Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (18 page)

“Garrett, wait!” I shouted after him, but he’d already vanished into the liquid black night. What happened in the few minutes it had taken me to find my keys and a jacket? One minute, we’d been on the verge of launching our first mission together as a quasi-official couple, and the next he was leaving me? No. Not going to happen. I should have chased after him in my car, but when it came to my stepbrother, common sense rarely won over passion.

A fire truck roared past the house, sirens blaring.

I slipped into my raincoat, pulled on rubber boots, then did what sometimes felt like I’d done my whole life—chased after Garrett.

The rain had thankfully lightened. The sirens were now quiet, but down the block, red lights flashed. If I was a good person, I would have grabbed my med bag to see if anyone needed help. I jogged down the block. At the end of the street, I could tell by the chaotic lights that the emergency vehicles were actually in front of the houses the next row over—near Garrett’s.

Heart racing faster than it should have for the short bit of exertion, I continued at a run until reaching his block, only to find a nightmare come true.

Garrett’s big, beautiful house was on fire.

I dropped to my knees, uncaring that the still-wet pavement soaked through my pants.
Please, God, don’t let him be inside
…

Neighbors wandered out of their homes and stood on the sidewalk, gawking at the spectacle of flames shooting from the lower floors of the magnificent old house.

“Doc Marsden. Are you okay?”

I looked up to find a middle-aged male patient I’d seen only last week. I’d seen so many, I couldn’t remember his name, only that he’d had a nasty cough.

“Need help?” He held out his hands, and I grasped them.

“Thank you. I have to go…” I should have made small talk and asked how he was feeling, but I’d already wasted too much precious time. I took off running again, and tried charging up the home’s front walk, but a fireman pulled me back.

“Ma’am, you can’t go inside. Too dangerous.”

“My stepbrother—is he all right?”

“We have found a man inside. If you’ll wait over there”—he pointed to the end of the drive—“I’ll have someone let you know if we find him.”

“A man?”
I shrieked, struggling from his hold. “I have to make sure he’s not Garrett.”

As if running a slalom, I dodged men, hoses, oxygen tanks, and ladders to make it inside. I was in for about five seconds before realizing the grand old house had become a smoke-filled tomb. My tomb if I didn’t turn back. But how could I with Garrett still inside? We’d both been through so much to finally reach this precious point where we might finally be together. To lose him now was unthinkable. I refused to believe God could be so cruel.

I pulled my sweatshirt over my nose and mouth, charging forward while squinting against the gloom. “Garrett!”

I’d made it midway to the second floor, when lights punched through the darkness and two firemen carried Garrett with his arms around their shoulders, half-dragging him down, scolding him for dodging past them.

“You’re okay…” My eyes already stung from the smoke, but I was crying anyway. “You idiot! What were you thinking?”

“Ma’am, you have to get outside! It’s not safe.”

Now that I knew Garrett would be all right, I followed the men outside, then dragged in gulps of still smoky, but improved air.

A paramedic greeted us. “Let’s get him on oxygen. Any signs of burns?”

“Nope. He was lucky. Wish I could say the same for this old place.”

They perched Garrett on an ambulance’s rear bumper.

A paramedic slipped an oxygen mask over Garrett’s face, but he promptly ripped it off. “I’m good.”

“Sir, you took in a lot of smoke. You should—”

“I’m fine.” He held a book. “Just give me space.”

The paramedic held up his hands and walked away.

I moved forward. “We heard the sirens before you even left. What were you doing inside?”

“I had to get something.”

I took a closer look at what he held. “A Bible? You risked your life for a Bible? I would have bought you a hundred.”

“Good to know.” Still shirtless, he drew me into a hug, holding me, rocking me in the midst of a hive of fever-pitched activity.

“Why did you leave without me?” I pushed back to peer into his dear, smoke-streaked face.

