Shit. Tears were welling in my eyes again. I closed my eyes to keep them and bay as I laid my hand gently down on my mother’s gravestone. It wasn’t the same as being able to touch her, but it was close enough to at least offer me a little bit of comfort.
“I ran away, Mom. You would have been so upset at me, disappointed at the things I’ve done… I’m so sorry. I was horrible to my stepmother, too. I treated her like she was trying to take your place, and that was so unfair of me, Mom. Because she never wanted that. She just wanted to love me, wanted to make sure she did right by your son. And I wouldn’t let her. And then I blamed her for failing, when I never even gave her a chance to succeed.
“She’s here today,” I added, a faint smile crossing my lips. “I brought her here because I think you ought to meet her… and that I know that she deserves an apology for the things I’ve done just as much as you or Dad do.”
I stood up and turned, waving for my stepmother to come closer. She looked nervous, even apprehensive at the thought of standing beside her stepson and speaking to his dead birth-mother.
“This is her,” I said, putting my arm around my stepmother’s shoulders to usher her closer. “Evelyn, this is my mom. Mom, this is Evelyn. My other mom, I guess…”
“Hello,” Evelyn said, smiling tentatively down at the grave marker. “I’ve heard so many things about you the last few years… and I was honestly afraid I’d never fill your shoes.”
I smiled a bit, gently resting my hand on my stepmother’s shoulder, trying to silently assure her. After a moment, Evelyn looked up at me. She looked grateful that I’d brought her here, but she also looked like she wasn’t sure what else to do.
“I wanted to talk with you about the way I’ve treated you,” I began, swallowing hard. “I’ve treated you terribly. More than terribly—I acted like you were this villain who’d come into my life to take my mother’s place.
“But I know that wasn’t why you were there—deep down, I always knew that you weren’t there to become my mother. You weren’t even there because of me… I was twenty years old. I was about to go to college and leave home. I was hardly going to be in your life—but I decided that my father’s happiness was something that I couldn’t let happen, not if it meant him forgetting about my mother.”
“Slade,” Evelyn said, gently putting her hand over mine. “I could never replace a woman like your mother. She loved you from the moment you were born, and so did your father. I could never have taken him from you.”
“You’re right,” I said, nodding as I took her hand. “And I know that now. I should have actually thought of how my mother would have wanted things instead of how I wished she were still around. Mom would have been ashamed of the things I did to you, to Iris, to Kellan, and my Dad… all of you deserved so much more than what I gave to you. I could have learned to know you as a person instead of seeing you as the enemy. I thought that maybe, somehow, if me and my dad missed her enough, that she would be back. I think that after she died, I stopped thinking like the adult I was supposed to be, and instead just acted like a scared little child.
“You deserved to be treated like you were a person, someone who I could learn to like and maybe even see as part of my family. You certainly didn’t deserve the things I said to you or the way that I behaved. I really am sorry, Evelyn.”
I turned toward her then, noting the tears in her eyes. I squeezed her shoulder tighter and brought her into an embrace, the first one I’d ever given her. She hugged me back, the tension in her body slipping away, replaced by a sigh of comfort that made my heart warm to hear.
“I heaped a lot of blame onto you, Evelyn,” I said, casting my eyes down to my mother’s grave again, “blame that you never once deserved. I was angry and desperately wanted someone to pin all of my feelings on. You were the unlucky victim of my own blind hatred. And worst of all, I dragged your daughter into my plans. I understand if you hated me from the moment you met me—I would have deserved every bit of that anger from you.”
“I was never really angry with you, Slade,” Evelyn said, looking into my eyes. “Even after what happened with Iris. She came to me and she told me everything, that you and her had done what you did as two adults, and that was enough for me. I didn’t expect you to think of one another as brother and sister after only knowing one another for such a short time. I don’t blame you for loving her—not at all.”
I smiled and pulled her into another gentle hug. Even though I knew that Iris and I would be together no matter what anyone said, it meant so much that someone supported us. It had been hard to let go of so much aggression and anger after years of stewing in my own emotions, but now that I had begun to work through everything, I knew that I’d at least have the support of my family, including my stepmother.
“I’d like it if we could spend some time together—I know it seems weird for your stepson to ask you to hang out with him, but I’d really like to get to know you better. You only wanted to make my father happy, and that should have been enough for me. You deserve my acceptance. And I’d like to get to know you.”
“Thank you, Slade,” Evelyn said, smiling as she pulled me into another hug. “It means the world to me to hear you say that. All I’ve ever wanted was to be there for your father, and now I can be there for you, too, if you’ll have me.”
