PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance (6 page)

This hallway
brought back fond memories. I was present for a number of Mom’s art purchases,
and could distinctly recall most of these pieces in small, impromptu galleries
– either thrown together on the boardwalk or in rented, single-day
accommodations. Chet usually didn’t come along – he told anyone who would
listen that he didn’t have the “eye” for that kind of thing – but he
never criticized any of her choices in design.

I mentally
left myself a note to peruse all the art that sprawled across the Beach House
again…maybe after we were already settled in.

Lugging my
suitcase with me, I plopped it down on the floor and turned to face Sawyer.
“Alright, thanks. There shouldn’t be more than a few…”

He paused in
the doorway, staring strangely at my bed. I followed his gaze and realized that
I had carelessly left a suitcase open…the one filled with my underwear.
Countless bras and pairs of panties were sprawled around, seemingly overflowing
from the case.

“Oh! You
pervert!
” I shouted at him, grabbing the
suitcases from his hands and dragging them out of the way of the door’s arc. “I
can handle the rest of it myself! Get out of here!”

“Sis, it’s
not my fault that you…I mean, I’m sorry.” He muttered quickly, averting his
eyes.

“Can it!” I
told him off, slamming the door in his face.

I knew it
wasn’t right to blame him. He had no idea that I had started unpacking that
stuff. In fact, it was
my
fault that
the case was even open. I had completely forgotten about it when he offered to
help. But I still had my pride…along with some seriously conflicting feelings
in my stomach.

I hated that
I loved his stupid muscles so much. Even more than that…I hated the elation I
got from him seeing my exposed case of panties.

Off to a great start, Saffron.

SAWYER

Chapter 6

NEW ORLEANS

FIVE
YEARS AGO

A
few hours after the encounter
outside Happy Pat’s, I dropped onto a couch in the back of the bar. It had to
have been three in the morning, and I was exhausted after the pumping
adrenaline had completely warmed off.

“Holy shit,
bro, you’re fucking unreal.” My surprise recruiter told me. He brought me a rag
and some hydrogen peroxide for the cuts on my eyebrow and cheek, along with
some antiseptic. “I thought we were
fucked
.
You came in for the fucking
clutch
,
man!
Definitely earned your share.
Hell, Skippy’s a drunk fuck anyway. If you wanna do this shit again, you are
in.
”

“What was
your name again?” I mumbled, holding the rag to the bottle and tipping it.
“Didn’t they call you, what was it? Slippery Pete?”

“Fuckin’ A,
they did!” He laughed. “Slippery Pete, that’s me. And you…oh man, you have
officially
graduated
from Fucker.
Hell, I don’t know
what
we’re gonna
call
you
…”

“The name’s
Sawyer,” I muttered.

“No it ain’t.
Sawyer’s weak. That’s a prissy little bullshit name. You need something
hardcore
…let me think on that one…”

“I need
somewhere to sleep,” I told him. “Getting pretty tired of the streets. Know a
place?”

“Fuck, just
crash right here. It’s what I do. “ There was the lumbering sound of the other
occupant as he passed a corner, coming towards us. “You don’t mind, do ya,
Gary?”

Slippery Pete
turned to the bar owner, who apparently moonlighted an illegal street fighting
ring underneath the shelter around the back. Easily in his mid-fifties, with an
extra layer of flab over his bones, age had not been kind to Gary. Grimy,
graying hair puffed off of his head in a thick burst, and he looked like the
kind of slimy, dirty business owner who was probably crawling with his own
personal plague of fleas.

“New guy
guaranteed a good turnout for next weekend,” Gary muttered, casting an eye my
way. His thick jowl hung in a grimace from his face, but he still seemed
pleased nevertheless. “You fight like that, you get a couch. You drop the ball,
and it’s back on the streets. Ya hear?”

“Yessir,” I
nodded. It wasn’t the most pleasing arrangement, but it was a compromise I could
live with.

“Another
thing,” Gary mumbled, wiping his face off with a stray rag, “you fight good. You
also fight
sloppy
. You need skill.
Training. You stick around here, you fight in my ring, and I’ll see to it that
you’re made all proper-like.”

Adjusting the
pad against my brow, I listened intently.

“Buddy of
mine, Chen…he runs a dojo nearby,” Gary continued. “His old man’s a regular
here. I’ll see about landing you some classes. You want a trainer, you gotta
pay. But you can do without in the beginning.”

“Thanks,” I
nodded. “I’ll fight for you.”

“Good,” Gary
replied, pointing around the corner in the back – past the
Employees Only
sign. “Now, go take a
fucking shower. You smell like shit.”

The bar owner
wandered towards the door. As he passed through, I spotted a staircase behind
it, likely leading up to his living accommodations above Happy Pat’s.
Who DIDN’T live in this piece of shit bar?

Slippery Pete
chuckled. “Dad’s never been that friendly to the fresh meat. I think the old
fucker likes ya.”

