PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance (4 page)

Was that why?
I dwelled on the thought,
thinking back to all those memories.
Did
I just want his attention?

I was a good
girl. Good girls don’t crush on their stepbrothers. But there was an undeniable
attraction to him, and I’d never been willing to fully admit it to myself. I
could talk about it objectively now, keeping the thoughts compartmentalized. I
could think of it like it was someone else, with that kind of detachment, but
that’s not quite accurate enough.

It was as if
reminiscing on something that was irrevocable
fact
within a dream, but flawed
fiction
in reality.

The complexity
of how I felt towards Sawyer…it defied logic. I had dated boys. I’d even dated
some
decent
boys, highly attractive
boys that treated me with complete respect. But the boys I’d dated, even the
pricks among them, just never compelled me the way that he did. There was no
balance
between the two – always
either one or the other. This boyfriend would put me on a pedestal and treat me
like a princess; that boyfriend would consider me a conquest trophy at best, or
just make-out material at worst.

Sawyer challenged
me. Continuously. At the same time I knew that, when it really came down to it,
he was on my side.

He had always
supported me against our parents when they were being unreasonable. Every time
that Mom or Chet had made some heavy-handed, unreasonable request of me –
or the countless times I was accused of sneaking boys home (I never did,
although everyone knew that Sawyer snuck girls in and out non-stop), he was
right there to have my back. As much as I hated to admit it, he
was
in my corner as soon as he heard
about Paris, which meant that
that
part
of him hadn’t changed either.

I sighed
heavily, glancing up at the mural of the stars across my ceiling. Seeing him
again after all these years…I had expected that when –
if
– I laid eyes on the bastard,
I’d want to throttle him for becoming such a large part of my life and then
doing what every important man did to me: they always just walked away.

But the truth
dawned on me, finally: I had to actively
try
to hate him, even with his stupid smirk and his entire abandonment thing.
All those confusing teenage feelings came rushing back. I’d always attributed
it to stupid hormones and puberty, but goddamn, that wasn’t it.

Sawyer had
been handsome before.

Now, he was
stupidly
attractive.

I wasn’t sure
how I could much I could bear a summer alone with the cocky, sculpted jackass
now. It had been easy to let the past be the past and just forget the whole
mess, but then he had to come back and make life a living hell again. Now, I
was going to have to figure my feelings out while
trapped
with the guy. And there was
no way
I was going to let him have that kind of power over me, not
after he’d betrayed me before.

But that
didn’t resolve the looming crisis. With a couple of months living together
alone, there were really only two options immediately visible, and I had no
idea which one would be more appealing.

Either I’d
want to kill Sawyer, or…

No. I wasn’t
willing to admit it to myself.

I couldn’t
bear to dwell on how much I wanted to fuck him.

SAWYER

Chapter 4

NEW ORLEANS

FIVE
YEARS AGO

T
he first day
that my trajectory was set in stone was the day that Saffron became forever a
part of my life. Following that logic, the second was the day that I stepped on
a bus to New Orleans. The third and final one was the day that I walked past
Happy Pat’s.

I had been in town for about two months,
sustaining myself with odd labor jobs and sleeping in sheds or abandoned
properties. Scuffling with the local folk was inevitable, but I managed to keep
it down to a minimum – luckily, I never seemed to find myself up against
someone with a knife or a gun. I knew that it was only a matter of time, and I
would have to find a proper roof over my head
fast
.

“Hey, pal!” I
heard a voice call out to me as I walked past the Happy Pat’s bar. Keeping my
head down, I continued walking along. “Pal! You little shit-stain, you just
gonna keep walkin’ and ignore me? Must be real easy to strut away without a
pair
between your legs!”

I knew
better, but I whirled around anyway.

“I will knock
the flying
fuck
out of you if you
don’t shut your fucking mouth,” I furiously answered. “Now,
piss off
.”

The guy was a
lanky, scruffy fellow in his upper twenties, dressed in only a ragged pair of
cargo shorts. He had been smoking a cigarette with his back to the window.
Dropping it to the dirt, he stomped it out with his bare foot.

“What a punk.
Just the kind of guy I need.”

“Say
what?
”

“Look, you
little fucker, you look like you can take a hell of a punch. Probably give out
a worse one, too. That sound like you? Ring any bells in that stupid head of
yours?”

I growled,
ready to turn on my heel.
What was this
guy’s fucking DEAL?

“Yeah,
thought so.” He chuckled, sizing me up. “Listen, pal, you look like you haven’t
had a fucking shower in days. How’d you like to make a good eighty, maybe hundred
bucks tonight?”

“Doing…what,
exactly?” I was ready to beat it at the first glimpse of anything funny.

“The boys and
I, ‘round back. We have a little bit of what you might call a, uh,
street fighting
thing going on. Real quiet-like.
We’re down a guy, so I’m scoutin’ for talent. It’s your lucky goddamn day. You
think you can knock out a few motherfuckers?”

I stiffened
up, but I didn’t turn my back on him. “…Probably. Been a while since I’ve
fought.”

