by Ros Baxter
Steffy’s heart hammered in her chest, and she felt fury—cold and brittle—lance through her. “Don’t you dare bring my baby into this,” she spat. She knew it; she knew what she was without Brooke telling her. But she couldn’t bear to think about the baby.
Brooke ploughed on. Her eyes were shiny with fear and anger. “When you have a child yourself, Steffy, you’ll understand why I want to protect mine.” Brooke shook her head, then held Steffy’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Steffy, but you’re poison to whoever you get near.”
Steffy’s skin tingled and her mind whirled at Brooke’s words. My God. This really was how people saw her. How Brooke saw her. Her vision began to blur, but she would not cry in front of Brooke. She needed to run, to get away. Before she did something she would really regret. Her hands balled into fists and she felt she might explode with all the pent-up sadness and fury coursing through her.
As Brooke took a step toward her, Steffy became aware of a small crowd gathered behind the glass doors of her apartment building.
“Stop it, Mom,” Rick said, his voice very low and very angry.
But Brooke wasn’t finished. “I’ll never let you have my son.”
Steffy’s world tipped and tilted in the wake of Brooke’s words. She needed to get away from her—now.
“Don’t say another word, Mother,” Rick said, putting his arms around her, trying to move her away from Steffy. He pointed at his mother’s black car behind them. “Please go. Go and think about what you’ve said and done tonight, Mother. Sometime soon I’ll tell you about what Liam did today, and you might think some more before you speak and act. Before you jump to his defense.” He released his hold on her.
Brooke stood before her son, eyes wide and face flushed. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Steffy noticed another person was standing very close to Rick, a short, squat man she recognized too well. He was wearing lurid purple jeans and round, wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a huge camera that was flashing insanely at the scene before him. He was a member of the paparazzi, the one who most constantly dogged Steffy: Angelo Antigua. At one point, she had been afraid that he was obsessed with her. Wherever she went, whatever she did, he was there, snapping away. His pictures were frequently featured in the most trashy gossip magazines.
Steffy closed her eyes and remembered that this was personal for Angelo. Steffy’s father, Ridge, had recently bought the paparazzo off when he had caught perhaps the biggest prize of them all—a picture of Steffy, tearstained and broken, leaving the hospital after she had lost her baby. Even though security and her assistant had all worked hard to keep her face out of view, Angelo had caught the money shot: Steffy, head bowed, about to step into the limousine, frozen in a moment of pure, cosmetic-free grief.
Ridge had fought hard to win the photos back, but Angelo had known their value. The part that had hurt the most was that Ridge had only managed to secure the deal by arranging a meeting between Angelo and Steffy for her to personally thank him for his understanding.
The man had a knack for capturing people at their lowest and most vulnerable points. Like now.
“Smile, Steffy,” he wheezed, and Steffy saw it all as he would capture it. As it would appear in tomorrow’s columns: Steffy, dazed and exhausted; Brooke, anxious and tearful; Rick, holding his mother in a gesture of protective concern that could easily be twisted into something uglier.
Before Steffy could think of the right words, Rick roared like a bull in Angelo’s direction and the man took off, Rick hot on his heels. He had fifty pounds and twenty years on Rick, but he also had the rat cunning of the street on his side—and a healthy respect for life and limb. Steffy blinked as she watched Angelo skip up the alleyway nearby, dodging dumpsters and scattering crates behind him as Rick pursued him. Then they disappeared into the alley.
Steffy turned back to Brooke. Her face was ashen. She looked suddenly small and lost, standing on the street corner as a crowd of faces gaped at her from behind the lobby doors.
“Today is the anniversary of Phoebe—of Phoebe’s …” Steffy trailed off as she sought the right words.
“Oh.” Brooke seemed to deflate as she registered Steffy’s words. “So the two of you … He went with you?”
Steffy nodded.
A tear rolled down Brooke’s cheek as she looked at Steffy. “I just want him to be happy.”
