Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (6 page)

E
IGHTEEN
M
ONTHS
L
ATER

Visiting days sucked.

On this gloomy Saturday nearly two years into my incarceration, rain hammered the visiting room’s windows and I sat at a table, pretending to listen while my father rambled on about his newest Miami high-rise deal. All I really wanted to hear about was Savannah and her child. Now that he was walking, what sort of trouble was he finding, and had he spoken his first word? How was my stepsister’s residency going? How did she manage to keep up with her work and spend quality time with her son? Did she miss me? Think about me? Obsess over me the way I did her? Even now, I had her picture with me in the chest pocket of my prison-issued shirt.

“Liam phoned again.”

“Oh?”

“He wants to know why you won’t add him and your friend Owen to your visitor list.”

“Did you tell him I don’t want to see him?”

“Of course not. It’s not in my nature to be rude.”

I coughed. That was my father, ever the image of southern gentility, yet when it comes to hammering out real estate deals, he was as ruthless as a fighting cock—albeit a gracious cock.

“Your sister wants to see you, too.”

“She does?” That shocker made me sit up.

“Of course. She’s family. Imagine my surprise when I made an inquiry only to discover she and your stepmother also aren’t on your list.”

“Neither of them belong here.” The devil himself didn’t belong here. The only reason I’d fared better than I’d expected was because my cellmate discovered I’d been a lawyer. I worked in the library, and pretty much held court while doling out free legal advice. Well—not exactly free. I worked for safety and contraband scotch.

“Mom wouldn’t survive the bus ride over.”

Dad chuckled. “You’re probably right.” The trip from the front gate to the visitation center was a good five miles, and taken via prison bus. “But Savannah’s a lot tougher than she looks. It might do you good to see a friendly face.”

“Let’s be real. I killed her fiancé and the father of her child. I doubt she wants anything to do with me.”

“Well, she’s still mighty torn about this whole state of affairs, but she’s practically blood and stands by you. You know she fought for you to be released on account of what happened with Chad being an accident.”

I waved off his words. Ancient history. I got what was coming to me. As for losing Savannah? How could I claim a woman who had never really been mine?

T
HREE
Y
EARS
L
ATER

Our reunion was inevitable.

And if I was honest with myself, from the day my mother told me Garrett was being released and would soon begin his court-assigned job as a groundskeeper at Julep’s Swan Park, I’d started taking my lunch there not because of its close proximity to my clinic, but for a chance to see the man who’d forever changed the course of my life.

It had taken a lot to get me to this point—to have assigned Garrett the blame of merely having shaped my life as opposed to ruining it. If I was land, he’d been a mighty river, carving out deep, pain-filled channels at will. In those crazy days after Garrett had been locked in the city jail, I’d been desperate to see him, to beg him to fight for a self-defense ruling, and to tell him whatever he needed from me, I would give. But he’d not only denied my legal assistance, but physical comfort, and more than anything, that hurt.

Now, my love for him was still there—would
always
be there—but it had changed into something I no longer cherished or fantasized about while touching myself in the quiet dark of night. Truthfully, I didn’t know what I felt for him. It was all so terribly complicated. And painful. And beyond my comprehension of how any of us had gotten to this unfathomable place.

Every weekday since his release, I sat on a bench beneath the outstretched arms of an enormous live oak draped in Spanish moss. I ate my turkey and swiss. My apple. My three Fig Newtons. And then I waited until my phone’s timer went off at the end of my allotted thirty minutes.

The last thing I wanted was to talk to him.

The
only
thing I wanted was to talk to him.

Time had a funny way of condensing facts, and the events of the day of Chad’s death had now been distilled to a mere few truthful morsels. Chad was dead. Garrett killed him. My life had never been the same. I couldn’t entirely blame him. That wouldn’t be fair. In keeping with those facts, I’d played a huge role in all of this. Had I discovered Chad’s cheating all on my own, I probably—shamefully—would have still married him. Not out of love, but sheer panic. Deep down, where it mattered, I’d been afraid of learning the truth about which man was my son’s father, and even though I now knew Garrett didn’t hold that title, a sick part of me wished he did.

