by Hamel, B. B.
The world began to go black.
I thought I was dead.
I woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat. Weak morning light filtered in through the curtains. It took me half a second to understand that I was safe in bed, that the crash had happened a while ago.
It was the same dream I had almost every night.
I sat up, ignoring the ache in my shins and thighs. Fucking dreams. I sat there for a minute, breathing deeply and gathering myself as the phantom pain and the body-breaking dread began to slowly fade away.
Every morning with this shit. I woke up, sweating like I had been dipped into a swimming pool, forced to relive one of the worst moments in my entire life. The pain and the fear. The agony.
I couldn’t wait to get my shit together. I couldn’t wait to jump again.
As I shuffled to the side of the bed, ignoring the pain that moved up my thighs as I swung my legs over the side, I heard my doctor’s voice in my head again. Lincoln, son, you probably won’t ever skydive again. The landing itself could re-break your legs, and who knows if they’ll even properly heal. I sneered, annoyed. He didn’t even know the difference between BASE jumping and skydiving.
And then it was time for one of the worst parts of my day. I braced myself against the nightstand as I slowly put weight onto my legs, pushing up and off the bed. Pain threatened to overwhelm me, but I grunted and ignored it as I slowly stabilized, the excruciating lightning slowly fading to the dull ache that wouldn’t go away no matter how much rehab I did. I moved my hand from the nightstand and grabbed the cane that I had left propped up against the wall and moved it forward, taking a step.
It hurt like hell. But at least I was up and out of the wheelchair and hobbling around on my own power. I didn’t need anything to help me out of bed, let alone to help me shower or brush my teeth. I couldn’t have imagined Aubrie seeing me like that, shattered legs, unable to do anything on my own. That was pathetic, and I wasn’t the type of guy to let people take care of me.
I moved across the room and into the bathroom. Every time I stopped in front of a mirror and saw my tattooed body, and the cane I had to use to help me walk, I couldn’t help but reflect on how stupid it had been to go through with that jump.
True, it had been fucking amazing, one of the best jumps of my life, but it had cost so damn much. Crashing into that car, the agony, and then waking up the next day in the hospital surrounded by lawyers and cops all wanting to know how I got up to the top of that building and did I know I broke a hundred different laws and blah blah, all a bunch of bullshit.
I did have one lucky thing happen, though. During the trial, Aubrie’s dad showed up and asked the judge to let me off lightly. In the end, I got probation for breaking and entering, and part of that probation was living under Cliff’s supervision. But at least I wasn’t going back to prison.
I brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, and got dressed. It took me way longer than it should have, since walking was a chore, but I had no regrets. I would rather break my legs a hundred more times than live like everyone else, floating through the days, practically still asleep.
I was alive up there, in the air.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I was dressed and clean and ready for the day. I checked the clock as I headed downstairs and inwardly groaned when I realized that I only had an hour before PT and the camera crew. I gimped my way downstairs, wincing at every slow step, and made my way into the kitchen.
Sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal and looking like she just woke up, was Aubrie. She glanced up as I entered, and I gave her a big grin, a strange feeling welling its way up through my chest.
I hadn’t seen her in years. Not since our parents got married, not since that aborted attempt at whatever it was that went on between us that night. We hadn’t so much as kept in touch, which was probably because she was too busy being a huge dork at Notre Dame, and I was too busy being a badass that jumped off buildings. Or at least, so I told myself.
The truth was, I hadn’t stopped thinking about her over the years. I hadn’t stopped imagining her perfect, pale-smooth skin, her beautiful body, and that pouty look she gave me whenever I teased her too much. We had danced for hours that night at the wedding, our bodies close and sweating, despite the fact that we were suddenly related.
And then there was the balcony back at her dad’s big house, after the reception, after everyone had gone home.
Her skin in the moonlight. Her lips, the way they parted when I got close.
I had jumped off some of the most intense and terrifying places in the world. I had spent months in jail. But none of that compared to the feeling I had for those brief moments. And there she was, suddenly back in my life, looking exactly as gorgeous as she used to look back then.
“’Morning, Brie baby,” I said.
She looked up at me, surprised for a second, and then her eyes narrowed.
“Good morning, gramps. Nice cane.”
I laughed and shuffled over to her, sitting down on a stool on the other side the island.
“Okay then, nerd. Nice glasses.”
“These aren’t nerdy.” She reached up and touched them unconsciously.
“Yeah, and this isn’t a cane. It’s an assisted walking device.”
“Looks a lot like a cane to me.”
“You’re way mistaken. How’s Indiana?”
“Fine. How’s jumping off buildings and breaking both your legs?”
I laughed again. Most people danced around that particular subject, but Brie was not the type to avoid something.
“Pretty damn good, actually.”
“That’s right. You’re ‘based’ now, aren’t you?”
I nodded. Based was a lifestyle. It was a frame of mind. Some rapper named Lil B made it famous. Based meant you did whatever you wanted and didn’t give a shit what people thought. You were cool because you felt like it.
