Step Brother (2 page)

“Tatum, I get it. Seeing Chelsea reminded you of all that, but it’s in the past, and that rich boy prick was never good enough for you. I always felt like there was something about him I didn’t trust.”

“Yeah, I know. I think I’m just down because I haven’t found a job and feel like I’m kind of drifting.”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, and you’re not drifting. You’re in a transitional period. The economy sucks, and it takes longer to find good jobs than it used to. Keep working out with Garrett, and keep pounding the pavement. You’ll find something. I believe in you.”

“There’s nothing like talking to your mother to boost your self-esteem,” I said, looking over my shoulder before I changed lanes. “I better run. I’m less than a mile from the gate to Dad’s neighborhood.”

“Good luck today. I hope things go well.”

“Thanks, Ma. I love you.”

“You too, honey.”

I swear I could feel the disapproval in the guard’s gaze as he asked me who I was visiting and checked my name against his list. When he waved me through without another word, I thought about telling him that I planned on replacing my old car as soon as I landed a job, but I realized that my fretting about what he thought said more about me than it did about him.

Dad was the one who cared about his public persona, his neighborhood, and his social status. I didn’t want to be that person. Not anymore. When you discover your social standing is built on lies and criminal behavior, you lose your illusions really fast. I should know. At sixteen, I went from privileged princess to pitiful pauper practically overnight.

“Damn, I love alliteration,” I said, laughing at my tendency—even in my thoughts—to compose everything as if I were presenting it to a judge and jury. I had always worked on thinking before I spoke and making sure that my words were measured, effective, and compelling.

“Well, except for last night,” I said, rolling my eyes as I remembered collecting my underwear from all over the Hard Rock’s suite. “I must have been out of my mind,” I said, turning into the wide, semi-circular drive that led to a grand, blinding white portico supported by ornate columns.

I shook my head as I pulled beneath the huge structure. “Dad never did anything half-assed.”

I pulled up next to the other car parked in the shade of the overhang, patting the dash of my Jetta before I got out. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I said to my car, letting my eyes travel over the sexy lines of the gleaming, dark blue sports car parked beside me. Unable to resist the temptation to walk around the low-slung car, I noticed the Nevada vanity plate on the back. “Inked,” I read aloud, drawing the word out slowly and thinking about the tattoos I’d seen on Reed’s naked body just twenty-four hours ago.

Shaking my head to dispel the vodka-hazed fantasy of the night before, I took a deep breath and started toward the enormous front doors. My steps were measured, slow and steady, as I tried to steel myself for the encounter. My feelings about my father had always been so mixed up ever since his very public trial and incarceration. Even though I knew he loved me, part of me would never forgive him for having broken the law and rocked my world so fundamentally. I loved him, but I struggled with knowing that I hadn’t completely forgiven him.

“You can do this,” I whispered. “It’s just your father. It’s just lunch.”

I raised my hand to knock on the door—far grander than the one that had graced the house I’d grown up in—but before my hand met the wood, the door swung open.

“Tatum, my God, it’s so good to see you.” My dad opened his arms wide and folded me into a long hug, pulling me inside and closing the door.

He finally let me go, and I looked him over, just as he did me.

“You look great,” we both said in unison, dissolving into laughter at our shared response.

“Tatum, you were always a beautiful young woman, but you are just stunning. You look”—he hesitated—“strong,” he finished, having carefully considered his word choice.

“I was thinking the same about you, Dad. You look … happy. And relaxed.”
And healthy
, I thought, wondering if maybe, just maybe, my father had finally decided to start taking better care of himself.

“I am, on both counts,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go out to the pool, and you’ll see why.”

I looked up at my dad, noticing more gray at his temples, though he was still handsome at nearly sixty years of age. “Is this your surprise?”

“It is. I’ve been so looking forward to your visit. I’ve sorted out so much shit in my life, and reforging my relationship with you is the very last thing I need to do, Tatum. Today’s a step in that direction.” He stopped walking across the polished marble floor and turned to face me. “I know I haven’t always been the best father, and I’m going to make it up to you. I did things I shouldn’t have, and you were hurt by my decisions. I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll give me the chance to start over.”