PENSACOLA

FOUR WEEKS AGO

I
quietly cursed at myself as I stared
at the slammed, locked door.
Why did I
freeze up so much?
The years I had spent brawling in the cage, and all it
apparently took was a suitcase of my sister’s panties to throw me completely
off my game. But I knew the answer – I’d wondered about it while I grew
up with her, masturbating to the idea of her strip-teasing me down to those
silky underclothes before dropping them at the edge of my bed.

Oh well,
I thought to myself.
So, we’re off to a bad start. Whatever.

Leaving my
stepsister to her devices, I wandered back towards my room. With my hand on the
door, it occurred to me to continue bringing her stuff – the rest of her
suitcases were going to be a fight for her to carry up the stairs and across
the wing alone – but indignity rose within me.

Nah, fuck it.

Hensley
popped back into view. “Well, it looks like everything’s in order here…do you
need a hand with anything else?”

I was about
to decline, but immediately realized that as long as he was around, she’d have
the work done for her.

“Well, there
is
one last thing, actually. Would you
follow me for a moment?”

“Sure!”
Hensley smiled. “Anything you need, son.”

We strolled
downstairs while he remarked on the state of things, praising the cleaning crew
for a job well done. “They’ll be in from time to time to ensure the house stays
up to snuff,” he mentioned offhandedly. “Once a week, on Fridays. Around…1PM? 2PM?
Somewhere around in that time frame. I’ll have to consult my notes…if I can
remember where I
put
the blasted
things...”

“Oh, no need
to worry about that,” I assured him. “We’ll figure it out. Do they have their
own key?”

“No, you’ll
have to let them in,” Hensley explained. “Your parents thought that it was fine
to have strangers here, cleaning everything while the house was unoccupied, but
considered having them turn up unannounced while the two of you were here a bit
much.
Still, there’s an extra set of
keys in the right-most kitchen cabinet, close to the refrigerator. If you feel
you can’t be bothered, just hand them over when you see them next week. I’ve
heard how you can be with your privacy, but thought I’d offer the option
regardless.”

Hensley
paused, and I gave him a quick look.

“…Of course,
I’m sure you can, that is…”

“It’s fine,”
I told him, stepping onto the first floor. “It’s true. I do care about my privacy.
Very much so. I appreciate you keeping that in consideration.”

“Right. Of
course. Silly me,” he started to mumble as his voice trailed off. “That is…what
did you need my help with, again?”

I indicated
outside, towards the car. “Saffron’s not feeling too well. She asked me to
bring her things in. After that, we’ll be happy to get out of your hair.”

“I see,” he
replied, glancing back up the stairs. “Shouldn’t I check on her before she
goes?”

“Oh, there’s
no need for that,” I answered coolly as we walked outside. “I’m here –
and I’ll be just a few rooms away, too. It’ll be nothing for me to keep an eye
on her. She insisted on laying down on not being disturbed.”

“And we’re
going to bring her things up to her room?” We moved around to the backseat,
grasping suitcases and containers.

“No, just
there in the foyer will work.”

“Why not save
her the trouble? These seem much too heavy for her…”

“You worry
too much, Hensley!” I cracked a smile. “You know what she’s like – wants
to do everything herself. Besides, if she has trouble with them, I’ll be right
there to help.”

“Well…alright
then. So long as you say so!” We both set down the heavy cases on the foyer
floor rug. “Your father
was
explicit
that he wanted me to stick around until you’re both comfortable, though.”

“Bah!” I
remarked, leading him back to the car. “I think ‘Saffron feeling under the
weather’ exempts you from that clause. You have a life. Really, we’ll be fine.
You’ve already done more than enough for us.”

“I’m sure
she’ll be in good hands,” he agreed, taking a large case from my hands. “Very
well then. If you’re confident, I’ll just help you get these last few things
in, and I’ll be on my way.”

We finished
unloading the car and said our goodbyes at the front doorway. Hensley dabbed at
his forehead with a handkerchief. I offered him a glass of water, but he
declined.

“No, that’s
quite alright. Listen, if either of you need anything – anything at all
– you have my number in your phone. My house is only about a mile away
from here, and I can be right over in an emergency.”

I shook his
hand. For a slightly overweight fellow, his grip was surprisingly tight. “I
can’t thank you enough. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Pensacola’s
a big place, but you might see me around from time to time,” he smiled warmly.
“The Beach House is yours. Enjoy it! It seems like a long time now, but in a
couple of months it’ll have flown by so quickly…”

“Ain’t it the
truth.”

He tipped his
hat and strolled down the landing before turning again. “I almost forgot…send
my best to your sister. I hope she’s feeling much better soon.”

“Of course.”
I flashed a small, endearing half-grin, and he appeared satisfied. Closing the
doors around the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat and was on his way back
into the city within a minute.

I barely had
time to dwell on my little victory before my sister’s voice cut through the
silence.

