Stepbrother's Gift Page 5

But he had.

  I touched my lips. They felt puffy and sore from James’s hard kisses, but under my fingers they seemed normal enough. Normal but changed. It seemed impossible for me to get out of my bed, to dress and go downstairs. Life as a normal girl was impossible for me now. He was my stepbrother.

  I pulled my sheets up over my head, not wanting to face the day or the black twisted thoughts that were clouding the air and choking me. Waves of contradicting emotions ran over me—the intoxicating joy of knowing he wanted me, if only for a minute in his car last night. The gut-tearing nausea of knowing I could never have him, that it was impossible, that it was wrong.

  I rolled over, smothering my face in my pillow until I drifted back asleep.

  When I finally did manage to get myself out of bed, I avoided James. He must have had the same idea. He skipped out on the family Christmas Eve dinner, claiming he had work to do, but I didn't care. I wasn't sure I could sit at the same table as him and our parents and not turn bright red and give everything away. I had this terrible idea that my father would look at me and just know. It was ridiculous, but it didn't keep me from hiding out in my room.

  Christmas morning came with more excitement than I was used to. Years ago, it was all about the gifts and Santa, but this year, it was all about James. The idea that I would have to spend the morning with him, opening gifts and eating breakfast, was a rush parallel to anything I had felt as a child.

  I had gotten him a gift, of course, but it had been before everything at the restaurant. I had spent much of Christmas Eve debating whether or not I should go get him something more, or if I should just give him the stupid college sweatshirt I had picked out. It felt so impersonal now.

  I wanted to give him something more, something that indicated how I felt, but since I didn't even know how I felt, I had no ideas. I thought of adding a note, but nothing sounded right. Besides, he had already pulled that one with his infamous “IOU” gift. I didn't have the time or the materials to make him something from scratch.

  So I just left my carefully wrapped sweatshirt gift under the tree without adding anything to it. It felt wrong, but I didn't really have any other option.

  Dad and Nancy were already sitting in front of the tree drinking coffee when I went downstairs Christmas morning. They were cuddled up on the couch, watching the lights on the Christmas tree blink and twinkle.

  “Good morning, sleepy-head,” Dad greeted me warmly as I approached. “We were just about to send James up to go look for you. We opened our presents to each other, but we were waiting for you to do yours.”

  My eyes darted over to where James was sitting in the recliner. He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, but still managed to have a sophisticated air about him. A surge of heat went through me at the idea of him coming into my bedroom, to my bed, and waking me with a kiss. A kiss like the one from a day ago. I felt my cheeks flame and looked away.

  “Here,” I said, picking up the purple wrapped package and handing it to James. Better to get the hard part over with first. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks.” James smiled and held out his hand for the package. Our fingers grazed one another and I retreated like I had been burned. He on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber and proceeded to neatly tear the paper in two. He held the sweatshirt up to his chest. “You know I can't wear this around the office, right?”

  I flushed. Way to put me down. “Yeah, but I didn't know what else to get you. I mean, what do you get a billionaire?”

  James' eyes met mine and desire flashed through them. A kiss. That's what you get a billionaire.

  “Well, I think it's sweet,” Nancy interrupted. “Did you remember to get Allie a present this year, James?”

  Her tone was teasing and light, but it still hit me. I thought of the IOU gift. If he did that again this year, I'd be pissed.

  “Of course I remembered,” James replied, pulling out two small boxes. “I have a secretary now to help me keep track of those kind of things.”

  Dad and Nancy laughed. I did my best to smile, but I felt more like stomping off back to my room to pout. I opened the smaller box first. Inside was a t-shirt with his company logo. Nice. I held it up. At least it was the right size.

  “Thank you so much,” I gushed, putting as much sarcasm in my voice as I could without alerting Nancy and Dad. “How terribly thoughtful of you.”

  “Open the other one.” James rolled his eyes. To be fair, I had given him a sweatshirt.

  The box was smaller. I peeled the wrapping off and stared at it. It was a tiny can of something with a light and whistle attached. “Um, thanks?”

  “It's pepper spray. With a rape whistle,” James explained. As soon as he said it I realized I had seen girls on campus carrying similar defense items on their backpacks.

  “What a thoughtful gift,” Nancy said, looking over my shoulder. “That's very protective of you, James.”

  I met James' gaze and heat skittered south. It was obvious to that he was referencing the other night. He didn't want anything to happen to me. I didn't know what to say, but my lone gift for him suddenly felt lacking. I wish I had something more to give him. Something that would last forever.

  “Open mine next,” Dad said, cutting through my thoughts. I turned to receive the shiny wrapped present he had ready for me. James stood and walked to the kitchen, typing away on his phone for something business related.

  As I opened the rest of my presents and handed out the other gifts I had bought for Nancy and Dad, I made sure to keep the little can of pepper spray close by.

  ***

  James avoided me the rest of the day. And then, he left.

  I came downstairs after a nap—the day was dark and it was snowing pretty heavily—and Nancy told me he was gone. Apparently he had business things to take care of. "He wouldn’t even let me drive him to the airport," she complained.

  So, he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

  Good. It was better that way.

