Read Bound and Determined Online
Authors: Jane Davitt,Alexa Snow
brother's arm, their resemblance marking them clearly as siblings, or the
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couple with a baby, he had someone to share his sorrow with, muted though it
was after several years.
Sterling looked appropriately solemn, although he seemed to be directing
the majority of his attention toward Owen. He even, as they started walking up
the path toward the center of the graveyard, reached out and took Owen's
hand, and Owen let him.
There were dried leaves under their feet, crunching and crackling in the
cold. Although there was no snow on the ground, the earth was hard, half-
frozen.
“We should have brought gloves,” Owen said as they stopped at his
parents' shared gravestone. “It feels colder here, don't you think?”
He didn't expect Sterling to agree—it was a passing fancy, the idea that
this place of death could be more cold and still than the rest of the world—but
Sterling nodded and squeezed his fingers more tightly, then drew their clasped
hands into the pocket of the wool jacket he was wearing. “Is that better?”
Sterling asked.
“Yes,” Owen said, feeling the nudge of a coin against his knuckles and the
scrape of the inevitable grit lining most pockets. He drew his hand out after a
minute or two and put his arm around Sterling's shoulders, bringing them
close together, no space between them as Sterling's arm went around his waist.
At their feet, the flowers glowed brightly, their scent and color borrowed from
spring and summer. The frost would blacken and crisp the velvet-soft petals,
and the wind and rain would shred them.
Owen's mind was blank. He stood, staring at the names inscribed on the
stones, and felt no sense that the people he'd known and loved were there, but
a sense of peace gradually eroded the blankness. He bent down and picked up
one of the irises that had separated itself from the bunch, its green stem cool
against his palm.
He'd take it home, keep it alive a little longer.
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Chapter Eleven
Sterling's mother would have come to pick him up at school, but
Christmas Eve was the night of his father's work-related holiday party (though
never to be referred to as such, Sterling had learned when he was nine, which
meant he continued to do it just to get under his father's skin), and there was
just so much to do in the days leading up to it. They could have afforded to
have it catered, but there were certain things Audrey Baker insisted on, and
cooking the food for parties that happened under her roof was one of them.
She did come to get him at the bus station on the twenty-third, though,
getting out of a silver BMW that Sterling was pretty sure she hadn't been
driving when he left for school in the fall. “Will!” she cried, waving a hand, and
he raised his in return and picked up his suitcase.
His mother hugged him tightly when he reached the car, which was
awkward—he was still holding his suitcase. “There you are! It's been so long.
Let me look at you.” She pushed him away to arms' length and studied him.
“You look good. You're growing your hair out?”
Owen preferred it longer, liked to run his fingers through it, and if Owen
liked it, Sterling did it. For the most part. “Just a little. I've been busy.”
“Are you still working at the ice cream shop? They must like you there.”
He put his suitcase into the trunk and got into the passenger seat. “I got
another raise, so I guess so. I like the guys there.”
His mother, from behind the wheel, gave him a look. He knew exactly what
it meant. It meant,
That's nice, honey, but just make sure you don't mention that
to your father
. “Good. Justine's so excited to see you—I could barely get her out
the door this morning. I had to promise I'd get her released from school early.
We're going to swing by there on the way home and pick her up, if that's okay?”
“Sure, of course. I'm excited to see her too.”
Justine went to a local school that was expensive, exclusive, and, as far as
Sterling could see, was designed to turn out perfect wives for men like his
father, starting at an early age. At twelve, Justine could probably have named
the ideal wine for each course of any given meal, and she knew all the current
vacation hot spots. To be fair to the Monmouth School, she was also receiving
an excellent education and the chance to be trained by the best in any sport or
creative endeavor she shone at. Justine's passion was tennis; Sterling could
still beat her, but it was getting to be more of a struggle every year.
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When they drove up to the school, glittering under a light sprinkle of
snow, Justine was waiting on the steps hopping from foot to foot, an expensive
satchel slung over her shoulder that was probably filled with homework for the
vacation, the navy of her uniform blazer turning her hair to a bright gold. The
uniformed school employee who had been waiting with her raised a hand in
greeting to Audrey, who waved back as the woman went inside.
Sterling got out of the car and held his arms open, grinning as she
launched herself at him in a series of exuberant leaps, her long legs carrying
her over the ground. “Hey, Giraffe,” he said, hugging her tight. “How's my
favorite little sister?”
She made a halfhearted attempt to punch him in the kidney, off target
because of her satchel and the extra inches she'd added since the summer.
“I'm your only sister, booger brain.”
Through the open passenger door, their mother gasped in mock horror.
“You two are awful. You know what your father would say.”
“'Go read the dictionary,'” Sterling and Justine chorused, trudging back
for the car. Sterling dragged his feet in the thin layer of snow, leaving trails
behind him, and Justine, taking advantage of his distraction, shot forward and
into the front seat. “Hey!”
“You were the one playing slo-mo,” Justine said, shutting the door and
leaving Sterling to get into the backseat.
“My legs are longer,” he said, digging his knees into the back of her seat
just to hear her yelp. “I need the extra room. I call shotgun for the rest of the
vacation.”
“You've got your own car,” she reminded him and then turned, her face
bright. “You'll be able to take me places! Daddy's always too busy, but you'll
take me to Cindy's and Laura's, won't you?”
