Stepbrother Thief (33 page)

I reach up and realize that I'm crying again, tears leaking down my cheeks as I stare at the wetness on my fingertips in surprise.
I think I'm in shock already, and I still don't have the full story.
What's going to happen to me when I do?

“Karl Rousseau had your mother killed to teach me a lesson, Regina.” He pauses and his voice drops into a deep rumble more akin to a growl than actual words. Gill's angry, but not at me. “My mother, too, Regi,” he whispers, trying to keep the sound from ascending into a yell. “He had my mother murdered, too.”

I stare at him in stunned silence. Until this moment, I didn't even know she was dead. I let that knowledge brush away some of my fear, focusing on Gill's mom instead of my own. It's just … easier that way. Without even realizing I'm doing it, my fingers curl around my mother's diamond pendant. Gill doesn't miss the gesture.

“I …” I try to think up some way to respond to the sadness in his eyes, the regret, but there's nothing. I swallow hard and close my eyes. “I'm sorry to hear that.” My words come out in a whisper, but I hope he can tell how sincere they are. I mean, he's Gilleon, of course he can. I open my eyes back up and meet his gaze.

Gill smiles tightly at me.

“It was twelve years ago,” he says with a slight shrug, like it doesn't matter. But I know it does. Family's as important to Gill as it is to me, or at least I always thought it was. It was one of the things that drew me to him. When he left, I figured it'd all been a lie. But maybe not? Maybe, just maybe …

Fuck.

I just want all of this shit out in the open, so I can stare it straight in the face and figure out what to do about it. I just admitted my feelings to him; isn't that enough for one day?

“Gill,” I begin, wishing I could just lean back and drop into the mess of blankets on his bed, curl them around my body and close my eyes, forget this day ever happened. I start again. “Gill, I'm sorry about your mom, but I … I don't understand how any of that relates to mine. You were with me the day that she died, Gill—in
Paris
no less. How could you have been responsible for what happened to her in Seattle?”

As the seconds tick past, my mind whirs with possibilities, trying to convince my heart that Gill's over-exaggerating or overestimating his influence on the situation. But I know that's not true. Gilleon doesn't make mistakes like that.

Karl had your mother killed, Regi. Because of me. Elena, she's dead because of
me.

Gill reaches up and rubs at his shoulder, where the bullet grazed his flesh. The wound's mostly healed now, pink and ragged at the edges but closed up. That's how my heart feels—or how it felt before now. The wounds were there, yes, and they still hurt sometimes, but they weren't open and oozing, waiting for infection to take over. I'm terrified that this conversation is going to rip them wide open.

“When I lived with my mother,” Gill begins when I don't say anything else, running his hand down his face again. I know he doesn't like to talk about that part of his life, all of the horrible things he endured while trying to keep his mom from plunging into the deep end. He pauses and takes a deep breath, the muscles and tendons in his hands standing out against his tight knuckles as he curls them into fists. “Fuck,” he growls, looking down at the floor and putting his hands on his hips as he tries to pull himself together. Me, I feel like I'm in a dream right now. Okay, nightmare. But I feel like I'm asleep, floating through a fantasy world that'll burst into bubbles at first light. So, since I can't do anything about my own hurting, I decide to focus on Gill's.

Without thinking twice about it, I stand up and move across the room, sliding my arms around Gill's strong midsection and resting my head against his chest. He sucks in a deep breath before returning the favor, holding me tight, fingers fisting in the back of my white sweater.

“I remember,” I tell him, my breath coming in short, quick bursts as I push back another set of tears. At this point, I don't even really know what exactly it is that I'm crying about: Gill, my mom, his mom, maybe even … me? I haven't cried for me in a long, long time. “I remember when I was nineteen,” I say, closing my eyes against the warmth radiating from Gill's chest, “you'd just turned twenty, and we were supposed to go to dinner for your birthday. Me, you, and Cliff. I remember you calling your mom because you were surprised she hadn't called you on your birthday. You went into your room, and you didn't come out. You told Cliff and me that you weren't feeling well.”

“I called my mom's number and some guy answered,” he says, filling in the blanks for me. “He said she'd been shot during some drug deal gone bad.” He takes another breath and scoots me back just enough to look into my eyes. “I didn't tell you because we were so happy then: me, you, and dad. And you'd just started to really smile again.” Gill reaches up and brushes a stray tear away with his thumb, making my breath hitch.

I imagine him smiling through the pain, struggling with that loss alone, and I feel a wave of sadness break over me.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” I tell him, and I mean it, too. The things he's telling me now, these are things that Gill never shared before. It gives me hope, too much hope, that this could really work between us again.
Shit.
I step back out of his arms, crossing my own over my chest and staring down at his bare feet on the hardwood floor. “But I assume this all ties together in the worst of ways?”

One of my tears hits the floor and splatters on Gill's toes. I'm transfixed by it, can't even bring myself to look away.

“It gets worse,” he admits, and I nod because hell, I'm invested now, all in. I gave up the life I'd built, the only life my daughter had ever known, that my stepdad loved, and I dragged them all into this with me because I still love Gilleon. I could live a thousand years and still love him with a fierceness that hurts. Whether we end up back together or not, I'm a part of all this, so I have to see it through. “It gets so much worse, Regina.”

And it does.

Because all of this, this pain and this tragedy, it all leads to the day that Gilleon left. And even though I miss my mom, miss her so fucking much that I can't breathe sometimes, I missed Gilleon more. More.
Most.

The idea that my mother is dead because of … Gilleon. I don't see how all this fits together yet, but I'm scared, a cold chill traveling from my heart right down to my toes.

