Stepbrother Thief (36 page)

“Good morning to you, too, Dad,” Gill says, reaching up and squeezing my arm once more before moving past me, back into the brightness of the kitchen and the heady allure of fresh caffeine. As if already anticipating an argument, Gill shuts his computer harder than he probably should and turns back to me, forcing his lips into a smile, just to show it's not me he's frustrated with.

“Papa,” I say as Cliff comes down the last few steps and breezes past me, fully dressed, lips only slightly pursed.
God, please let this go well.
I take a deep breath to gather myself and move after him, leaning against the archway and putting my coffee to my lips. “Please don't be upset.”

Cliff's busying himself with a cup of coffee, plopping a spoonful of sugar into his mug with a vengeance. Throughout it all, he's shaking his head like he's disappointed. That's a hard thing to take in, see, because he's been disappointed in Gilleon for a long, long time. I know this look is mostly for me, and it hurts.

“My son,” Cliff says, cutting to the chase and pointing at the man in question, “is a thief, Regina. He's a criminal. And he's a man who doesn't have his priorities straight. Yes, I know he's a good-looking man, and I know you've missed him all these years, but think of your daughter.”

“I
am
thinking of her,” I say, trying not to get righteously indignant. Cliff stepped up for Solène when nobody else would, took care of her when both Gill and I couldn't, and he loves us all with a beautiful strength and fierceness that I could never scoff at, but … “Gilleon's her father. If the two of them want to purse a relationship, that's their choice to make, not ours.”

“He's a sperm donor,” Cliff says frankly, causing Gill's fingers to curl tightly around his biceps as he leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and scowls.

“You don't know why I've done what I've done, Dad,” he snarls, and I can hear some resentment in those words, some blame focused on Cliff that I've never heard before. “So hold your judgments and don't act like you never left, never walked away from your child.”

Cliff's face tightens, and I sense a conversation a long time coming.

“You wanted to stay with your mother, Gilleon, and if I'd made you leave, you would've hated me for it. If I'd known how bad she'd gotten, I would've taken you sooner, but you lied and tricked your way into staying as long as you could. You can't blame me for that, and you can't blame either of us for your actions.”

Gill runs a hand down his face and shakes his head. I can see him quivering with barely suppressed rage, and my first instinct is to set my coffee down, move over to him, and wrap my arms around his waist.
Holy shit, what is happening to me?
I almost do it, too, but right now, Cliff is looking at me like he's never seen me before, and I hate that.

“We're testing the waters right now, Papa,” I tell him, wondering in the back of my mind how hard I'm willing to fight for this. The answer scares the shit out of me.
Hard.
I'm willing to fight hard, to alienate one of the most important people in my life, and I haven't even heard the rest of Gill's story.

With a shocking chill, I realize I don't care. I don't care why or how or what because I love Gill more than anything, more than anyone, always have.
Shit.

“Regina,” Cliff begins, taking a step towards me, his salt and pepper hair an easy reminder that even if it feels like no time has passed since Gill left, plenty of it has. That's all he wants: me to remember that, to be careful.
Proceed with caution.
And I will. “I just don't want you to get hurt,” he says, looking at me with all the care and compassion that my father used to give. I know without a doubt that Cliff couldn't love me anymore if I were his own. I look away, at the wood floors and the long reaching length of Gill's shadow where it touches my bare feet. That, too, is a reminder, a reminder that I don't just want Gill, but that he needs me. I can't watch the light inside of him fade away to nothing.

“I was there,” Cliff continues when nobody else speaks. “I was there when you cried, when you couldn't get out of bed in the morning. He,” my stepdad says, voice rough with anger, “wasn't there. He didn't see what I saw, didn't get to watch the fall and the even greater rise. You overcame the pain of heartbreak, Regina. That's not an easy thing to do.” Cliff reaches out and touches the side of my cheek. I look up at him with a smile and then flick my eyes to Gill's.

He's staring out the window, arms still crossed over his chest. He looks like a statue right now, like he's stopped breathing altogether.

“I'm not trying to judge you, Regina,” Cliff amends with a sigh, taking a seat at the table. “You know I love you, honey.” I nod, wondering in the back of my mind if Cliff knows anything about my mother's death—and his son's supposed part in all of it. What would his reaction be then?

“I know, Papa, and I love you, too.” Gill looks back at me then, and I see something in his beautiful blue eyes that damn near seals the deal for me: fear. He wants this, wants his family back. Is his sin really so unforgivable? There are worse things, much worse things. And the world is already cruel enough, isn't it? Shouldn't family be the one place we always know we can turn to for redemption? “When Gill gets back, we can talk about this.” I take a deep breath. “About how we might want to think about making this living arrangement … a little more permanent?” My statement comes out as a question, but at least it's out there.

Hope flickers in Gill's eyes before he pushes it back, putting on that expressionless mask of his. I don't mind so much this time, seeing it for what it is: a shield. He's just trying to protect himself, and that's okay.

“Gets back?” Cliff asks, reaching out for the paper that Aveline left lying in the center of the table. “And where is it that you're going, son of mine?” Neither of us misses the bite still present in his words or the look on his face:
this conversation is not yet over.

“To deal with the mess I've made of my life,” Gill grumbles quietly, eyes still locked on mine. “But I won't be gone long, I promise. I won't ever leave like that again.”

I swallow hard and look away, desperately wishing I could throw myself into Gill's arms. But Papa's looking right at me again, and I need time to think. I reach up and find that I'm still wearing my mother's necklace. Must've slept in it last night.

Silence stretches uncomfortably between the three of us; I
hate
silences.