Sterling had vivid memories of those two girls. They had a tendency to
look at him, blush, and giggle behind their hands, communicating with each
other by sidelong glances and nudges. They freaked him out, and he couldn't
tell them apart, though they weren't actually related. “I don't mind giving you
rides, but the terrible twins don't come near my car, okay?”
“Mom! Tell him not to call them that! And tell him he has to be nice to me
too.”
Audrey sighed and pulled out onto the main road. “The next time I think I
miss the two of you both in the car with me, I'll remember this moment.”
“Oh, you love it,” Sterling told her. He knew it was true; this was the best
part, the three of them together. There'd been times when he was younger,
thirteen or fourteen, when he used to wish that his father would get in a car
accident, or even just drive off and never come back, and that it could just be
the three of them forever. Not that he'd ever believed it would really happen,
and now he'd come to realize that it never would, because weirdly, inexplicably,
his mother loved his father.
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Why, he'd never understand.
He leaned forward and tugged on Justine's hair, not hard enough to hurt.
“I'm going to be so nice to you this vacation, you'll think I'm a totally different
brother.”
“Okay, that would be kind of freaky. Buy me ice cream, and I'll consider
us even.” Justine tossed something over her shoulder and it almost hit Sterling
in the face. “Here, have some gum.”
“Jeez, warn a guy next time. I could have lost an eye.”
Their mother turned her head to look at them. “It's all fun and games until
someone loses an eye, so let's make sure that doesn't happen, shall we?”
“Besides, Dad would have a cow if an unanticipated trip to the emergency
room interrupted plans for the holiday party,” Justine said, and Sterling
accused her of being a closet
Simpsons
fan, which she denied just a little too
vociferously.
By the time they reached the house, Sterling could feel himself tensing in
anticipation of seeing his father and yet obscurely soothed by the familiarity of
it all. This was home; he'd climbed that tree there, practiced pitching on the
lawn, frosted over now with snow, a rolling expanse of turf he'd cut often.
William Baker employed a gardener, but he'd expected his son to do chores to
build character. Sterling hadn't minded; the size of the lawn meant that a ride-
on was the only practical way to tend it, and it'd been kind of neat to zoom up
and down creating wild swoops instead of neat lines.
To his relief, his father's car was in the driveway—the fact that he hadn't
put it away in the garage meant that he was just making a pit stop, a
temporary appearance before he took off again to some meeting or business
dinner or whatever it was that would enhance his reputation and bolster his
bank account. Sterling wasn't sure which one was more important—not that it
mattered when the family came in a distant third.
“Dad's not staying in?” he asked.
Audrey shook her head as she put the car in park. “Business dinner.” At
least she'd given up on trying to convince Sterling that of course his father
wanted
to spend time with him but was just too busy.
Managing to keep from saying
great
, Sterling rolled his suitcase up the
walkway and lifted it over the threshold.
Home, except that it wasn't.
The wide, curving stairway was lavishly, tastefully decorated with fresh
pine and tiny gold bows; the air was redolent of spice and gingerbread. In the
reception room leading off the lobby, a tall tree stood, shimmering with lights
and decorations, none of which had been made by Sterling and Justine, kept
and treasured. The decorations changed each year; this time, his mom seemed
to be on a Victorian kick, very traditional; one year it'd been all glittering white,
silver, and blue. Sterling, suffering from a hangover he couldn't admit to, had
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been forced to sit with his back to it as he opened gifts he didn't need and, if
they were in any way his father's choice, didn't want.
He took his suitcase to his room, showered for a long time, changed, and
then, hoping that he'd dawdled long enough for his father to have left already,
walked back downstairs.
His luck wasn't with him. William stood at the foot of the stairs, checking
his watch impatiently, already dressed to go out. Tall, powerfully built,
handsome, his fair hair lightly streaked with gray at the temples, his blue eyes
sharp and cold like the man himself.
“So there you are,” his father said by way of greeting.
Sterling's stomach tightened unpleasantly; you'd think it would have
learned by now that there was no point in expecting his father to change. “Here
I am,” he said. “How's business?”
Sometimes that worked as a way of distracting his father, but apparently
tonight wouldn't be one of those times. “Excellent, as always,” William said.
“Your grades?”
Of course it wasn't “How are you?” or “Are you happy?” “Straight As,”
Sterling told him, glad that it was true. “Wouldn't want to sully the brilliant
Baker name.”
“No, you seem capable of doing that in myriad other ways.” William sighed
and checked his watch again. “I'm late because I waited for you. I have to go.
I'll be back around eleven—we can talk then.”
Not if I have any choice in the matter, Sterling thought, but he nodded as
his mother appeared and kissed his father good-bye.
“Make sure you eat vegetables,” she admonished William, and for a
moment his expression softened.
“I'll eat what's on my plate, I promise. If it happens to include something
green, so be it.” William patted his wife's cheek gently, the gesture bringing a
pang of longing to a watching Sterling. Owen did that to him, cupped his face,
cradling it in the curve of his palm… God, he missed him already, the
barrenness of this life in sharp contrast to the one he'd made for himself at
college. Here, he was nothing that was real, faking for his father, lying to his