Though I’d promised myself that I would stay strong and not get emotional during our visit, I felt tears well in my eyes. “Okay, Dad,” I said, wishing for some sort of distraction—something to let me wiggle out of having to deal with my feelings about my father until later—when I could cry in the privacy of my own bedroom.

He looked down at me and squeezed both of my arms. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been looking forward to it.”

We
, I thought as we resumed our journey through the foyer, down a hallway, through a dining room that could easily seat twenty people, and finally out onto the sunny stone terrace. I blinked at the transition from the dark of the indoors to the blinding Nevada sun, and when my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a tall woman walking toward us, a wide smile on her face.

She was thin, fair-skinned, and toned, and I guessed she was about ten years younger than my father. She wore a fitted, dark green tank top and a paler green knit skirt that revealed long legs. She spoke in a deep, sensual voice, a touch of reproof in her voice. “Donald, I was about to go inside to track you down. If Marco doesn’t get the umbrella up soon, I’ll be sunburned.” She turned to me, and though I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark, cat’s-eye sunglasses she wore, I could feel her examining me. “You must be Tatum,” she said, extending a slender hand toward me. “Donald has told me so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

My dad kissed the woman on the cheek before turning to me. “Tatum, this is Tina. My wife.”

I could feel my eyes widen, and my mouth may actually have fallen open. Determined not to say anything that could be construed as rude, I took Tina’s hand while my mind raced to compose a coherent utterance. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I managed. “That’s quite a surprise, Dad. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” he said, taking Tina’s hand and squeezing it. “We know it’s a big surprise, but since our kids are grown, and we’re old enough to know what we want out of life, we just decided to tie the knot and share the good news afterwards.”

Tina smiled at my dad, and even though I didn’t know her in the slightest, I found myself looking for signs that her affection wasn’t genuine.
Stop it
, I thought.
You’re just looking for trouble
.

“Oh, here he is,” Tina said, pointing across the yard toward a man lugging a huge umbrella toward the pool. “Once Marco gets that set up, we can have a seat and get to know one another,” Tina said, looking at me. “Can we offer you something to drink before lunch? Would you like to go for a swim?”

Feeling a little overwhelmed and wishing like hell for some way to absent myself from the scene for a moment in order to compose my thoughts, I remembered that I had a bathing suit in my gym bag, back in the car. “You know, a swim sounds great. I was out kind of late last night, and I think a dip would wake me up a bit.” I took a step back toward the house. “I have a suit in my car. I’ll be right back.”

I headed for the house without another word. I knew that my abrupt departure might seem rude, but I had to get some space. When your wealthy father marries a woman on the spur of the moment, it’s not crazy to think she might be a gold digger, but I knew I didn’t really have any basis or right to judge Tina. I needed to get myself together.

I opened the door and was about to step up to go inside, when I realized someone stood in the doorway, about to come outside.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, squinting into the darkness and stepping out of the way.

“Tatum?”

Perplexed by the sound of my name on the man’s lips, I looked up to meet Reed Randolph’s equally surprised gaze.

As I was waking up, I remembered how amazing the night before had been. Tatum had pounded some serious quantities of vodka and Red Bull, but I’d stayed pretty in control and recalled every minute. Before I even realized it, a smile crept over my face, and I rolled over, planning to slip my arm around Tatum and wake her up in a way that would put her in the mood for some wake-up sex.

But she was gone.

I got out of bed, hoping that she might be somewhere in the huge suite that I owed the concierge several very large favors for. Since I had every intention of picking her up and taking her back to bed, I didn’t even bother to put clothes on. But she really was gone. She’d collected her clothes and left without even saying goodbye.

Normally, I’d have been thrilled—avoiding the awkward chitchat that girls always wanted the next morning, hoping and hinting that they wanted me to ask when I could see them again. That wasn’t my M.O., though.