“I’d be honored,” I said. “And I hope someday, you’ll forgive me. Not now, after everything that’s happened, and not when I haven’t had time to really make up for it. But I’d like it if you’d accept my apology. That seems like a good place for both of us to start.”
My stepmother looked deep into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and I felt almost like I was exposed—left open for her to read like a book. I remembered why I hated doing things like this, opening my soul and asking for penance… it was what I had tried to avoid for all these years—being vulnerable.
“I accept your apology, Slade,” she said at last, squeezing my hand. “And believe it or not, I do forgive you. I understand how loss can change a person, how it can make them see the world differently—even incorrectly. What’s important is that you came to realize where you went wrong and that you had the courage to come here today and say all of this to me. That you would share this moment. I appreciate that you did all of this for me, and it means more than you could possibly imagine.”
I nodded, withdrawing just enough to feel safe again. I’d meant every word I said to Evelyn, but this mushy stuff was starting to wear on me. “If you don’t mind too much, I’d like another moment alone here with my mom. I just wanted to tell her goodbye.”
“Of course,” Evelyn said, gently squeezing my shoulder before turning back toward Iris and my dad. I watched her go, waiting until she was out of earshot to look back down at my mother’s grave.
“I guess she isn’t as bad as I kept saying, huh?” I murmured, my gaze drawn once more to my mother’s engraved name. “She seems like a really nice person, Mom. Someone who has been making Dad really happy ever since you died. And I think, because of her, I have someone who’s going to make me happy. I suppose that I’d never have known Iris if her mom didn’t like Dad so much.
“I’m not planning on going back out of town—except maybe to grab my things and cancel my lease. I’m going to be moving back home, right where I belong. So you can expect to see a lot more of me from now on…”
I glanced over my shoulder at the others, noting their eyes were fixed on me as I spoke to my mother’s spirit—or at least, what I’d hoped was her spirit. Maybe this grave was more like a representative of my conscience, my very own Jiminy Cricket. That was what mothers were, after all—our conscience, guiding us through life, trying to help us make the right choices.
“I miss you so much, Mom… more than you can possibly imagine. There isn’t be a day that goes by that I don’t wish that you were here, comforting me and telling me whether I was going down the right path, doing the right thing. But I have to do it by myself now, and tha
t thought is so terrifying.”
I glanced over my shoulder again, smiling as I spotted Iris looking over at me. I felt that familiar warmth growing in my chest as I turned back to my mother’s grave.
“I think you’d really like Iris, Mom,” I said, my voice soft. “She’s a lot like you—tough, strong, pretty… and she’s so smart. I only wish that you could have met her. I think you two would really have gotten along.”
“Talking about me?” I heard Iris’ voice carry over the wind, the grass crunching beneath her feet as she came closer. “Good things, I hope.”
“The best,” I said, turning toward her with a smile. “I was just about to say goodbye.”
Iris slid her arm around my waist as I turned back to my mother’s grave. I hated the thought of leaving, of having to wait until some other time to come and see her. But I knew that my family was waiting for me, and I couldn’t keep them waiting for long.
“Goodbye, Mom,” I said to her gravestone, glinting in the dying light beneath the boughs of that old oak tree. “I love you.”
~ EPILOGUE ~
Iris
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Come on, Kellan. This is a big deal. I think a little celebration is in order, huh?”
Kellan sighed, rolling his eyes like ninety full days of sobriety after rehab was no big deal. He ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, still grumbling about how the stylist took off too much length, and squinted at the banner I’d made for him and strung up across my apartment door.
“This is silly,” he said. “I made it a whole three months without fuckin’ up, and you want to throw me some kind of party.” I shrugged and he narrowed his eyes at me, running his tongue over his teeth. “Well, shit. Did you at least get me a piñata?”
“That can be arranged,” I told him, hugging him around his shoulders. “What should we put in it, do you think? Candy? Cupcakes? Tiny little strippers?”
Kellan snorted a gruff laugh. “How ‘bout some pills and clean needles? Can never have too many of those.” He saw my sharp look and flashed me a sheepish grin. “I’m joking, sis. Really. C’mon, you gotta let me have my gallows humor.” He turned to me and put his hands on my arms. “Sometimes, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. And I really, really don’t feel like crying today. So just go with it and put up with my shit for a couple hours. Okay?”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Fine. But keep the relapse jokes to a minimum. You scare me half to death with those things.”
“Scout’s honor,” my brother said, holding up his hand in a mock salute. “I’m doing the best I can, Iris. Takin’ it one day at a time. I don’t want to let you down again.”
“And you’re not going to,” I told him, “because I was serious about what I said back at the hospital. You so much as look wrong at a pill or a needle again, Kellan Walker, and I will—”
“End me,” Kellan finished on my behalf. “I got it, trust me. Who needs to OD when you’ve got a family like ours, huh?”