“Based” was also my nickname, given to me early on in my career. Over time it had morphed into my brand, or whatever my managers were calling it, and it encompassed a whole bunch of shit, from clothing to gear.
“Guess so. Has to be better than being a nerdy little school girl.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s so great seeing you again.”
“Ditto. Why are you here, anyway?”
“Well, it is my house. I grew up here, remember?”
“So you spend your summers at home?”
She paused and then shook her head. “No, not usually. This is my first summer back, actually.”
“Look at that. We have something in common.”
“What about you? Just spending your time getting stretched out by cute girls?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, not always. Sometimes the cute girls are gorgeous instead.”
She snorted and shook her head. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Are you a little jealous?”
“Not in the least. How long will the cameras be around?”
I smirked. She was changing the subject.
“Not sure. Depends on how long it takes before I can jump again.”
She paused and raised her eyebrows. “You’re planning on jumping again?”
“Of course. It’s what I do.”
“Didn’t you smash your legs? Like, a barely able to walk kind of injury?”
I laughed. “Like I said, it’s what I do, Brie baby.”
“Quit calling me that.”
“Why? Anyway, what do you care if I jump?”
She shook her head, struggling for a reason. I could tell she was getting frustrated, and I loved it. She was exactly the sort of person that would admonish me for jumping again; she had probably never taken a risk in her entire life. Aubrie was daddy’s little princess, the straight-A, academic golden child. Full ride to Notre Dame plus great grades in whatever bio-related program she was going through. It was apparently some brain-drain thing for the best of the best. It was probably pretty easy for her
to look down on what I did, but she would never understand the feeling I got as my body first shifted from solid ground to nothing and the air roared all around me.
It was like a cocoon of screaming freedom. Or something like that.
“I guess I don’t care. It’s just stupid.”
“Easy for you to say, nerd. Everyone is stupid compared to you.”
She looked confused. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.”
I laughed again and slowly stood up, carefully keeping the pain off my face. “Both, probably,” I said.
She watched silently as I hobbled over to the refrigerator, got out the milk, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I hobbled back to my spot and hopped back up onto the stool. The last thing I wanted was for Brie to see me in pain, but there was no helping that. My PT may have been going well, but I was still at least another few months from walking completely normally again.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, breaking the silence.
I shook my head. Typical Brie, saying exactly what she was thinking.
“Sometimes. I can handle it, though.”
I took a bite of my cereal while she watched me. It felt weird sitting at the table with her after all those years. Though we hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together before my mom and her dad found each other, we had gotten pretty close very fast. And then that night changed everything, or at least made it obvious what was happening.
“What do the doctors say?”
“They say a lot of stuff.”
“But, about your recovery?”
I stopped eating and looked at her. “What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m curious, I guess.”
“Well, don’t be. I’m fine.”
She looked surprised, and I instantly regretted the harsh tone. I knew she was just trying to engage with me, maybe even show a little concern in her own way, but I hated pity. I hated pity more than anything, which was why the wheelchair was so terrible. And the last person I wanted any pity from was Aubrie.
Before I could apologize, maybe cover my shitty reaction by talking about the PT, my mom made her typical, perfectly-timed entrance.
“Good morning, children,” she practically sang as she took a yogurt from the refrigerator and leaned up against the counter.
“Good morning, Jules.”
I nodded to her. “Mother.”
“And what are you two doing today?”
“The usual,” I said before Aubrie could chime in. “Exercising my crippled legs while some dudes stick a camera in my face.”
Mom smiled uncertainly, and I felt bad. I knew she didn’t get sarcasm and I should probably lay off. What the hell is with me this morning? I thought to myself. It was probably just the pain rearing its ugly head.
“Well, that’s nice, Lincoln,” she said.
Aubrie gave me a look. “He’s pretty cranky this morning,” she said.
I laughed. “Cranky? I’m practically chipper.”
“When are the cameras arriving?” Mom asked, cutting off what was bound to be an incredibly witty retort from Aubrie.
I looked at her. “About forty minutes or so.”
“Better get on my face.”
Aubrie laughed and I grinned. Mom wasn’t kidding one bit, but she gave us a sheepish smile anyway.
“By the way,” Mom continued, “about that charity thing.”
I glanced at Aubrie, assuming she knew what was going on.
“Yeah, about that,” Aubrie said.
“I have a task for you in mind, but I need to clear up a few details first. Do you mind just hanging around?”
I raised an eyebrow. Aubrie was helping my mother with her hundreds of different charity projects? That could be interesting.
“Okay, sure. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks so much, dear.”
“By the way, where’s Dad?”
Mom paused, which was odd. I had been wondering the same thing, but I knew better than to ask.
“Your father is in L.A. working on a new script.”
“Oh, okay. When’s he getting back home?”
“Soon. Very soon, I think.”
Aubrie paused and I shrugged at her. “I haven’t heard from him, so don’t look at me.”