  We could avoid each other until next year and by then everything would have been forgotten. Right?

  I spent the rest of the day vegging and trying not to think about James. But, of course, I did just the opposite. I went over everything that happened again and again, combing through the details, trying to enhance and remember those that were blurred with emotion. Trying to make sense of him, to imagine what he might be feeling.

  Yeah, right. I couldn’t even figure out what I was feeling!

  Was he running away because he was ashamed, like me? Because he felt something he was afraid of feeling? Or did he really not care at all? Was I just projecting my own feelings on to him? And if I was, what did that mean about how I felt?

  I wanted to scream, to run away from my thoughts, but wherever I went they followed.

  I waited another day for the weather to clear and decided it was time for me to go. Maybe the air in New York would cleanse me. But before I left, I drove by Tessa’s for a final dose of girl talk and a big hug.

  I picked her up and drove us to the coffee shop on Main Street, debating whether or not it would be a good idea to tell her everything that happened as I drove. She knew about Dennis—I’m sure everyone knew about Dennis by now—but she didn’t know about what happened on the side of the road on the way back home.

  The wheels crunched to a halt on the hard-packed snow as I pulled into a parking spot.

  “All right,” Tessa said. “What is going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  We got out of the car and walked to the coffee shop. “Please, girl. I could hear that look on your face over the phone. What happened?”

  I glanced at her in shock. “James.”

  “Oh shit!” she shouted, just as we walked inside. That drew a few stares and a few shaking heads from a table of older ladies. “I was just fishing!” she said under her breath. “Spill. Now.”

  “After I get something hot to drink,” I promised.

  We ordered and
I picked the table furthest in the back and farthest from any eavesdroppers. Then I told her, with all the detail I could, what had happened.

  There was a pause after I finished. It unnerved me a little bit. “What? Why are you so serious? You’re freaking me out,” I said, sipping at my mocha.

  “Okay, look,” she said, leaning in, much too solemn for my liking. Tessa was never serious. Like, ever. “You have two options here. Option one, forget it happened, go on with your life, and in a few years neither of you will care or remember some drunk kiss the day before Christmas eve. Probably.”

  “And option two?”

  “Do you need an option two? I really just recommend option one. Really recommend it.”

  “I’d like to hear it,” I said, evasively.

  Tessa grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “What?”

  “So do you like, love him? Or just want to fuck him?”

  I almost spat out my mocha. “Do I what?”

  “Come on. Seriously. All this ‘I hate you so much’ crap I’ve been listening to for the last five years, it’s textbook. No fucking around. Be honest. Are you or are you not in love with him?”

  I held my cup with both hands and stared down at it.

  “I don’t know. There is something about him, I guess. I mean I feel something,” I sighed in frustration. “It’s complicated...”

  “Okay, let me just shut you up right there. You need to be careful around James. I know you think you know him because he lives with you, but there's a lot of secrets he's kept from you.”

  “Secrets, Tessa?” I set my coffee down. “James is box of secrets wrapped in an enigma. But that doesn't change the fact that he kissed me and I felt something. What's option two?”

  She let out a resigned sigh. “Option two is you go to Boston, confront him, and tell him you want to jump his bones.”

  “That’s not a real option,” I told her. “Have you forgotten a little detail? He’s my brother.”

  “He’s your stepbrother. Get it out of your system so you aren't doing this to yourself. You don't need him.”

  “Get it out of my system? That's not helpful,” I told her. Though, I loved the idea of not wanting him the way I did.

  “So what, you two are a little freaky. Who cares?”

  “Uhm, the rest of Western society?”

  “Fuck them. What did they ever do for you? You think the world is going to do you some favor because you were a good girl who didn’t fuck her brother?”

  Tessa’s voice was too loud. An old lady three tables over glanced at us. Tessa shot her a sarcastic smile. “Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down, grandma.”

  “Jesus, Tessa.”

  “I’m just telling you how it is. He’s not your brother. His mom fucks your dad and he lived in your house for a while. Some people won’t like it, but there’s always something people aren’t going to like about you. Besides, you're basically the only girl in Springfield he hasn't fucked. Might as well complete the set.”

  “I just... I don’t know. I mean he was on the cover of a fucking magazine by the cash register! He’s a billionaire now, he doesn't have a shortage of girls to pick from. And even if he had the same feelings that I think I do for him, how could he act on them? He’s under a spotlight now. People will find out.”

  “Whoa, stop the fucking cart. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Keep it simple for now. Go and see him. Tell him, jump on him, whatever. Depending on what happens up there, we can sort out all that other stuff afterward.”

  “Do you really think I can do it?”

  “No. I don’t think you have the balls to do it, personally. Which is good because you don't need him. You can do better.”

  “All right. Thanks for the advice. No, I mean it. But can we just talk about something else now?” I said. “I don’t want to drive myself crazy when I have an eight hour drive on my own to look forward to.”

  Thankfully, Tessa let me drop it, and after a little banal girl talk and a really big hug, I drove her home. Later, I'd get back to my college dorm room, back to college in New York.