What did that say about me as a person?

Maybe guilt is why I now ran a mostly free clinic. And had formed a food bank. And lived in what my mother called the
unfortunate
side of town.

I tried to see Garrett in prison. I wanted to thank him for essentially falling on his sword. Daddy told me my stepbrother had taken a plea to ease his own guilt and save the family the embarrassment of a public trial. I should have at the very least sent him cards on his birthday or Christmas, but I hadn’t.

Instead, in my own twisted attempt to save the family from the added shame of having a dropout, I’d insisted on completing my residency, even though the stress and absence from my son had almost killed me. And then, during a particularly cruel winter, Chadwick William Ridgemont V had caught pneumonia and come frighteningly close to dying, prompting me to give up my stab at completing the prestigious residency. He was two when I transferred, finishing at tiny Mercy Saints Hospital where the stress level was almost as nonexistent as the prestige. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with my son. The love of my life.

Chad’s family rightfully wanted to play an important role in his son’s life, and I’d agreed. The more I was with them, the more distance I put between myself and Garrett. Canton never again spoke of Chad’s paternity suspicions and I fought like hell to put all thoughts of Garrett playing any future role in my life to the
way
back of my mind.

I called my boy, Cook—short for cookie, which had been his first word.

Cook might officially bear Chad’s name, but I couldn’t say it. Not multiple times a day. Not when, whenever I closed my eyes, I still saw his lifeless gaze staring up at me, accusing me of having been unfaithful, when all along, so had he.

It was an ordinary mid-October Tuesday when I finally saw Garrett.

The sun didn’t shine brighter.

Yet lightning didn’t stab the earth where he walked, either.

Nothing, in fact, felt remotely different, even though from here on out, nothing would ever be the same. The town was too small for both of us, and since Cook loved his kindergarten and daycare and I’d successfully launched my food bank and primary care clinic, I obviously wasn’t going anywhere. It was my secret hope that Garrett resumed living some portion of his former California life. He may not be able to practice law, but surely there was something within their empire his friends Liam and Owen could find for him to do?

As if he’d been away for battle or obtaining a higher education, Mom and Daddy announced their intentions to host a Welcome Home dinner for my stepbrother.

Sides had long since been drawn on the matter of his guilt, and any friends of the Marsdens were clearly in his camp. They’d wept to hear he’d refused a trial, because they’d believed in his innocence, in the validity of his self-defense claim. I had, too. And I’d been prepared to admit it in court. But that day had never come, and for a while, it had been all-too-easy to climb aboard my parents’ ridiculous denial train and pretend all was right with our carefully structured world.

I watched him now, feeling like a dirty voyeur as he knelt to scoop fallen leaves he’d blown into a pile. He wore his hair in a buzz cut and had exchanged his usual pricey suit for a white wifebeater and faded jeans that, if I were truthful, hugged his ass like a second skin when he crouched.

I hated him.

I still wanted him.

For all the work I’d done trying to forget him, in that instant, I knew I still loved him to an incalculable degree. Which only made me hate him more.

His arms were sheer muscular perfection. His ripped forearms led to biceps and tight shoulders my inner tramp wanted to bite. That same bad girl wanted her tender skin roughed by his stubble.

I begged him to look up, to end the awful anticipation of our inevitable reunion, but he did not.

The timer on my phone discreetly dinged, and so, with my heart beating loudly and fast in my ears, I crumbled my last Fig Newton, tossed it to a trio of wrens, then forced myself to turn my back on Garrett and slowly walk away, pretending everything was still normal and good, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Did Savannah think I didn’t see her? Didn’t she know five fucking years in prison had given me eyes in the back and sides of my head?

In that time, I’d loosened my own personal visitation policy to welcome visits from not just my father, but also Liam and Ella, Owen and Natalie, even Luke, and Carol and that Nathan kid who’d actually managed to make something of himself. The one person I’d considered a staple in my life who hadn’t shown up was Savannah—not that I’d expected her to. But I’d be lying if I said that when I’d finally added her name to my visitor list I hadn’t hoped. In the same respect, I hadn’t wanted her anywhere near that shithole. I hadn’t even wanted her breathing in the foul-ass perpetual stench of cigarette smoke and BO.