“I need a minute, okay?” I say, realizing that I can only take so much, can only process so much at once, and he nods again, not trusting himself to speak. In the back of my mind, I know why I'm doing this, why I'm asking for a break: I don't want whatever this is to come between us, to push us apart, to make me lose Gilleon again.
I'm afraid.

I glance up, and we look into one another's eyes for a moment, the feelings I admitted earlier floating in the air between us. We need to talk about those, sure, but first, I have to hear what Gill has to say about all of this. After more than a decade, I'll finally know why he left.

But,
I can't help but wonder,
is it too little, too late?

I take the cell phone Gill gave me into my bathroom and perch on the edge of the refinished claw-foot tub, rubbing my thumb across the screen to unlock it. The picture he left me is still there, the words
I'm Sorry, Can You Ever Forgive Me?
floating in front of my blurry gaze.

“How the hell did I ever get myself into this mess?” I murmur, my fingers twitching as I consider dialing up Anika or Leilani. But no. They don't need me dragging shit into their life, putting them in danger just because I feel like I need a friend to talk to. It's not fair, and their lives are worth way more than that. Instead, I sigh and turn the screen off, tossing the phone onto the vanity and dropping my head into my hands.

Elena, she's dead because of
me.

I try to wrap my head around Gill's words, around the secret that burst from his lips like a bird with wings. That, and the truth of my own heart finally revealing itself.
I love him, and I want him back.
I feel like it's a disaster waiting to happen, a trap waiting to be sprung, an inevitable future heartbreak, but I can't stop the feelings. They're there and that's that.

I sit up and rub the tears from my face, rising to my feet and staring at my reflection in the mirror. Honey blonde hair curls gently around my shoulders while pale brown eyes stare back at me, the expression on my face so foreign yet so familiar. I lift up a finger and trace the heart-shape of my face, the gentleness of my parted lips.
Love.
It shimmers in my gaze, layered over heartache and fear and grief.

I close my eyes and turn around, leaning back against the sink as I lift my chin up and let my hair hang down my back as I think things through. After that kind of conversation, most people would just assume that dinner plans were out the window. Not Gill. He'll be downstairs at six waiting for me. I stand up and open my eyes, checking the phone for the time.
Five-fifteen.

Okay.

I can do this.

No matter what Gill says to me, I can handle it.

I pull my sweater over my head and drape it over the closed toilet seat, sitting down to pull my heels off. I'll get through this. I will. I'll get through it and I'll do it looking fabulous because my clothes are my armor, my beauty a shield, my makeup a mask. And right now, I could use all the help I can get.

I turn on the water for the shower and finish stripping down in the ensuing steam, letting the warmth caress my naked skin. I can only imagine the filmy mist is Gilleon, curling his body around mine, holding me close, touching me everywhere. Just the idea makes my body throb, my heart pound, my breath catch.

I climb into the shower, letting the hot water wash away Gill's confessions until I can't think of anything but the pressure of the spray on my skin. I wash my hair, condition it, scrub my body, and I manage to keep all of the feelings and the thoughts at bay until I climb out and wrap a towel around myself.

The first thing I do is put the diamond pendant back on, letting it rest against my heated skin as I lay my palm over it and close my eyes.

“Regi.”

Gill's voice startles me so badly that I jump, spinning to face him in a whirl, the towel sliding off my body and hitting the floor with a wet thump.

“Jesus, Gilleon!” I yell, my heart beating frantically as I bend down and snatch the pink fabric back, letting it dangle in front of all my most important bits. “Don't sneak up on me like that!”

My stepbrother's sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees, hands in fists, chin resting against his knuckles. He glances over at me with a small smile, a real one this time, not even a hint of bitterness. Guess my reaction is funny enough that we can pretend the rest of the day didn't happen—for at least a few minutes anyway. Personally, I could use a break from all of that intensity; you won't find me complaining about a change of subject.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask him, not bothering to inquire why my locked bedroom door did nothing to keep him out. I think Gilleon impulsively picks locks for fun, just to prove that he can. I turn away, sacrificing a small view of my ass so that I can get the towel in order, tucking the end in over my breasts before I spin back to face him.

Gill's blue eyes are half-hooded and dark, drinking in my near-naked form before he turns away like he's ashamed of himself.

“Don't think that just because we had one emotional moment together that you're welcome in my bedroom whenever you damn well feel like it.” I take a deep breath and force myself to stop talking. I'm using anger as a shield right now, and I hate that.

“I don't think that,” Gill says in a near whisper. I watch as he clears his throat, composes himself and turns back to me, rising from the bed until he's standing there looking down at me with a fierce tenderness burning in his eyes. “I was worried about you, Regi. It's almost six-thirty, and I can understand if you don't want to go to dinner, but—”

“Six-thirty?” I ask, retreating back into the bathroom and grabbing my phone.
Holy crap.
It really is as late as he says. Which means … I was in the shower for that long? Our conversation must've affected me more than I realized. “Oh my God.”

“Regi,” Gill says, drawing my attention back to the doorway. He's leaning against the doorframe, his massive form filling the entire space. I notice that he's shaved his face again, leaving a stark contrast between the conversation we just shared and now.
Dark and light.
I watch him tilt towards the latter and wonder if I have the strength to catch him. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine, Gilleon,” I say, making myself smile. “If it's okay, I'd still like to go out tonight. I think I could use a night away, you know?”
And if we're going to have this conversation, I want it to happen in public. Everything gets toned down in public. I don't think I can survive another moment like the one we just shared.