or the energy to try and make things right with anyone. As classes started up, the first few days back, everyone got back into their usual schedule except for me. Yo, you sick or something? Do we need to get you to the campus nurse? What’s going on? As I made my way to and from classes every day, hurrying to get there, keeping my gaze on the ground in front of me so I couldn’t even see people, doing my best to be as invisible as possible, the thought that plagued me was: Next thing you know, I’m going to find out I’m related to Jeremy. Or Mike. Or Alex. I kept waiting to get a phone call from my mom telling me that I had some new family member. It was a stupid thought, but it had taken me so much by surprise to know that Jaxon and I were related that I couldn’t get it out of my head.
It got worse by the d
ay; at first it was just texts and phone calls, but inevitably my strategy of avoiding everyone I knew other than my roommates started to fall apart. Rushing to class, someone would call out my name—one of the guys from the frat, one of the guys I played ball with, one of the members of the team. I made myself pretend like I didn’t hear them; I breezed past and didn’t look up. It was easier with headphones on, but then I risked literally running into someone—with my eyes on the ground and my ears full of music, it made it harder to avoid people instead of easier. Once or twice my friends actually tried to grab me—my hand, my arm—but I pretended not to even notice, and just kept moving forward.
I knew I was basically ruining any kind of social life I had. I knew that eventually everyone would quit trying altogether, but I couldn’t deal with the possibility of telling anyone anything about what had happened. I couldn’t let myself get talked into going back to the frat house and then running into Jaxon. I just had to keep to my dorm, to my classes.
It was so frustrating; I started spending a little time with my roommates even though I didn’t want to have anything to do with what they were up to. I watched endless hours of Real Housewives or some other mindless show when I would have rather been watching a game with the guys in the frat house. I went to the mall and wandered behind them from store to store just to have something to do. I listened to the stupid bullshit that they wanted to talk about—guys they were going after, dresses and shoes they wanted to buy, the pop concerts they wanted to go to—and thought to myself that I couldn’t really understand why any guy would want to date them. I knew my roommates were popular with the guys at some of the other frats, and in some of the clubs, but I couldn’t see the appeal.
The only thing that I could do to get a break from it was hit the gym. I’d go late at night or early in the morning when only the most dedicated gym-rats were there; guys on different teams, doing off-season training or building on their training routines in their free time. I went in with my headphones on and didn’t take them off the entire time. At least, I thought, if any of the guys from the frat showed up while I was there, they’d likely be just as interested as I was in getting in, getting the workout done, and going back to the house without getting distracted. It wasn’t a huge risk.
Other than the gym, though, I was spending my hours either alone or with the stupid girls I lived with. Normally I could deal with them a few hours a week—they weren’t my favorite people, but they weren’t bad. Becka was actually pretty smart, but I had my fill of her Philosophy and Women’s Studies musings within the first day of sitting around with them. All I wanted to do was go to the Phi Kappa house and watch hockey or anything else—even a comedy show would have been a good break—but I couldn’t make myself go. I couldn’t risk running into Jaxon or finding myself telling someone in the frat all about what had happened. I had to just stick to myself and get through it as best as I could.
Whenever Mom called me—and she did, a couple of times—I had to pretend like everything was normal. Like nothing at all had happened. She chattered on and on about Bob and how good he was to her, and I pretended like I liked the guy in spite of everything he had said to Jaxon. I told her about classes and about hitting the gym and neither of us said anything at all about Jaxon. It turned my stomach, but I knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I just had to get through it, move forward.
Chapter Three
The first week back from holidays was almost over when I got the email from the team list about practice; I’d been avoiding Jaxon the whole time, trying to do everything I could to get him out of my head. I didn’t want to have to give up snowboarding altogether, and it was just plain stupid to go out on my own. I’d competed before—I knew I was good, in spite of the bad boarding during the holiday. I shouldn’t have to completely change my life just because I’d had a shitty situation happen with Jaxon. I told myself that he’d encouraged me to join the team long before we’d even gotten close to getting involved physically. It was something I could do. It was the one thing that could probably keep me sane.
I replied with the confirmation that I would be there, in spite of the growing sense of dread that I felt every time I thought about it. I shouldn’t have to give up everything just because Jaxon was my stepbrother and we’d had sex; but I was starting to think that I would have to no matter how fair or unfair it was. After all, I’d have to be around Jaxon if I wanted to stay on the team. I’d have to deal with being around him. Could I do it?
