Stepbrother Thief (17 page)

“And that's not creepy at all,” I say, taking a step back and giving him a look that I hope showcases how bizarre I find that last statement. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says, taking a step towards me, water running down that perfectly straight nose of his, catching on his lips, “that no matter how far I run or how fast I go, what country I'm in, or what the job is, there's always been one constant in my life.”

I can't look at Gill's face right now, can't take the cracks that are showing in that cold, professional facade of his. In this moment, I can hear the echo of the old Gilleon, the one I fell in love with. The sound's almost too painful for me to bear.

“What are you trying to say?” I ask him, my voice catching. My body's painfully aware of his nearness, of the sharp contrast between the cold of the rain and the warmth of his skin. The water sticks Gill's shirt to his chest, highlighting that perfect body of his.

“You're my constant, Regi,” he growls, clutching at the fabric over his heart. His strong fingers twist the material, turning his knuckles white, emphasizing the straight, sharp lines of his tattoos. I watch him breathing hard, drawing in rain drenched breaths, but I can't make myself take a single gulp of air. My chest is still, my heartbeat slowing. “I never forgot you for one single moment, never spent a single day without wishing I was with you, without missing you so bad it hurt.”

Before I can even move, Gill is stepping towards me, cradling the back of my head in his strong hand, pulling my face up to his. My lashes flutter and my body betrays me as I open my mouth and feel his hot and insistent against me, his tongue sliding between my lips. Gill's other arm encircles my waist and pulls me towards him, drawing me up onto my bare toes.

My high heels fall to the sidewalk as my fingers go slack and my mind goes blank, completely and utterly blank. I can't think beyond Gill's kiss, against the heat of his hands, or the quietly restrained strength in his arms.

Memories reach up and grab me, sending me to a hundred other moments, a thousand other seconds, reminding me how good it feels to be with the person you love—even if they've done you wrong, even if you know it can't work out, even if you know it'll all end in heartbreak.

Gill tastes exactly like I remember him, our bodies molding together like we were made for each other, like all the days that've passed between then and now don't mean a thing. I exist in spans and segments, pockets of time where Gilleon and I are together. The rest just seems to fade away until it doesn't matter anymore.

Water sluices between our lips, sliding down my bare chest and underneath my jumpsuit. Each drop is intense, painfully so, dragging itself down my heated skin until I'm panting and shaking, until my knees feel weak and my fingers slide up and curl in Gill's soggy T-shirt of their own accord.

A soft growl escapes Gill as he pulls me tighter against him, and I moan, not caring that I'm standing right there in the middle of the sidewalk, rain plastering bits of hair to my face, sticking my clothes to my body. They feel stifling, suffocating, and I can't wait to tear them off.

Tear them off?

A small part of me—a
very
small part—snaps to and sends a blurry haze of memories crashing against my psyche.
Coming home and finding our apartment empty, my fingers clutching the letter so tightly it crumpled, setting up a crib in Cliff's spare bedroom, naming my baby alone and leaving her
with her grandfather because I'd let myself feel weak and small.

I don't feel weak and small anymore.

I break the kiss and push back, almost stumbling when Gill releases his grip on me. My knees are still like jelly and my brain is only working at half capacity, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this right here, this can't happen. It won't be good for anybody, least of all me.

“Some mistakes are too big to be erased with the shadow of a promising kiss.”

I wipe my mouth on my arm, like that'll somehow make me forget the heat and the passion in Gill's lips, his face, the shockingly bare emotions flashing in his gaze. I look up into those eyes, like the surface of a lake on a clear day, right before the clouds roll in and ruin everything.

I turn away.

Besides, didn't he just accuse me of running off and having a kid with some guy right after he left? Even if I had, it would've been completely in my right, completely understandable, and absolutely none of his business.

The worst part of it all? The fact that it is entirely and completely part of his business.

Merde.
Shit.

“Can you take me home, please?” I ask, turning away and bending down to pick up my heels. I don't acknowledge his words—
I'm jealous—
or his confession—
you're my constant—
because I can't. I can't do this right now, can't do this ever.

He left.

And he didn't come back for
over ten years.

That's a long time to make someone wait.

“I think Gill's trying to get back together with me,” I blurt as I stare across the breakfast table at Cliff. Aveline's in the dining room working furiously at her computer while Solène naps on the couch. I have no idea where Gilleon is. Since yesterday's … fiasco, I'm going to call it, I haven't seen him much except when he passes in and out of the house on business.

Until this morning, I didn't have the courage to tell my stepfather the story. Now that I have, I can see why I waited. The look on his face is hard to interpret. I watch in tense anticipation as he rubs at the gray stubble on his chin.

“He … he really had the nerve to take you out, ask you that, and then respond the way he did? I'm … that boy …” Cliff runs his hands down his face. His eyes, so like Gill's, tell me a thousand times over how sorry he is. But I asked a long time ago that my stepfather stop apologizing for his son. “I oughta take him over my knee and give him the belt the way I never did when he was a kid. Maybe that's what's wrong with him?”

I laugh and cover my mouth with a hand.

“Papa, as much as I'd love to see that, I have a feeling he could bench press both of us at the same time. Not sure you'd be able to subdue him.”