But I had a craving for Tatum.

When she’d walked into the casino the night before, she’d nearly taken my breath away. I’d spent a lot of time with a lot of women, and there’s nothing sexier than a gorgeous woman who doesn’t know just how beautiful she is. That’s how Tatum was. I could see the muscles of a woman who took the time to stay in shape, and that was sexy, too. Natural blonde hair, not too much makeup, but a knockout. A lot of the girls I spent time with were pretty fucked up—and all of them wanted something, whether it was drugs, money, sex, free tattoos, or a daddy figure. I took what they offered me, but it didn’t make me feel any better about myself to do it.

I’d been marking time, and I was ready to do something more … I don’t know … meaningful. And something told me that Tatum was a good start.

I was tired of spending all my time working or fucking women who cared little for me, or for themselves, for that matter. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my business. Building my little shop into one of the most sought-after tattoo shops in a town that was full of ’em was an accomplishment I was proud of. But it was time for me to man up and start dealing with all the shit I’d avoided for too many years.

Today was a start.

I looked at the bottle of vodka on the bar, half full still, and I thought about taking a shot to get me moving, but I knew if I wanted my life to change, I had to change. I made a cup of coffee while I got dressed, and as I drank the bitter, black brew, I thought about everything I wanted to change about myself and my life.

1. I had to fix shit with my mother.

2. I needed to quit fucking whores. For the record, Tatum did not fall into this category.

3. I needed to quit hanging out with people who just wanted to use me.

4. My father. I needed to meet my father.

One of the tactics I’d decided to employ in my struggle toward getting shit straightened out was to make lists and cross shit off. I was dealing with the number one item in—I looked at my phone—two hours. I needed to head home, take a shower, and get ready to deal with my crazy mother. I didn’t really want to do it, but it was a necessary first step.

I didn’t have to wait for the valet to bring my car around. They kept the flashy, expensive rides right near the front door—probably a combination of bragging rights about the high rollers who blew their wads in the casino at night and not wanting the liability of having a hundred-thousand-dollar sports car dented in a parking lot. I got behind the wheel of my dark blue Tesla with a wave at the head valet. Everybody at the Hard Rock knew me, and they knew I’d tip them well the next time I rolled in.

While I drove through the streets—traffic pretty light since it was mid-morning—I steeled myself for what I’d be walking into at lunchtime.

Tina Randolph, my mother. She’d been the kind of mom all of my friends in school had wanted. She was young—she’d only been seventeen when I was born. She was pretty. She was fun. When my friends had spent the night in middle school, she’d let us drink—when she was home long enough to even have a say. She’d let me have girls spend the night when I was in high school; or she had until she got married and tried to start acting like a real mom—at least when my stepdad was around.

He’d been an okay guy at first, and I think that even after all the bullshit that went down, he wasn’t all that bad. My mother had finally driven him crazy. In the end he dropped the assault charges he’d filed against me, and he’d paid my mother a boatload of money to fuck off, and it was back to the two of us again. They’d only been married for a few years, but she was set for money for a while.

After they’d split, she’d gone back to being out all the time, and she didn’t even care when I told her I wanted to drop out of high school a year early. She was probably still drunk from the night before when she’d signed the paperwork.

You’d think—after her and I practically grew up together—I’d know her better than I do. But you’d be dead wrong. One of the most frustrating things is that I can never tell when she’s lying. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even know when she’s telling the truth or telling another complicated lie that’s designed to show her in the best light. Whatever the reason, I’d never really known what to believe about my father. She’d told me so many different versions of their relationship over the years that I had no idea where the real truth was.

I’d told her I wanted to go see him—meet him and spend some time with him when I dropped out of school, but she’d always found ways to talk me out of it. Mostly, I think I was just chickenshit. I look like a badass—tall, muscular, tattooed—hell, I am a badass. But no one wants to believe once and for all that his father didn’t give a shit about him. To this day, I don’t know what the truth is.