I shook my head, taking my little brother in for a moment. God, he’d come such a long way in such a short time, and sometimes, his progress kind of scared me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Kellan to go back on his word and disappear from our lives again, only this time, maybe Slade and I wouldn’t find him in time to stop something bad from happening to him. I read somewhere that addicts have the highest chance of ODing after they’d gotten clean—their tolerance drops, and they tend to forget that when they’re frantically trying to scratch that evil little itch. But so far, so good with Kellan. He was really putting in the effort, and I couldn’t have been more proud of him.
“Slade’s the only one here so far,” I told him, opening the door. “Dad and Mom won’t be here for a little while, and I invited a few of my friends. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That depends,” Kellan said, stepping into my apartment and hanging his coat from the rack near the door, “are they hot?”
“Too hot for you, little brother,” I answered, closing the door behind us and leading Kellan into my kitchen. “But hey, at least you’ll get some cake.”
I expected some lip, but Kellan just made a beeline for the store-bought icing monstrosity set up on my kitchen table. “Ooh, cake…”
“Hey, Kellan,” Slade said, stepping out of the bedroom where he’d just finished cleaning up. God, did my stepbrother look great when he got all gussied up for company. He was wearing a maroon, long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up—I wasn’t sure what it was about that look that got to me, but goddamn, it was hot. Like he was ready to get down to business, get his hands dirty. I was definitely up for some of that later, but right now, his hotness made it difficult to concentrate.
“What’s up, bro?” Kellan said, sucking icing off his fingers as he pulled Slade in for a bro hug. “How’s married life, huh?”
“We’re not married, Kellan,” I told him with an exasperated sigh. “We’re just living together. God, I forgot how annoying you are.”
“So you’re… what, his live-in girlfriend?” Kellan asked, eyebrows raised. “Damn, sis. No wonder you’re cranky.”
Slade chuckled. He was way more amused by Kellan’s shit than I was. Seeing the look on my face, he put his arm around me and drew me in close. “Your sister and I are taking things slow,” he said, then winked at me. “For now.”
A blush crept into my cheeks. I both loved and hated when he talked like that. It flustered me like nothing else.
It was so good to have everything back to… well, back to whatever passed for normal around here. Our family was back together. Kellan was safe. And even my non-conventional relationship with Slade had stopped being a topic of conversation months ago. My mom had accepted it more easily than Dad had. He still thought it was weird. But he’d stopped making faces whenever we kissed or held hands, and that was pretty good progress, all things considered.
And Slade, for his part, was fitting in just fine. True to his word, he’d moved back home as soon as he could and took a position with the metro hospital. Not only was he instrumental to Kellan’s recovery, partly overseeing his therapy and making arrangements for a stellar outpatient program, but he was also patenting a device he hoped would become commonplace for drug addicts around the world. It was an epi pen-like delivery system containing naloxone, the drug Slade had used to save Kellan’s life. Since it was so fast-acting, it could be revolutionary in preventing drug-related deaths. The most rigorous of the medical trials it would have to pass to make it to market were coming up soon, but Slade didn’t even seem worried. I guessed that was an advantage of being a cocky bastard—you never bet against yourself.
Which meant the only sleepless nights Slade had around here were the ones he spent with me, making up for lost time. Even after six months, the sex with him was hot. He never ran out of ways to amaze me. I had the sneaking suspicion that he had some kind of manual stashed away somewhere.
“So, you set any long-term goals for yourself, Kellan?” I asked my younger brother. “I mean, since you’re so curious about what Slade and I are doing, I’m sure there’s something you want to share.”
“One day at a time, sis,” he said again, going back for seconds on the icing he’d stolen. “One day at a time.”
Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad motto. It was a great way to look at life—like each day was an accomplishment in and of itself. Like the happiness you had right now was way more important than the past, or even the future. You had to cherish things while they were still around. You couldn’t take them for granted. Having suffered so much loss throughout my life, I was very well aware of what forgetting all that could do.
I looked up at Slade again and saw that mischievous spark in his eyes, the one I’d first seen seven years ago when he’d decided to set his sights on me. Even after all this time, it hadn’t faded. He was still into me, still in love, still looking for ways to one-up me. God, I hoped he never stopped.
“Yeah,” I said, slippin
g my arms around him and watching as Kellan sat on our couch, safe and sound. “One day at a time.”
The End.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling author Sienna Valentine grew up in Canada and still lives there, spending her time reading and writing. Steamy romance has always been her favorite genre, and finds now that the only thing more satisfying than dreaming up her fantasies in the first place, is writing them down and being able to share them with others.
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Slade: A Stepbrother Romance Page 14