Steffy read Brooke’s message loud and clear. She understood why Brooke would see her as a threat to her son’s happiness. Perhaps an even greater threat than Steffy had been to the happiness of her daughter, Hope.
Steffy felt sick and raw inside as she stood on the sidewalk next to Brooke and thought about all the things she had said. That Steffy was spoiled and wild. That she had tricked and trapped Liam. That she knew nothing about nurturing. And then of course, that other thing. The thing that clanged over and over in Steffy’s head like the chimes of doom: that she had been unable to protect her own baby. Those words from Brooke, that Steffy knew were unusual for her, came from a deep, angry well of mother love that Steffy would never know.
Finally, Rick returned, panting. He stopped by his car and locked a black bag in the trunk, before jogging back to the women. He looked at his mother warily. “It’s sorted,” he said.
Brooke exhaled noisily, and at last all the fight seemed to go out of her. “Will he…?”
“No.” Rick shook his head decisively, and Steffy realized that she’d been holding her breath until that moment. “We had a conversation,” Rick said, smiling darkly. “His camera met an untimely end.”
Steffy’s hands flew to her mouth. Oh no. Rick had no idea what Angelo could do.
“Don’t worry,” Rick said to her, patting her shoulder. “We’ve reached a suitable compensation arrangement.”
Steffy’s stomach lurched at the memories Rick’s words brought up. She knew just how much Angelo’s silence cost.
“Thank you, Rick,” she said. Her head was swimming with all that happened. “I need to get inside.” The exhaustion that had threatened to take her over had been replaced by something far darker, and she needed to be alone with it.
“I can take you in.” Rick’s blue eyes sought hers but she was far away from him right now.
“No,” she said, unable to offer him any warmth as the darkness started to take her over. “I … I’m tired. But thanks again.” She looked at Brooke, who seemed to have shrunk to half her usual size. “For everything.”
Rick nodded, and turned his back to his mother so he could speak privately to Steffy. “Any time you need me,” he said. “I’m here.”
She nodded, knowing she should feel tired but instead just feeling those words drilling her brain. Spoiled. Wild. Dangerous to anyone who gets close to her.
Rick studied her face carefully as he picked up her hand and kissed it gently. “It’s not true, you know,” he said. “She’s just afraid.”
But Steffy knew he was wrong. She had tried all day to convince herself that life could be different, that she could be different. That it was time to move forward and that she could let go of the past. That she could allow herself to grieve, and love, and start afresh.
And then Brooke’s words had brought the nonsense of all of that home to her. Steffy didn’t deserve a second chance—she had hurt too many people.
She pulled her hand from Rick’s and turned and walked toward the lobby. Security had managed to clear away the spectators and she walked to the elevator unmolested. As she stood at the doors, the words swam around in her head again.
Wild. Spoiled. Dangerous. Only capable of offering hurt.
And the deepest cut of all. Reminding Steffy about her baby.
Her heart rose up, raw and bruised under the weight of the words. She stepped into the elevator, feeling as though the walls were pressing in on her. Her breathing became sharp and short, her chest squeezing painfully. She banged hard on the little buttons to the penthouse. This was what she was. Steffy Forrester, wild child.
She c
ould try to outrun it, she could try to change. She could draw pretty pictures and beg her sister’s forgiveness. But she would always be the girl who didn’t deserve love. And who would never have a child to share it with.
As she stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse suite, she thought about Brooke’s face. The face of a mother protecting both her daughter and her son. A feeling Steffy would never know.
The huge apartment felt tiny and stifling, full of memories of Liam, even after the short time they had shared here. Another person she had not been able to live up to. Another love she had lost.
The red light on the answering machine blinked accusingly at her. She stood staring at it for long seconds before she stabbed it with her finger.