I told myself that I could. After all, it wouldn’t just be Jaxon and me there together. It would be the whole team at practice—there’d be a ton more people. Jaxon and I were only really dangerous when we were alone together. It wasn’t as though we’d end up jumping each other in the middle of the practice facility and screwing mindlessly. We would both be focused on getting better, on nailing tricks and watching everyone else on the team work on theirs. I had loved snowboarding ever since I first started doing it when I was a teenager.
And on top of that, I thought as I walked back from class to the dorm, it would be good. I had been avoiding Jaxon ever since the last time we’d had sex. I couldn’t realistically avoid him forever—even if I could avoid him at school, I’d probably have to deal with being around him at home during break, in much closer quarters. I had to learn how to deal with being around him. I had to get over things, and it obviously wasn’t working to try and avoid everything to do with him. If I could just be around him with other people who didn’t have any idea about what had happened, I could probably move forward and get over the situation faster. At least, that’s what I told myself, over and over again.
I made myself focus on getting ready for practice. I’d had a rough time on the slopes the last time I’d gone out, so the few days before practice was scheduled, I hit the gym and focused entirely on routines that trainers had taught me for improving my balance, control, and form. I was not going to humiliate myself in front of people by being just as bad as I had been the last time I’d hit the slopes. Focusing on getting better, on making myself go through the jumps, the bends, the stretches and the strengthening in my core, made it easier not to think about Jaxon at all. I caught some of the people from the team in the gym—they were doing the same kinds of exercises as I was, and we managed to grin at each other, though we mostly left each other alone.
I hit the showers after the gym session and, in spite of all my confident words to myself about how I was going to just forget about Jaxon and focus on my boarding, I found myself fantasizing while the hot water rained down on me. I couldn’t make myself forget how good Jaxon had felt inside of me, of how he had gotten me off so hard that I’d seen stars. I closed my eyes and my hands wandered over my body; I couldn’t quite tease my nipples the way that Jaxon had every time we’d been together, but it was close, and I could remember it so well. I thought about what it would have been like if Jaxon and I had somehow managed to find a spare moment to be alone the last time we’d both hit the slopes, as part of Mom and Bob’s stupid “family day” idea. If we’d slipped into the lodge or if we could have managed to get alone out on the slope. I felt myself get more and more turned on while my hands wandered down towards my pussy, remembering Jaxon’s touch on my clit, the way he went down on me. So many guys went down on a girl like it was nothing more than a ticket to getting what they wanted; Jaxon at least seemed as if he liked getting me off just on its own, like he would have done it even if I didn’t screw him afterward.
In the middle of rubbing and stroking myself in the shower, the water started to cool—and I realized exactly what I was doing. It had sneaked up on me completely. I had been working so hard to not think about Jaxon that I hadn’t even been paying attention, so tired from the workout that my brain had gone on. I shook myself and finished the shower as fast as I could, not letting my hands stray or linger anywhere interesting while I rinsed the soap off of my body and grabbed my towel. I would just have to do my best to completely ignore Jaxon at practice the next
day. It was the only thing I could do. And maybe it would be easier to forget about him after that.
***
When it came time to head out to the practice facility, I felt on edge—but determined. I was going to get through it, and then everything would fall into place. I didn’t have to pay any attention to Jaxon; he had managed to completely ignore me after we’d had sex the first time and before I found out he was my stepbrother, after all. If he could do it, then I could do it. I would just focus on my own practice and working on my own tricks, and pretend that Jaxon didn’t even exist.
I drove myself to the practice spot; normally we car-pooled, since parking was scarce, but I hadn’t been keeping in touch with anyone on the team at all apart from confirming that I would be at practice. I unloaded my gear from the back of my car and walked into the huge practice area—half the team was already there, warming up, doing stretches. I decided that it wouldn’t do be any good to continue being on the team if I was just going to ignore everyone else—they’d kick me off for not getting along just as easily as they would for sucking. So I chatted up the senior girls on the team, the ones who’d been helping me the most on my tricks and technique before the holiday. I found out that Jess had pulled a muscle out partying with friends the night after Thanksgiving—and we joked about her clumsiness. “Yeah well, I’m good on a board, just not anywhere else,” Jess said, grinning.