He shook his head, then tipped his face toward the drizzle to smile faintly before pulling me back into his arms. “All I can do is claim temporary insanity. I love you and Cook so much that the thought of possibly losing you sent me over the edge. I needed time to process it all, you know? I couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen if Cook turns out to not be my son. I got about halfway home when I realized no matter what some damned paternity test says, he already is mine—just like you. I’d planned on turning right around to tell you, but then I saw my house on fire. My contractor warned me to focus on fixing the wiring before anything else, and looks like he was right. It was stupid of me to run into the fire, but I needed this.” He released me to take a plastic baggy from between the Bible’s wispy pages. After setting the Bible on the ambulance’s bumper, he held out the bag.

I took it, and by the chaotic red light saw the physical manifestation of the image I’d always carried in my heart. Garrett and I stood side-by-side at the Kentucky Derby. In that moment, I remember feeling too tall and awkward, and painfully aware of my new stepbrother’s size and good looks. Mom had made copies of the photo for both of us, yet mine was long gone. The fact that he still had his—cherished it enough to run into a burning house to retrieve it—warmed me through the cold drizzle. My throat tightened and eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Guess my secret’s out, too.” I shivered when his warm, throaty words fell into my ear. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Then we’re even.” I stood on my tiptoes, kissing him through the film of soot covering his mouth. “If you’d been hurt—or worse—I’m not sure what I would have done. Don’t ever walk into a burning building again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We kissed again and again and I was so grateful he hadn’t been hurt, that in the moment, I stopped caring about him being my stepbrother, because to me, he was all man.

“Come home with me,” I said. “I’ll run you a bath and wash your jeans. In the morning, we’ll grab Cook, get a cheek swab before dropping him at school, then run the paternity test through the lab I use for the clinic. After, we’ll head to Jackson to buy replacements for whatever you lost in the fire. Kenya can pick up Cook from school. I’ll have my nurse reschedule my appointments. We’ll make a day of it.”

“What about Thanksgiving?”

“What about it? It’s Thursday. Tomorrow’s only Wednesday.”

He groaned. “How are we going to handle the Ridgemonts? Especially, Chad’s asshat brother? And do we want to spring all of this on your mom and my dad at once, or in bite-sized chunks?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I gripped him tighter. “Do we have to think about any of that tonight? I just want to be normal. Share a bubble bath and bottle of wine. Is that too much to ask?” It crushed me to think that after all we’d already been through, we still had family hurdles ahead of us. But for now, for this moment, I refused to think about anything but how much I loved this man.

“Not at all. Let’s go.” He eased his fingers between mine, leading me toward a cluster of firemen.

After Garrett gave the fire chief his contact info, we walked to my house arm-in-arm, and in the master bathroom where we’d made love in the shower, and I’d felt desperate and afraid, I now stood before Garrett, steadfast in my belief of our shared future.

It wasn’t so much that things had changed between us or our circumstance, but my perception. If I were honest with myself, from the day I’d learned Garrett had stepped foot back in town, I’d wanted to be with him. Oh, who was I kidding? Since our first meeting at the Derby I’d craved kissing him. Now, with so much history between us, and layer upon layer of heartache and mistrust, of course we shared love, but I wanted to reconstruct our relationship from the inside out.

I ran hot water into the oversized tub, then went to him, unfastened his fly, and tugged down his soot-blackened jeans. We were both filthy, but my intent was to emerge from this bathroom clean. We’d baptize ourselves in each other and escape whole, united in whatever struggles our shared future may hold.

When he stepped free of his boxers and jeans, I took his hand, guiding him into the water. I stripped off my clothes, and along with them, any worries about what our family, friends, and Chad’s parents and crazy brother may say. In this moment, all that mattered was cementing the bond it had taken decades for Garrett and me to formally create.

I flipped on the overhead heat lamp, then took my favorite bar of lily of the valley–scented soap from its rack. I knelt at the tub’s edge alongside Garrett, washing every inch of him from his toes to his hair. When the water turned filthy from soot, I emptied it, only to fill it again. I repeated the process once more until every trace of the fire had been cleared from his precious body.

He returned the favor.

My skin felt electrified from his coarse touch. Manual labor made his hands rough and honed his muscles. The growing need between my legs made it impossible to think beyond where he’d rub next. His every stroke produced greater need.