  Chapter Eight

  I spent the next two weeks distracting myself until classes started again and I could lose myself in my studies. I cleaned the dorm room in places light hadn’t touched for months. I scrubbed pots and pans until they looked new. I emptied the refrigerator and cleaned out the freezer. I polished floors and wiped down the walls. When my roommate, Nicole, got back the day before classes, she was delighted with the room but seemed disturbed when I told her I had done the cleaning all on my own.

  “But why?”

  “To distract myself,” I admitted. She gave me a curious look, but didn’t probe any further.

  Finally, the morning came when classes started again and it was time to get back on campus. I felt I had done as much as I could to wash my Christmas break from memory and was feeling upbeat about what the second half of my freshman year had to offer.

  I had a nine-o’clock lecture in Tisch Hall. I was up at seven to shower, do my makeup and hair and pick out the right outfit—a dark pair of tough-weave denim jeans that fit my thighs and butt snugly and a camel sweater with a soft plunging neckline. I wore a pair of white boots with a matching white peacoat, knitted cap and scarf over it for my wintry walk to class. After I ran out of things to clean, I had allowed myself to give in and go shopping to kill the time.

  I was still waiting for dad to see the statement...

  Dressed, feeling fresh and looking forward to another semester in my new life, I left and started my brisk walk toward Tisch Hall. It was still dark outside, the sun low and hidden under a steel-gray sky of clouds. Half way there I decided it was too cold to make it in one shot, not with the wind cutting around the buildings, and turned into the yellow warmth of a coffee shop to get something warm.

  I ordered my usual cinnamon latte, and while I waited in line to pay, I dug through my purse to find my punch card. I was pretty sure I was due a free one after this.

  “That’ll be $4.21,” the cashier said.

  “One second, I have a card to stamp,” I said, rushing now to find it in the mess of my purse. There was already a line and everyone was tired and grumpy with lack of sleep behind me. I found myself wishing I had spent some of my break organizing my purse instead of the room, but finally I spied the corner of the white card and pulled it out.

  Only it wasn’t my coffee card.

  TO ALLIE

  FROM JAMES

  Merry Christmas!

  IOU one present

  I stared at it just long enough to register what it was, then crammed it back into my purse along with the thoughts of James that it immediately summoned.

  I handed the girl a credit card instead.

  “Can’t find it?” the girl asked as she swiped my card.

  “No, it’s lost in there somewhere, though.”

  “Should I stamp a new one? Or you want to come back later. I’ll remember you.”

  “Sure, no. A new one is okay,” I said, distracted. I took my receipt and my coffee and fled back into the cold, wanting to be in motion, as if I could keep ahead of my thoughts if I walked fast enough.

  But by the time I found a seat and the the professor started his lecture I couldn’t think of anything else but my jumble of desires and fears. They clung around the place in my brain where James lived.

  Once I let myself think about him again I realized that the entire break I had been hoping, somewhere in the back of my mind, that he was going to reach out to me. That he would show up on my doorstep, his face pinched pink with the cold, the snow flakes sticking on his messy hair and broad shoulders, a confession of desire on his lips. Or even better, a wordless embrace and a crushing kiss...

  I took out the IOU from high school again, running my fingers over the card as the closest thing to a plan formed in my mind since I had fled Springfield for New York.

  You do owe me, you bastard.

  I put the car
d away carefully, shouldered my bag, and excused myself as I moved towards the aisle and left. I would get notes from someone later.

  But I had somewhere else to be just now.

  ***

  I didn’t call my best friend, Tessa. I didn’t tell my roommate, Nicole. I just went back to the dorm room, packed an overnight bag, and took a cab to Grand Central Station. There were trains running to Boston’s South Station every few hours, and I knew that James’s startup company's office was somewhere nearby there. I could search the internet on the way. If I hesitated, I wouldn’t go. I had to keep in motion.

  While I waited for the next train I found an ATM and took out enough cash to pay for cabs, food and a hotel room if I needed it. Though I didn’t want to think too far ahead, I didn’t want to be scrambling for money at the last second either. I tucked the cash into my wallet with the IOU, and when the train arrived I got on it.

  A little over three hours later, I was stepping into the blustery wind that blew off the frigid Atlantic. If New York was cold, Boston was frigid. There was ice and snow in the cracks of the sidewalks and dirty road salt scattered over everything. Dark snow clouds were chasing the slate grey overcast out over the sea. While I was waiting for the train I had overheard someone saying a big snowstorm was coming in. I assumed those clouds were the beginning of it.

  I grabbed the first cab I saw and gave them the address.

  I stared at the road over the shoulder of the driver, not allowing my mind to stray. I felt a smile crease my lips. I was doing what I felt, acting on how I felt, maybe for the first time in my life.

  And I was terrified.

  Chapter Nine

  James’s offices were in what would have looked like just another derelict building if it wasn’t for the reflective glass in the windows and the minimalist but neatly groomed gardens at the entrance. Once I went inside, however, there were only stylistic touches that betrayed the building's rougher history. It looked like a real office. The floors were restored and polished wood and ventilation shafts hung down from the high ceilings above the sea of cubicle walls. The rest was painfully modern and simple, like an Ikea store had a wet dream inside.