“What? Why
are all my things down here?”

“Hensley had
to run,” I lied, my eyes glued to his car as it disappeared in the distance. “I
helped him get your things out, but he was in such a hurry that we just put it
all down there.” I turned to glance up at her as she glared down from the
second floor. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“That doesn’t
sound like him…are you at least going to give me a hand with this stuff?”

I savored the
moment, recognizing how counterproductive it was to alienate her. Still, I
couldn’t help but put her in her place. “I already
was
, before you were so rude to me a few minutes ago. Why don’t
you
figure it out?”

“Seriously?”
She groaned in disgust.

Throwing her
head to the side, she looked absolutely beautiful. I loved to see her bothered.
She was so undeniably attractive when she was scornful.

“If you
apologize for slamming the door in my face, I’ll consider it.”

“Sawyer,
you’re the worst.”

“I’ll take that
as a ‘no’,” I smirked as I wandered past the pile of suitcases and towards the
kitchen. “Good luck with all of that. At least you’ll build up some muscle on
that scrawny figure of yours.”

“You’re a
total asshole. You know that, right?”

I chuckled to
myself. “Hard to forget with you around.”

I hated to
admit it, but it was way too fun to push her buttons. She never played along
with it, and that only made it that much more entertaining to me. We could have
the kind of relationship where we constantly tug-of-warred against each other,
just getting our kicks out of subtly pissing each other off. Instead, she just
took it and cursed at me from afar. It had been the case before I left, and it
was apparently going to be the case now that I was back.

While I heard
her scuffle down the stairs to assess the level of difficulty she’d face with
the luggage, I rummaged in the refrigerator.
 
Fully stocked, as I’d expected.
 
Digging around in the crisper, I
withdrew a fresh, green apple, washed it under the sink, and took a crispy
first bite out of the flesh.

My thoughts
wandered back to our relationship – and how I loved to push her for my
own amusement and satisfaction. There was more to it than that, and I knew it.

With every
slight barb, every last irritation I inflicted upon her, I distanced myself
from the thing that could tear us both apart.

I loved
Saffron.

My teenage
feelings
hadn’t
disappeared with age,
and it was time that I confronted that fact.
 
I’d been crazy about her while we lived
together – enough that I realized how much of a problem it was. I
couldn’t have her. I could
never
have
her.

But I was
weak, and I needed her, because she was just so fucking beautiful. Not just on
the outside, though. With all the time we spent together, I was constantly
shown the way that she looked at the world, and my cynical worldview was
challenged by her insurmountable compassion and adoration.

But
compassion and adoration aren’t happiness, and I knew that she was still
unhappy. Sure, her mom had let the past go, and had adapted well to the new
lifestyle offered by marrying my father. But Saffron carried around a deep
anxiety that our parents didn’t see.

Apparently,
only I could.

It was
subtle. Something in her eyes, sometimes. When she was feeling particularly
down, her fingers would drum in a certain pattern. It was easy to hide it,
because she was always drumming her fingers, but I had figured out that she
always did it in reverse when she was sincerely upset.

You’d never
tell by just looking at her. She wasn’t as unstoppably cheerful as her mother,
and she usually kept herself in pretty high spirits on the outside. But my
little sister had figured out how to hide in plain sight – a coping
mechanism, maybe. I knew that she had some bad blood with her father, and that
she had to grow up quickly to try and help her mother. I figured that she just
learned how to put on a happy smile and radiate warmth…even when she was empty
to the core.

I admired the
skill. Sometimes, you have to be brave for others. Other times, you have to be
relentlessly happy for them. There is a certain kind of bravery in keeping up
the charade, even when everything within you wants to wilt you down to
nothingness.

There had
been a carousel of girls that I dragged home and ravaged in my bed, but the
only way I could ever get it up was to flick the lights off and pretend that it
was her.

It was always
her, at least to me.

But I knew I
could never have her, and it pained me to think on how badly I wanted to hold
her face in my hands and wipe away her depression. I wanted nothing more than
to pull her into my arms and stave away her anxiety, her fear, all of it.

Saffron
didn’t deserve to feel so empty all the time.

And she
didn’t deserve me making things difficult.

But I was
weak, and it was all I had. The only way that I could maintain my willpower and
keep my hands off of her, to prevent putting myself in a position where hearts
were devastated and relationships shattered.

While I bit
into my apple and watched her struggle with the luggage, I wanted to cast it
away and flock to her side. I fought the urge to apologize, laugh at my own
stupidity, and help her pull everything upstairs.

I needed her
to resent me.

If she didn’t
– if we grew close – I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back. It
would come bubbling to the surface, out from the depths where it was chained up
and buried – a forgotten chest, lost within the darkest depths of me.
Within that chest was one irrefutable fact.

I loved
Saffron Samuels with all my heart.

And the knife
twisted inside that heart every fucking day.