“How long’s a
while?
”

“Couple of
months.”

He looked
doubtful for a moment. “You a, uh,
seasoned
fighter?”

I thought
back to every time I’d recreationally goaded someone into a one-on-one brawl…and
the very few times that I’d lost. “Might say I’ve seen a few.”

“I see…” he
paused, pausing to study me again. “Listen. Your shirt. Pull it off.”

“The
fuck?
”

“No homo,
bro. But if you ain’t got anything worth
shit
underneath that stained scrap of fabric on your back,” he waved a finger at
my shirt, “this little discussion is a waste of my time. Shirt. Off.”

Begrudgingly,
I complied. Dropping my duffel bag to the pavement, I reached my hand for the
opposite sleeve and whipped the shirt off in one fluid, instant movement. The
stranger glanced at my chest, his eyes falling down my abdomen, then across my
thick arms.

“Little
lighter than I’d hoped…but if you can take one, maybe swing a meaner one,
you’ll do. You think you can be ready in two hours?”

“Yeah. How is
this arrangement going to work?”

“Crowd of paying
spectators around back. No entry fees. One-on-one fights. Three teams. Winning
team splits half the pot. The rest go as consolation prizes, then to the
proprietor of our little fracas. Me, I’m a slippery little fucker with fists of
steel. The other two guys, they ain’t so bad either.” He eyed me again. “Better
than you.”

“What’s the
consolation prize?”

“Ten bucks
and a bottle of aspirin. Cute, little Japanese character on it. A cat, I think.
Fitting, for the pussy who got his ass knocked out.”

“Those aren’t
exactly good odds.”

“Yeah, well.
It’s fucking street fighting, man. Unsanctioned. What the fuck do you expect?
You gonna waste my time with this bullshit, or you gonna quit being a little
bitch? Hell, the stink coming off of you, we might call that a
pre-emptive strike
in the box. Might
just lay a motherfucker out from the get-go!”

This guy was
seriously getting on my nerves…but I had a lot of steam to blow, and I was
feeling dangerous. “Fine,” I told him. “I’m in.”

“Welcome
aboard, fucker. That’s your name, by the way, until you smack a guy to the
ground.
Fucker.
I think it’s
becoming, personally…” He paused to pick his cigarette butt back off the
ground, tossing it into the trashcan nearby. “Come on, then. ‘Round to the
back. Meet the rest of us. We might be about to slap the shit out of each
other, but we’re a right bunch of gentlemen.”

PENNSYLVANIA

ONE MONTH AGO

S
eeing my father again was as
difficult and humbling as I thought it would be. I wasn’t sure what to expect
when I saw him. Sure, we had spoken a few weeks before, but a brief, awkward
conversation over the phone was nothing like seeing him in the flesh –
and him seeing me.

The years had
melted away within minutes. A few hours later, we were still sipping beers and
chatting on the back veranda, watching the fish spring above the water’s edge
in the pond.

My stepmother
left us alone, probably out of applying some misguided weight to the evening.
She was just as welcome here, as I had missed her as well. In fact, I would
have loved to see the two of them together again, holding each other as we
caught up.

Saffron
remained scarce.

She
had
seemed oddly pissed.

But I wasn’t
too worried about that. We had an entire summer to spend together –
something that never escaped my thoughts.

I wondered
how I was going to do it. Even after the years I’d led and the things I’d seen,
I’d hoped that she would become a footnote in my life; something only rarely
thought of, relegated to a few brief moments here and there.

But that
hadn’t happened, and it hadn’t helped now.

Saffron was
just as fucking beautiful as ever. No, actually, let me back up a second.
Saffron Samuels was even
more
beautiful
now. She was a scrawny little twerp back in the day, just starting to fill out
when I saw her last. But my stepsister had grown up in my absence, and I could
barely stand to look at her – afraid that my gaze would linger too long, maybe
even unnerve her.

I still loved
her, just as much as the day I’d left.

That was
going to be a problem.

But it was a
problem for another day. I pushed it out of my head as my father and I sat in
silence now, sipping from our bottles.

“So,” I spoke
up suddenly, “how are we making the arrangements?”

“The
arrangements?”

“For the
trip. You two are heading off to Paris…do I need to book flights for–”

“Oh, no,
that’s all taken care of,” my stepfather answered. “As soon as you confirmed a
few weeks back, your mother and I booked the flights for both you and your
sister.”

“Sounds good
to me. When do we leave?”

“Friday.”

I almost spat
out my beer. “Dad, it’s…it’s
Wednesday.
It’s Wednesday
night.
Why are you
just telling me
now?
What if I was
late?”

“Oh, we would
have sent you on a second flight, of course!” Dad chuckled, taking another
swig.

I shook my
head. It was typical him. He had enough money to smooth anything over that he
just didn’t understand things sometimes.

“Of course,
we’ll have to take you shopping for some clothes…surely you’re not planning on
wearing
that
to Florida? It’ll be way
too hot down there!”