But look at us now, drenched in warm fall sun, drinking in gallons of crisp, loamy-scented air, no bars between us other than the ones we’d erected in our heads, and yet our friendship had perhaps irrevocably decayed. We were no longer the happy, colorful leaves at the top of my pile that everyone wants to take pics of and jump into. We were the scum-covered brown and black variety at the bottom. We weren’t going in scrapbooks or being carefully preserved between two squares of wax paper. Whatever had been special between us was now lost. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—
gone.

When she tossed the cookie she hadn’t eaten to the birds, and then stared at me a bit longer before finally leaving, I wasn’t sad about her exit, but relieved.

Lying on my prison bunk, I’d imagined our reunion hundreds—maybe thousands—of times. But then the effort—the inevitable pain—of wanting and never having it grew too hard. I’d carefully wrapped memories of our happy times in tissue to be placed in a box, then shoved so far back into my mental closet that I never saw it again. What was the point?

The only memory I refused to give up was the photo her mother had taken of Savannah and me on the day we’d met at the Kentucky Derby.

“Put your arm around her,” Delilah said. “She won’t bite.”

“Go ahead,” my dad prodded. “It’s okay.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I did as I was told, praying I didn’t get a boner. God, Savannah was hot. The guys at school would be jealous when I showed them the gift I’d gotten for my father’s wedding.

“Smile, Savannah!” Delilah snapped us from all angles. “I want a happy memory of the day you met your big brother.” Crowds pressed in around us. I remembered everything—the smell of horses and freshly turned dirt. Perfume and gin. Most of all, I remembered Savannah’s smile. Her sweet scent. The way the breeze caught her long hair, feathering it against my face. The way for the first time since I’d been sexually active, I didn’t just want to fuck her, but know her, savor her, protect her.

Most especially, I didn’t want to be her brother, but her boyfriend.

Once our parents married, I’d crammed all of those forbidden wants deep inside, pretending they didn’t matter, and that they weren’t real. But to this day, they were. And I didn’t know how to make them go away.

Monday, it was too rainy for me to eat in the park.

But Tuesday, the sun came out to play.

I sat on my usual bench, watching for any sign of Garrett.

My mouth was too dry to eat, so I sipped my bottled water, wishing I knew why I kept torturing myself this way. I claimed to not want to see Garrett. Because of Cook, I, in fact, had a very real reason to keep a safe distance from Garrett. Honor dictated that I avoid the man who’d killed his father. Yet, here I was, sitting on a potential powder keg primed to blow. I could pretend all I wanted that my feelings for Garrett had changed, but if they actually had, then why did my runaway pulse make such a huge deal out of the mere possibility of our reunion?

Wednesday, rain again forced me inside.

But Thursday, everything changed.

I approached my favorite bench, but couldn’t sit down, because Garrett lounged in my usual spot. He’d stretched out in the sun, hiding his eyes behind mirrored Ray-Bans. His usual wifebeater was off, and his chest was a bona fide Michelangelo. He’d clasped his hands behind his head, showcasing ridiculously toned arms my fingertips itched to touch. His skin would be hot from the sun, and maybe a little sweaty. If I ran my tongue along his ripped abs, would they taste salty?

This was insanity. I turned to leave.

“Going so soon?”

I froze. My heart beat too fast. “I, um, forgot something back in my office.”

“Bullshit.” He sat up, and in the process, stole what little remained of the air in my lungs. His buzz cut made him look dangerous—every inch the murderer society claimed him to be. But I knew differently. What happened with Chad had been an accident. It could have happened to anyone, right? My inner self snorted. Sure. It could have happened to anyone packing a punch powerful enough to knock a grown man to the ground.

Like a cat, he stood in fluid motion. Before I could think to flee, he was beside me, wreathing me in his earthy, musky smell.