“Ah, but you'd be surprised how a father's wrath can transform a man. Parents have been known to lift cars when their children are trapped underneath. When a child's in trouble—no matter how old they are—a dad can find the strength if he needs it to do anything for them.”

“But Gill's not in trouble,” I say, wagging a finger at him.

“No, but you are,” he says, reaching over the table and taking my hand. My heart warms and a smile spreads over my lips.

“I'm not in trouble though, Papa. Really.”

“If you kissed him back, then I'd say you are. You're not truly thinking of taking him back?”

“No!” I say, setting my coffee down with a thump. It sloshes over the edge and onto the table, some beautiful gray and blue and green striped thing made out of reclaimed wood and polyed until it shines. “Of course not. And I mean, I'm not even sure if that's what he was really saying.”

“It's what he was saying,” Aveline says from behind me, making me jump as she steps into the kitchen, her red hair braided down her back, looking fierce in a black tank and jeans. She reminds me of Lara Croft or something, some badass video game chick. I stare at her back as she pours coffee and then turns around to look at me. “For that emotionless robot to say
anything
like what you described is a miracle. I've known Gill for about, uh, I don't know, six years now, and I've never seen him act like he gives two shits about anything at all.”

“Thanks for eavesdropping,” I say, picking up a croissant from the center of the table and biting into it. Aveline shrugs and pauses as the front door opens and the sound of Gill's footsteps move towards the kitchen.

Even though I can't see him, I can feel him pausing in the archway behind me.

“Good morning,” he says, his words firm but also, somehow, tentative, like he knows he's the current subject of conversation. I give Cliff a look across the table that says
please don't say anything,
and he nods at me, almost imperceptibly. I'm sure Gill notices though. He can pick up on stuff like that but somehow can't seem to see that the little girl with dark hair and blue eyes is his daughter. Go figure.

“Good morning,” Aveline says when neither Cliff nor I respond.

“
Bonjour,
” Solène says, surprising me. I turn around and smile at her as she steps into the kitchen and around Gilleon, moving to the table to steal a croissant. “It's always polite to greet someone when they're making an effort,” she scolds, giving me and Cliff looks.

“You're very right,” Cliff tells her, looking up at his son as he enters the room. “
Bonjour, mon fils. Comment ça va?
” Gill pauses next to the sink and stares at his dad for a long moment before flashing me a look. It only lasts a split second, but I have a feeling he knows I've confessed everything to his father. It's no secret that Cliff and I are close.

“Fine, thanks,” he says, his voice thick with suspicion as he approaches the fridge and opens it, reaching in and grabbing some kind of smoothie drink in a bottle. “I'm still looking into the shooting on Regina, but there's something about it that doesn't make any sense. I know you're all
anxious
to get on with your lives,” Gill stresses the word anxious enough that I can tell he's tense, “but you'll have to bear with me a little longer.”

“It's not a problem,” Cliff says, smiling tightly and then refocusing his attention on Solène. “You like living here, don't you?” he asks, reaching out and tugging down the black and white striped sweater dress that she's thrown on over red leggings. That girl has a fashion sense that's all her own, always one step ahead of the crowd. “You told me last night that this house has a positive vibe.”

“She said that?” I ask, my lips quirking up in a smile.

“
Oui,
” Solène says, finishing her croissant and then reaching for another. “I can feel the history here.” She pauses and cups a hand around her ear. “Listen, the walls talk. Can you hear what they're saying?”

“Enlighten us,” I say, parking my chin on my hand and raising a brow in question.

“
Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre,
” Solène responds proudly, winking and saluting us before disappearing back into the living room. Cliff and I get a chuckle out of that, and I can't seem to resist glancing over to gauge Gill's reaction. A small smile teases his lips before he turns away and opens a cabinet next to the sink, searching around inside for something.

“And that means …” Aveline asks, gesturing at me for an explanation.

Gill shuts the cabinet and turns, a granola bar in one hand, answering before I get the chance to.

“It more or less translates to:
no one is as deaf as the man who will not listen
.”

I can almost swear he's talking about himself when he says it.

The next night, I'm parked in my now usual spot on the couch when Gill comes in and tosses something at me. I catch it out of reflex and feel a surge of joy when I see that it's a new cell phone.

“Thank God,” I groan, swiping my finger across the lock screen and feeling my stomach drop when I see that the background has already been changed from the default.
I'm Sorry, Can You Ever Forgive Me?
is printed in a speech bubble next to a little girl in a large floppy hat. She's bending down, a flower clutched in hand, and offering it to a sad faced basset hound. The whole thing is in black and white and reeks of old school Gilleon. He used to grab those sappy old fashioned cards from the store and scribble silly things in them before slipping them under my bedroom door.

My chest tightens, but when I turn to look at him, his face is pinched and unhappy.
What's going on now?
I wonder as I wait for him to explain. He's still standing by the front door, eyes tight and mouth set in a thin line.

“You can call whoever you want,” Gill tells me and then turns, giving me his full attention. His expression shifts from angry to … sad. That can't be good, can it? “Do you mind if I sit down a moment?” I nod, wary of what's to come, and gesture to the overstuffed armchair that Cliff's claimed as his own. Right now, though, he's upstairs sleeping and I don't think I can handle having his son any closer than three feet away.