She frowned but didn’t say anything.
“Well, okay, have a good morning.” And then Mom was gone, back up to her room to probably do another workout.
I looked at Aubrie. “Did she seem a little slower than usual?”
Aubrie smiled, focusing back in on me. “No, no more than usual.”
“I could have sworn I saw her hamster wheel spinning twice as fast.”
She laughed. “Oh, don’t be so mean to your mother.”
I held up my hands. “I’m never mean. Just speaking the truth.”
She laughed again and we lapsed into silence, finishing our cereal. Finally, Aubrie pushed back from the island and stood up, putting her bowl in the sink.
“Okay. I have some stuff to do. Good luck with therapy.”
“Sounds good, Brie baby.”
She rolled her eyes and was gone. I watched her walk out of the room, my eyes glued to her perfect, round ass, barely concealed by her thin cotton shorts.
Fucking Aubrie, back in my life. Maybe, if all things went well, I’d recover faster than expected, and my mom would keep her busy. Maybe we wouldn’t run into each other too much this summer.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the next three months covering my hard-ons every time she bent over to pick something up.
Chapter Three: Aubrie
I watched the water in the pool reflect sunlight as I sent out another text, panic beginning to well up in my core.
For the past hour, after my little run-in with Lincoln in the kitchen, I had been sending out S.O.S. texts to all my friends from high school, hoping that someone else was home for the summer. As the minutes ticked by and I was getting only silence in return, it began to dawn on me that maybe I really was going to have to spend all summer seeing nobody my age except for Lincoln.
My stepbrother. Lincoln “Based” Carter. Even with that limp, he looked freaking incredible. When he had walked downstairs, leaning heavily on his cane, I had been able to see the muscles stand out through his thin white T-shirt. It made the colorful tattoos all over his arms pop. He gave me one look, part “I-know-you-want-me” confidence and part “I’m-God’s-gift-to-this-Earth” arrogance, and it made me absolutely furious and totally excited. My heart was hammering in my chest the entire time we went at each other verbally. And as he reached up to grab the cereal from the cabinet, there was a brief moment where I could see the cut muscles all down his lower back, and a hint of some other tattoo along his side.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had stared at him like he was a piece of meat and all I wanted to do was jump his bones. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was even capable of having sex, or whatever, since he was all injured and stuff. That probably didn’t matter to him.
I glanced down at my phone.
Crickets.
I groaned. This was a nightmare. I had barely managed to get out of the house before the camera crew descended on us, shoving their microphones and lenses in our faces and trying to get me to say nice things about Lincoln. I was absolutely not going to be a part of his documentary, or whatever it was. No way in hell. Not in a million years.
Frankly, I didn’t want to be another character in Lincoln’s glamorous life. He had plenty of groupies and hangers-on that would love to get a little bit part in his show. That wasn’t for me, never would be, even if I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since that night of the wedding.
I leaned my head back and let the memory take over.
We pushed through the back door, a little drunk, a little giddy, and totally exhausted. Still, adrenaline was keeping me awake, the adrenaline that comes with dancing closely with your sexy-as-hell stepbrother all night, breathing in his smell and wanting to slip his cock into y
our mouth. He was too much, with a chiseled face and a body he clearly worked hard on.
“Shh, you’re going to wake them up,” he whispered.
“They’re not here, idiot,” I said, giggling.
He laughed. “That’s right. It’s their honeymoon.”
“No, their wedding night.”
“I’m sure they’re consummating it right now.”
I made a face. “Ew. Gross. I don’t want to think about my dad consummating anything.”
“And you think I want to imagine my mom doing that?”
“You brought it up.”
He laughed and pushed me playfully. Then he began to walk up the steps. I followed him, giggling.
“Want one last drink?” he asked me.
“What, you have alcohol?”
He grinned wickedly. “Small stash.”
“What a rebel.”
“Want one or not?”
I nodded, following him into his room. My heart was racing, and I knew what I was doing was probably a huge mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. Ever since Lincoln had come into my life, there was only one thing, only one mind-meltingly hot guy. It was him every time I closed my eyes and felt my soaked-through panties.
The thought of my stepbrother without a shirt on practically got me off. How messed up was that?
“Here we go,” he said, pulling a bottle from his closet.
I giggled again. “What’s that?”
“Vodka. Vladimir’s Vodka. Only the finest Russian blend.” He walked into his bathroom and returned with two paper cups, pouring two shots. He held his up. “To our parents’ marriage.”
“To family.”
He grinned and threw his drink back. I followed suit and nearly gagged as the sharp, biting taste of cheap alcohol overwhelmed my stomach and throat. I began to cough and he laughed.
“Not funny,” I croaked.
He laughed and walked into the bathroom, returning with some water. I drank it gratefully.
“Is that stuff meant for stripping paint?” I asked incredulously. I couldn’t believe people drank it.
“It comes in a big plastic bottle and costs about ten bucks.”