“I'm gonna take a quick shower,” I say, looking to each of them in turn, keeping a neutral smile on my face. My thoughts are whirring so loud that I can barely discern what they're trying to say, the decisions they're saying I have to make. “When I get out, maybe I can make some pancakes?”

Gill smiles softly.

“I'd love that, Regina,” he whispers, taking a slow step towards me, “but I'll already be gone by the time you get out. A colleague of mine will be here until Aveline gets back tonight.” I must make some sort of face because Gill adds, “he's good at what we do.” And I believe him. In this, I completely and utterly trust Gill's judgment.

In other arenas …

I nod, and then there's this awkward moment where neither of us knows whether we should hug or kiss or …

“I'll miss you, Gill,” I say, taking a step forward and brushing a gentle kiss across his mouth. “Be careful out there, okay?” He gives my hip a little squeeze and lets go, nodding as I step away and head up the back stairs, taking my coffee with me.

Getting back together with Gilleon seems like an inevitability for me.

I'm not sure whether I should be ecstatic—or terrified.

The first time Gill betrayed me, he broke my heart; I wouldn't last a second time.

The rest of my week is uneventful; I'm not sure if that's because it pales in comparison to what happened between Gill and me, or because Cliff's been carefully avoiding spending any alone time together. The only remarkable things that've happened since Tuesday are the sappy texts I've been getting from Gilleon—
I'm spending every single second dreaming of your smile—
and the introduction of some guy named Ewan who barely talks and whose expressionless mask is twice as hard as my stepbrother's. I can only wonder what happened to make him that way. At the very least, he seems a capable bodyguard.

As for the texts … I don't really know how to respond to them; they're so reminiscent of the notes he used to leave around the house when we were together that I find myself drifting off into wistful remembrances every time I get one. It's gotten so bad that I even switched out my usual horror movie watching last night for a
romantic comedy.
It was as terrible as I'd expected it to be.

I'm curled up in my usual spot on the couch, a Netflix movie—back to horror again—flickering in the background, when I get my first actual phone call on my new cell. I'm in the process of reading yet another text from Gill—
home soon, ma belle petite fleur—
when a familiar number pops up on the screen. I should probably recognize it, but my stomach's still in knots over
last
night's text, and I'm not thinking clearly. Right now, I'm actually awaiting a pretty exciting delivery: Gill had most of our items shipped from France. Since the authorities aren't involved, there's no reason to pretend that Cliff, Solène, or I am … well,
dead.
That was the whole point of the operation: leave no trace, leave no trail. The scariest part about all of that is—as Gill relayed to me in his text—that's the usual MO for his new boss' teams. Gilleon claims that he'd never hurt an innocent, and I'm inclined to believe him, but still … I can't help but remember those two men in the hotel room.

“Hello?” I ask, slightly confused, my mind wrapped up in Gill and Karl and all of the secrets I don't yet know, that I have to know, but that I'm not sure I want to.

“Regina!” It's Leilani, my childhood best friend, the very first person I ever admitted my crush on Gill to, the girl with an entire sleeve of
Star Wars
tattoos. We're pretty much polar opposites on the interest scale, but our mannerisms and personality are similar enough that this friendship works well. Even long distance, we manage to stay close. “Oh my God, oh thank God.” I can hear the raw relief in her voice, the pain that I must've caused by disappearing into thin air.

I swallow hard, remembering Gill's warning about putting her and Anika in danger.

“Gill called me this morning and I just about had a heart attack.”

“He
called
you?” I ask, completely and utterly baffled.

“He did, gave me your number and everything. Regi, if you're really in Seattle right now, then you're going to meet me for coffee, so I can wring your neck. How could you?” she asks, her voice warbling with unshed tears. I blink some of my own away, the full realization of what I was willing to give up hitting me hard. My friends, my sister, my boyfriend, my fucking freedom. All for Gill. Since the first second I saw him, I should've known. I. Should. Have. Known.

“I'm in Seattle,” I say, knowing that if Gill told her where I was that it's okay to admit to it. Hell, it's not like Karl's been having problems finding us anyway.

“Shit,” Leilani whispers, her voice muffled. “When I hadn't heard from you in weeks, I thought you'd been kidnapped or something. Don't ever do that again.”

“I'm sorry,” I say, leaning back into the cushions, relief flooding through me at the sound of a familiar voice, my voice of reason from a very, very young age. “You wouldn't believe the shit that's going on over here.”

“Yeah, uh, Gilleon for starters. Why on earth are you at Gilleon's house? What are you doing with him, Regi?” I lick my suddenly dry lips and try to come up with a response. Leilani knows everything about Gilleon, our whole story, including Solène. “No, no, no, don't answer me right now. I'm getting coffee and some of those salted caramel things you like from Fran's.”

“I think Gill'd gut me if I gave away his address,” I say, concerned more with the idea of Leilani coming here to meet me and putting herself on Karl's radar. I can hear her exhale over the phone, can imagine her running her fingers through her chocolate dark hair, a red flush coming over her olive rich skin. “Soon though, soon. You, uh, know how his
work
can get.” Leilani also knows pretty much everything I know about Gill's business ventures—well, as much as I knew before this heist.

“Okay, okay, sure, but …” I can hear her struggling to find the words to talk to me, to make sure I'm alright without outright asking. “If you need me, I'm still where I've always been, the little green house in North Beacon Hill.” A smile stretches my lips as I press pause on my movie.

“I remember from the pictures you sent me. Still working on that whole
Food Not Lawns
thing?” A soft chuckle passes through the line, tinged with a bit of relief that I'm not ending the conversation yet. Just because we can't meet up in person doesn't mean we can't chat. Hell, I haven't seen Leilani in person in a long, long time. At least there's Skype, right? Although a lagging video chat isn't nearly as good as the real thing …