I finally resorted to putting his hand exactly where I needed it to be, and then I was transported, no longer in a mere tub, but floating in a balmy sea entirely of his making. It was good,
so good,
but not anywhere near enough.

When he kissed me, all at once I was drowning, yet desperate for something to drink.

We somehow made it from the tub to my bed and in a mad tumble, as rain pelted my windows outside, he waged an insanely sweet storm on my senses.

Eyes closed, with my arms arched over my head, I abandoned myself to him, to
us,
to the heady pleasure of him drawing from one of my breasts, then the other before dipping his kisses to my abdomen and lower. It felt surreal—the notion that after all this time, after so many years of agonized wanting, that we were finally, truly together.

When his kisses touched the epicenter of my need, I cried out, yet curved my hands to his head, urging him on by raising my hips to meet his tongue’s every thrust. A dizzying spiral rose within me, higher and higher, building a cathedral of sensation through which I could barely breathe. Ever upward I climbed until I crashed through a Technicolor stained-glass ceiling that shattered into a fine, teary mist.

I was still crying when he entered me.

He was huge, and I savored every inch. The weight of him, the simple yet unbearably complex pleasure of the missionary position filled me with the kind of completion I’d never dared dream possible. Our kisses were no longer desperate and stolen, but slowed to gossamer perfection.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I said in a whispered rush. Kissing him, abandoning myself to him, promising myself to him forever more.

I woke, at first cautiously opening my eyes to the sun slanting in lazy rays across the foot of my yellow and white comforter.

Had last night truly happened or had it been a dream?

My aching body told me the lovemaking had been real, but the empty half of bed where Garrett had slept beside me told a different story.

“G?” I called.

No answer.

I scoured the house for him, but he was gone. Breakfast was half-assembled on the kitchen counter. His red Caddy wasn’t out front. Had he dashed to the store? I tried his cell, but got no answer.

Arms folded, I stood at the living room’s wide front window, staring out at the yard. Had he abandoned cooking in favor of making a coffee and donut run? Or had the intimacies we shared and promises we made lacked the strength to stand up to the brilliance of dawn?

Had he bolted once again?

My throat knotted with fear. For my own sanity, I had to believe he hadn’t been lying when he’d returned my vows of love, but what if he’d gone after suddenly batshit crazy Canton? Or taken off to make arrangements for the paternity test on his own? Worse, what if he’d changed his mind about wanting us to be together?

No. Whatever Garrett’s reason for leaving, I had to believe it was good.

Late for work, I showered and dressed. At the front door, I almost stepped on a yellow Post-it that I guessed had fallen from the door. I exhaled a rush of air when I read: Love you. Fire chief called. Have to go. Be right back. If you’re reading this, get back in bed! B-fast on the way! xoxo

Of course.
I pressed the note to my chest, and already my pulse had slowed. How long until I not only trusted him, but
us
?

I smiled. What I wouldn’t give to follow his instructions, but with patients already waiting, I didn’t have the luxury. But soon.

On my way to the clinic, I passed Garrett’s house. The top two stories were charred and caved in, but the rest of the structure looked intact. Would he rebuild? I selfishly hoped so, because the project would keep him close.

His car wasn’t in the drive, so my next stop was our folks. He wasn’t there, either.

Where could he be?

What he’d been through with the fire, and learning he was in all probability a father had to have been traumatic. He shouldn’t be alone. He’d told me he didn’t want to be alone. So after his meeting, what was up with the vanishing act? Was everything okay?

A quick dig through my purse netted my phone. I called Garrett again, but he still didn’t answer. I wanted to check on Cook, so I dialed Kenya.

“How did he take the news?” she asked after the first ring.

“Not so great, but then his house burned down before we got anything settled.”

“Likely story. What really happened?”

Let’s see…
We had a horrible fight, found out we’re being stalked by Chad’s psycho brother, fought more. Made up. Made swoon-worthy, beautiful love. Then I woke to find out he left again.