“No, I…I
figured,” I answered begrudgingly. “I’ll take a drive and pick a few things up
tomorrow.” I timed my answer so that he was in the middle of a mouthful of beer
– sidestepping the inevitable
Son,
let’s go shopping
and
I know Tabitha
at a great place that carries some crisp button-ups.

I switched
gears quickly. “So, what do we do when we arrive?”

Dad pulled
the beer down from his lips, swallowing. “Hensley will pick you up from the
airport. Do you remember him,” my father smiled mischievously, “or have all
those years in the ring knocked him out of your head?”

“Hensley…he
was the one with the weird teapot collection, right? And those little ceramic
bears?”

“What? No,
that’s Mrs. Nesbitt. Do you seriously mean to tell me–” He paused, seeing
the coy smile on my face. “You had me worried for a moment there! Don’t
do that
to your old man!”

We shared a
small, hearty laugh. It felt good to laugh again.

“Of course I
remember Hensley,” I assured Dad. “Old friend of yours. It’ll be great to see
him again.”

“That’s the
one. You’ll be in good hands. He’ll remain nearby for the duration of the
summer – just in case either of you need anything.”

“Sounds like
you could have just had her stay with
him
,
then,” I observed. “Seeing as he’s going to be around.”

“It occurred
to me, yes. I knew that Saffron would be safe. But he’s got his own life, and I
couldn’t have him rearrange his entire summer around her. I already ask enough
of him as it is.”

“But that
didn’t stop you from asking
me,
” I
prodded.

“No, it
didn’t.” He still had a faint smile on his lips, but he was studying me
carefully. “But you did. I didn’t even have to convince you all that hard.” He
took a deep breath, gaze still locked onto mine. “Listen, son–”

The door
clattered open. It was Ellen, holding a tray of three margaritas.

“I thought
you boys could use something a little tastier than beer. Wouldn’t you know it,
I had enough for three!”

Dad chuckled
lovingly, standing up to kiss her and take a drink from her tray. “It’s almost
as if you read minds, honey,” he smiled at her.

It seemed as
if the thought was gone. I almost asked him what he was going to say, but I
hadn’t heard of many conversations that ended well and began with “Listen, son...”

I enjoyed
seeing them interact. They always did it with such
love.
It was never forced – not once did I ever get the
impression that they were keeping up appearances for us. They innately just
clicked
, and I couldn’t help but feel
jealous. I’d never had any sort of meaningful relationship with another human
being that came close to what they had. Girlfriends had been fleeting;
one-night stands abounded when I needed to blow some steam.

People had
been disposable to me, even in love. I hadn’t let myself grow close to anybody
as a result. My closest friends had been passing acquaintances or... Perhaps
more accurately: my fiercest opponents.

For the
longest time, I’d considered my fellow human being somewhat hard to read. What
they really wanted, they hid from you. All human interaction was this stupid
little
dance,
this compromise between
what
they
want and what
you
want. Sometimes, they did it under
the veil of being friendly, accommodating, decent human beings. More often,
they were simply biding their time as they hoped for some misguided opportunity
to reach out for whatever they
did
really
want.

Things were
different in the cage.

What your
opponent wanted was obvious.

They wanted
to win. They wanted you to beg for mercy. They could wrap that in theatrics,
but it didn’t hide their core intention.

I never
obliged if I could help it, but at least
that
was a dance I knew the moves to.

I sometimes
wondered what I had missed by blocking everyone out. It didn’t matter. I’d
learned my limits – my
real
limits,
not the edges of my comfort zone. I had become
strong
. I had become
fierce
.
I was a force of nature when I really needed to be.

But as I
watched my parents, just as close as they had ever been since before I left, I
was left with a question that I couldn’t answer:

At what cost?

“Sawyer?”
Ellen was frowning lightly as she stood beside me, the tray held out.
 
A look of concern had crossed her face,
and I realized that I had completely zoned out on them.

Blinking a
few times, I reached out and grabbed the closest margarita, smiling warmly at
her in gratitude.

“Thanks,
Mom,” I told her.

“I had
thought something was the matter!” She laughed, setting the tray aside and
sitting down next to Dad. “You must have just been lost in thought…”

“Yes, it’s
been a…a long ride,” I admitted. “Lots of time to think. I’ve grown sort of
used to it.”

“Oh, surely
you’re still paying attention to the road!” She gasped. “We can’t afford to
have you lose your concentration and sail into the back of a van, daresay even
an intersection, especially not on that dangerous thing…”

I laughed for
the first time in a long while. The sound was almost completely unfamiliar to
me. “No, it’s not like that. I still pay attention to the road, obviously.
Riding the bike is second-nature to me now…it’s purely instinct at this point.”
She looked unconvinced, so I added: “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m
always
very
careful.”

“Sure he is!”
Dad chimed in. “I’m sure you’d never do anything to endanger yourself…maybe
nothing
too
dangerous.”

I reflected
for a brief second. “I’ve tried to stay safe.”

It was
technically true.

Technically.