Stepbrother Bastard 1: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

“Hey, fuck you, dude. She’s not even your real sister.”

“You’re really gonna disrespect me right now? Her mom wants me to take care of her. You think I’d feel okay agreeing to do that then letting my mates fuck her? That’s not how this works. You choose one of your dollar-store whores inside. This one’s off limits.”

I want to say something. Ryan has a vein throbbing down the center of his forehead and he’s turning red. Whoever gets on the receiving end when this geyser bursts is in for it.

“
This one
is a grown fucking woman who can make her own choices,” I say. “So how about you calm down and take a breather.”

“Leave, Grace,” he says not breaking eye contact with Kent. “Just go downstairs.”

XII

I listened!

Why did I listen? It’s cold out here on the quiet street and I’m not even entirely sure if Ryan meant get outside and leave or just get outside. But here I am, the fool waiting on my Prince Uncharming like every moronic girl in films I always scream at.

“Asshole,” I say under my breath as I request a taxi home. “Asshole, bastard, rude, big mouthed, smiling, babbling, attractive, goofball, idiot, fuckhead…” I rattle off enough adjectives to make a nun blush and it seems to help.

Tool is the another word that comes to mind but in relation to myself. Somehow, this arrogant asshole has made me, tough and independent Grace Hembrow, a foolish tool. How does he do it to me so easily? One word and I’m obeying him like a sheepish little puppy dog.
 

“You, ugh, you fucking
cunt
!” I’m tired. I’m angry with myself. I never use that word but, in this situation, I allow myself to let go just once. I fucking hate him all over again.

“You kiss your brother with that mouth?”

“Ryan, seriously.”

“Sorry I kept you waiting so long. I needed to talk shit through with Kent. He can’t play you like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Play me how? He was nothing but gentlemanly. If you didn’t know he invited me on a date specifically to get to know me better. So, yeah, thanks for ruining a good evening and a possible great date yet again.”

Ryan leans down to me and grips the sides of my head to place a kiss upon my forehead. As he lets out a big sigh, I can smell the heavy remnants of a recent tequila shot on his breath.

“I have to show you something.” From his pocket, he removes his phone and clicks away at it for a while. I surrender to his confusing way of treating me, resigning me to hang on his every next step. I never know what to expect from him and figure it’s best for my sanity that I don’t try figure it out. “Look,” he says with his screen held up to me and stumbles slightly.

“You’re so drunk. How about we do this another day?”

“Drunk is the only time I’ll have the balls to do this so quit being a sass queen and just
look
.”

He shoves the phone further toward my face. I read a message:

Grace, I fucked up last night.

I fucked up enough that I felt a need to cyber stalk you, find your email address and tell you sorry about this morning.

So here it is: I’m really fucking sorry.

I’d love to make it up to you over something a little more civil. Lunch?

Call me 808 263 5555

“What is this?”

“This is a draft email that was supposed to be for you but I guess I got the address wrong because it bounced back,” he says and continues scrolling through his phone until he finds something else to show me. “And then there’s this…”

Now, a text message before me reads:
 

Hi Gabriella. This is Ryan Caulter from the band who played at your wedding. Wondering if I can get your bridesmaid, Grace’s, number from you? She left something with me that I need to give back to her. Regards

“You text Gabby?”

“She didn’t respond.”

“Ryan, what are you pl—“

“Wait, there’s some more here somewhere too.”

Another message:

Dude, met a chick last night and I need to find her again. You get any of the bridesmaids’ numbers? Hit me up ASAP

“Suffice to say, Grace, that night…I am almost positive that I made a really fucking life-altering mistake in letting you walk out that door.”

“
Kicking
me out the door,” I correct him.

“Well, it was awkward for all parties involved I think.”

“Awkward for you. Hurtful to me.” I turn back up the street to see the taxi pulling up. “Well, this is me.”

“Wait, you’ve got nothing to say?”

I click open the door and climb into the vehicle. “Nope. I think I’m good.” My sass is on point and I pride myself on slamming the car door closed quickly. I drive away letting me watch Ryan in my rear view mirror, his posture severely deflated. Finally, I get an upper hand…

Until all of what just happened hits me like a freight train.

XIII

My quiet bedroom is a welcomed sanctuary when I arrive home. It feels great to remove my boots and restrictive jeans and climb into more comfortable attire of my old Mickey Mouse pajamas. My new four-poster bed invites me beneath it’s covers where I browse through my own phone to find Gabby’s number. Sure, it’s early — 04:03 — but best friends wake up for best friends no matter what the hour, right?

“He-hello?” her tired voice croaks.

“Gigi, I need you right now.”

“O—Oh, Gracie, is everything okay?” she whispers back down the phone. “Just one second.”

“Yeah, I mean, no. I mean, everything is weird all of a sudden and I really need to vent to someone rational before I lose my mind.”

“Spill the beans. Lemme just move to the other room.”

We talked for an hour about my entire situation: Firstly, why Gabby didn’t reply to Ryan’s text. Like the good friend she is, she answered it was simply because she remembered how much of a prick I said he was and how I never wanted to talk to him again. Secondly, what the fuck do I do now that he’s my stepbrother? That bombshell took a little longer for Gabby to digest but we got through it together.

“What parallel universe did I just fall into?” she says.

“I know, right? Gabby, it’s insane. And tonight he was being all weird— Showing me all these texts and messages about how he wanted to find me again. I mean, what am I supposed to think? Does he like me still? Was he just drunk? Is he fucking with me?”

“Babe, I think it’s best if you just sleep on it. I’ll sleep on it too and we’ll regroup tomorrow. You wanna catch up for brunch?”

“Brunch sounds good,” I say, assuming Kent definitely will not be pursuing me as a romantic fling with Psycho’s stepsister anymore.

“Alright, sleep well. We’ll figure it out.”

XIV

Sleep didn’t arrive for me. I keep tossing and turning waiting to hear Ryan come home. When the front door finally clicks open at six o’clock, I listen carefully to his steps moving down the corridor. Then I hear my door handle click open and the door push slightly ajar.

“Ryan,” I whisper when I see his boot breach the doorway.

“Grace, you awake?”

“No.”

He walks into my dimly lit room looking a little worse for wear and stinking of liquor and cigarettes. His hair is a tangled mop that hangs over his face. “Can we talk?”

“It’s kind of early, isn’t it?”

“Grace.” He perches at the end of my bed and lets his head fall into his hands. I sit up further and try to hide my juvenile pajamas beneath my blankets. “I need help. I need
your
help.” That’s when he lifts his face to me. From the vague light emanating through the windows, I can make out how damaged his features are— Swollen and blue with caked blood leaking from open sores.
 

I’m all in for the ride,
I remind myself and climb out from the protection of my covers.

To be continued in Part 2 (Out late May 2015)…

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