“I have to go…” I refused to look into his eyes—not that I could have seen them through his sunglasses. This incarnation of my stepbrother wasn’t any person I knew. This man scared me—not because I feared him doing me physical harm, but because I feared the primal urges he brought out in me. He was no longer a southern gentleman, and he made me feel like I no longer wanted to be a lady, but to be the kind of filthy dirty slut who screws her stepbrother not just once, but over and over again.

“No one’s stopping you…” He held out his arm, as if showing me the way. But he had always been
my way.
One of my dearest friends. My moral compass that was now obviously broken and twisted.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked in a small voice I didn’t recognize.

“What?”

“Playing games. Stop. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but you killed a man—not just any man, but my fiancé. The father of my child.”

“Point of fact.” Garrett crossed his arms, in the process making his chest all the more impressive. I refused to look his way. “At the time of his death, your
beloved
was banging one of your best friends. This is the last time I will ever say this, but he came at me first. He hurt you first. What happened next was an unfortunate accident for which I will pay a lifetime.” He stepped perilously deep into my personal space. I could no longer think or breathe or focus on anything but his sheer size, and all-too-familiar musky, manly smell. The day had turned unseasonably warm, and sweat clung to his bare skin. “That said, given the chance to do it all over again, I would—not that I’d kill him—but I’d sure as hell have knocked him into Louisiana for humiliating you the way he did.”

His impassioned speech left me trembling inside, maybe outside, as well. I couldn’t be sure. He made me unbalanced and confused, and before he further twisted my heart, I turned and ran, sidestepping some guy taking pictures of flowers.

I ran and ran until I reached my tiny corner office in the clinic I’d been so proud to have renovated from a once abandoned apothecary shop. The cheery sun streaming through tall south- and west-paned windows usually filled me with peace and goodwill. Today, the openness made me feel vulnerable. On display.

I shut the blinds.

The Chippendale desk Mom had gifted me, as well as the Duncan Grant floral, had been too much, but I loved both. They, along with the striped chintz sofa I catnapped on and the pale blue-on-blue striped walls usually made me feel safe in my new world, but now, with Garrett’s unreadable face haunting me, I feared I might never again feel secure—unless he returned to California.

His leaving was my only possible solution.

And so, I sat at my desk and dialed Daddy’s work number. His secretary patched me through, and I asked how his progress was coming on getting my stepbrother’s legal license reinstated. Mom had told me he was working on it as a surprise.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” he said. “Every inch your mother’s daughter, showing concern for Garrett—especially, in light of what your brother had done. But that’s all behind us now.”

“Of course. Which is another reason why I called.” I had never hated myself more. I selfishly wanted Garrett to return to California more for my own mental well-being than out of concern for him. If he stayed in town, how long would it be before I slipped and did something stupid like throwing myself at him all over again? Yes, I still loved him, but that love didn’t give me the right to further disrupt our family. Maybe even more importantly, if Chad’s family learned Garrett and I had been together, how might they react? “How can I help with your surprise? Should I write a recommendation letter to whichever committee’s in charge of Garrett’s case?”

“You’re a doll for asking, but I’ve got this under control. That said, the next time you visit Chad’s family with Cook, you might put in a good word. Chad’s father has a lot of friends in high places. I understand they’ve been through an unspeakable tragedy. But you need to make them understand that they’ve punished Garrett enough for what they have to know in their hearts was an accident.”

“Yes. I’ll broach the topic with Suzette.” I made obligatory small talk with my father, then hung up, feeling more despondent than ever. If the Ridgemonts had anything to do with restoring Garrett’s license, it would never happen.

For his sake, for mine, I needed Garrett gone. But how could I make his leaving a reality?

As if my proverbial plate wasn’t already loaded, two days later was Suzette’s birthday.

I’d forgotten she was coming to town, and her gift was to share lunch with Cook at his school. I’d promised to join her, and was already five minutes late when I parked beneath a magnolia that was taller than my house. The school encouraged family visits, and even had an appointed cafeteria table that was used for special occasions.

“Mom!” Cook leapt from his chair to crush me in a hug. “It’s Grandma Suzette’s birthday, and Uncle Canton even came to see me!”

Chad’s brother smiled and waved. “Nice to see you.”