“Steffy? Steffy. It’s me, Liam. I got your message. Where are you? I’m worried about you. I need to talk—”
Steffy poked the delete button quickly. She could not hear this, not again, not now. Her skin prickled and her chest seemed to squeeze each breath painfully.
It was too much. Phoebe, Liam, Brooke. It felt like the world was against her and she needed to get away. Her bones ached with exhaustion but she could not stay in this place that smelled like grief.
She ran into her bedroom, and tore the sharp suit from her body, changing quickly into leather pants and knee-high boots. She pulled on a black turtleneck sweater and a short jacket and ran back to the elevator. She banged hard on the buttons, willing the thing to come quicker. She could not be out of here fast enough. She needed to put some distance between herself and this place, this day.
She stepped into the elevator and jabbed again at the buttons, this time to take her down to the basement. The contented hum of the elevator was like a jackhammer on the raw places in her brain as it slid downward.
When she got there she almost lost heart.
She had not been on a bike since the day of the accident.
This thing had been delivered by the insurance company, not long after. A perfect replacement. Never, ever used.
It stood before her, sleek and black like a weapon. She knew now just how dangerous it could be.
The only difference now was that she didn’t care.
Today she had told Phoebe that she would live, and live well, for her. But right now all she wanted was to be away. To feel the wind in her hair and the miles between her and LA. She wanted to be all the things they all knew her to be: wild; reckless; selfish. What did it matter what she really was, when everyone had already made up their mind?
She could not live in the prison she had created for herself.
Liam wanting her, but all on his own terms.
Brooke believing Steffy was hell bent on destroying her son, a second time around.
And Rick? The thought almost made her stop.
What about Rick?
What had happened between them today? Had it really just been friendship, comfort?
She closed her eyes and thought about how he had smelled as she had pressed against him; the soft, clean, earthy fragrance of him. How good his skin had felt, how hard his body had been as he had tensed against her in the little bar at the hotel. He had been there with her today, battling his own demons. He was trying to change, to grow. And he had stood up for her, stood up to his mother for her.
Steffy stood in front of the long, black, beautiful thing. Then Pedro surprised her with a small cough. “You want these, Ms. Forrester?” His smiling brown eyes twinkled at her as he held out the keys to the motorbike. “I’ve been keeping her in perfect condition for you. She’s all gassed up and ready to go.”
“I …” What did she want? Coming down here, she had been sure. She wanted to ride away, far away, feel the wind in her hair and get away from all the things that hunted and hurt her. But now?
“You want the helmet?” Pedro held the helmet up, as sleek and black and dangerous as the machine itself. Steffy reached out for it, and the moment she felt it under her fingers, she was lost. It was like a drug. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t change. She might as well give into it. She needed to go, to outrun the ugly things Brooke had said to her. To outrun the confusing day. The labels she could never live down.
She placed the helmet on her head, swung a leg over the machine and inserted the key. As the bike turned over, she heard Brooke’s words again, reverberating through her brain.
Wild. Spoiled. Dangerous.
She grinned at the little man as she revved the engine. “Don’t wait up, Pedro.”
He saluted her as she spun the wheels and fired off up the ramp. “No sir, Ms. Forrester,” he agreed.
Chapter Seven
Rick turned to face his mother.
How could she not have seen what Steffy was going through today? Steffy had barely been able to stand up, she’d been so exhausted.
And right now, he knew how she had felt. He ran his hands through his hair and across his brow. It had been a long day, filled with sad moments and difficult encounters. Caroline, Liam, and now Brooke. Images from the day swirled through his mind.
Rick just could not understand why his mother had been so hard on Steffy. “How could you?”
“No, Rick. How could you?”
Warmth rushed to Rick’s cheeks. He was not proud of the way he had spoken to his mother, but he also knew that in that moment, he’d had little choice. She had been verging on hysterical and he had been truly unsure what she might say or do next. He knew he could not let her keep saying those things to Steffy. Not today, after all Steffy had been through.