“Likewise,” I said while giving his mother a hug from behind. “Sorry I’m late. My appointments were overbooked.” In my head, I crossed my fingers against the lie, but the last thing they needed to know was how much I hadn’t wanted to see either of them. Especially, Canton. Ever since his speech in the hospital, he’d given me the creeps. Still, as Cook’s uncle, he had a right to see his nephew, which was why he and Suzette both had privileges to pick up my boy from school. Cook adored them, so I made lemonade from the acid their smothering produced in my stomach. “Happy birthday, Suzette.”

“Thank you, dear.” She accepted the small, gift-wrapped box I held out. “It was sweet of you to come.”

“Grandma, guess what?” Cook hopped alongside her chair.

“What, my handsome prince?”

“We’re having tater tots for your birthday! They’re my favorite and I bet the cooker people made them just for you.”

“Really?” She feigned wide-eyed shock. “How incredibly kind of them. And clever of you to know how much I enjoy a nice
tot.
” She winked at me and her son.

“Mom, we waited for you to go through to the lunch ladies with us. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.”

My son took Suzette’s hand, guiding her toward what remained of the student-filled line. She wore a black-and-white plaid Chanel wool suit and black pumps. Her multiple strands of Chanel pearls and the matching purse would no doubt keep my food bank healthy for years. Her massive diamond tennis bracelet sparkled in the sun.

“Your bracelet’s gorgeous,” I said.

“Thank you. It was my birthday gift from Theo. I adore it and the man.” She winked before falling back in step with her grandson.

“After you,” Canton gestured for me to precede him.

“Thank you.” I forced a smile. I didn’t particularly like having him at my back, but then I wasn’t a fan of his under any circumstance. He’d always been a nice enough guy on family occasions—even when Chad had been alive, but his behavior after Cook’s birth had been tough to forget.

“Mom’s been excited about this for weeks,” he said close enough for only me to hear.

“Oh?”

“She wanted me to drive in case she cried.”

“Why would she cry?” Cook and Suzette had gotten far enough ahead that five kids slipped into line between us.

“She says every time she sees Cook, he reminds her of my brother more and more. Dad and I worry about her. She’s never been the same.”

“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t much else I could say. What happened to Chad had been an awful accident, but, in part, due to his own stupidity.

Canton shrugged. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. Now that we’ve got a moment for a face-to-face, there has been something I’ve been meaning to run by you.”

“Okay…” I grabbed a plastic food tray, gripping it hard enough for my knuckles to turn white. As far as I was concerned, the two of us had nothing to say.

“My parents are in the process of setting up a trust—a rather substantial amount—for Cook to receive on his eighteenth birthday. Of course, we’re having the papers drawn up in-house, so keep an eye out for them. Mom and Dad wanted to present them to you at a big party, but I convinced them to handle it privately. I didn’t think you’d feel up to something that flashy—didn’t seem like your thing.”

“Thank you. You’re right.” Just when I was convinced Canton was a monster, he went and proved himself human after all. Had I been wrong about him all this time? “But a trust isn’t necessary.”

“Of course, it’s not necessary, but what college-bound kid wouldn’t welcome extra cash?” His crooked, endearing smile reminded me of his brother’s. Guilt for the way I’d treated Canton for so many years pressed a lead weight against my chest. Maybe it wasn’t Canton’s long-ago speech that had upset me, but my own poor judgment in having ever been with my stepbrother? Looking back on it, Canton had done me a favor even back then by keeping the whole matter a secret between us.

“True. Thank you.” Tears welled. “Really. Lately, things have…”

“Been tense?”

“Yes. You read my mind.” I slid the tray down the row to accept a cheeseburger, tots, and applesauce.

“I’ve actually been worried about you. Having your stepbrother back in town can’t be easy.”

“You knew he’d been released?”

“I made it my business to know. If he gives you the slightest trouble, call me, and I’ll take whatever steps are necessary to protect you.”

“As much as I appreciate your offer, that won’t be necessary.” I grabbed a chocolate milk from a cooler. Canton, on the other hand, might one day become an actual friend. “I plan to stay as far away from him as possible.”

“Good.”

Yes. Avoiding my stepbrother would be very good.