He sighed. “This is not about you, Mom,” he said. He felt all his love for his mother fill him as he looked at her, scared and sad. He wanted to make her understand. “That girl—”
“Steffy.”
“Yes, Steffy,” Rick said. “Steffy, Taylor’s daughter. The woman you have known since she was a little girl. The woman I—”
“The woman you what?” Brooke had a hand on one hip and a look in her eyes that Rick knew too well. This was not a woman who was used to being told what to do. She was good and kind, but she was also tough as nails. She knew how to fight for what she wanted, and what she didn’t want. And right now, she did not want Rick anywhere near Steffy. Rick felt a primal scream rise in his belly and he clenched his fists to stop it from escaping in frustration at his mother.
“The woman I care about, very much. The woman who has lost a baby, and who went to the cemetery today to visit her dead sister.”
Brooke stepped forward, and he could almost see the switch in her eyes as she held out her hands to him. “Darling, I am sorry for you. For you both. I can tell it’s been a hard day.” She chewed carefully on her bottom lip. “But you need to understand. It starts like this. I know what a kind person you are, at heart. You’re drawn in by Steffy’s sadness today. It’s like that bird, remember? What did you call it?”
Rick frowned, trying to follow her train of thought. Then the mist cleared. “Toto,” he said quietly.
“Yes.” Brooke clicked her fingers. “That little old sparrow you’d found out in the woods, with the broken wing. You tended it so carefully.”
Rick felt the old memories and emotions in his chest. Brooke had given him a little dropper to feed it with, and he had been so careful, so sure he could save it. He could only have been seven or eight, but he’d been certain that with time and love he could fix the tiny thing.
“And then it died.” Brooke’s voice was sad. “Despite your best efforts. Some things are just wild creatures. And no matter what you try to do to help them, you just can’t save them. They can only save themselves. And even then, only if they really want to.” Brooke was rubbing her hands up and down Rick’s arms, as though he really was seven again.
But he was a grown man now, and he knew Steffy. He knew her. “She’s not wild, Mother,” he said, taking her hands from his arms and holding them gently. “And you hurt her just now. Can’t you see how you hurt her? We’ve all done bad things.” He looked right into those green eye
s. “All of us. But if we were never allowed to change, how might we know what else we could be? Where could we get redemption?”
Brooke nodded her head briskly and stepped back. “Fine,” she said. “If that’s how you want it.” She smiled but he could see the pain and fear in her eyes.
He nodded back at her. “It is, Mother.”
She stepped in to kiss him on the cheek and he kissed hers in return. He wondered briefly at why Brooke’s casual dismissal of Steffy had hit him so hard. He thought about what he had just said to his mother.
Redemption.
That was something he really understood. He too had done some crappy things. He too needed to be allowed to start over, without the world judging him. Was that what this was about? He shook his head at the image of the injured bird that his mother had planted.
His mind skipped to the memory of Steffy’s sketches. He closed his eyes as he saw them again. Ethereal and perfect. No. Steffy was not an injured bird. She was not wild. She was just … beautiful.
The thought ignited something in him, a desperate urge to follow her, make sure she was okay.
“Goodbye, Mother,” he said, feeling suddenly desperate to check Steffy was all right. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”
Brooke nodded. “Of course, honey,” she said, smiling at him one last time before walking back to her car.
As he turned back to the building to go and check on Steffy, his gaze caught on a black motorbike roaring out of the side of the luxury building. The driver was wearing a sleek black helmet and long dark hair flew out from under it as she sped up the street.
His mind took a moment to catch up.
Steffy.
*
It felt good to have a bike underneath her once again. The wild machine was like a drug, and she loved and loathed it in equal measure. She had sworn she would never get on a bike again. And now here she was—in her hour of need a bike was a friend.
As she cleared the busy streets and moved out onto the freeway she opened it up, feeling the powerful throttle beneath her and the warmth burn into her thighs as she set off into the late afternoon sun.
