Stepbrother Untouchable (11 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I'm just glad the whole thing has blown over,” Greg says as
we pull off the Beltway. I nod as I look out at the trees whizzing by in the
dark. The woman who accused Pierce of sexual harassment rescinded her claims
after it turned out she had accused two other former bosses of the same thing.
“It just feels like there's been a shadow over the office for the last month.”

“Yeah,” I reply noncommittally.

Greg clears his throat as we near my house. “So, I'm glad we
got the chance to go out again,” he says.

“Me too,” I reply with a smile. This is our third date, and
he still hasn't tried anything. I'm wondering if tonight will be the night. A
nervous silence falls over the car as we pull through the gates and onto the
driveway. He stops in front of the house and then turns to me.

“Why don't I walk you to your door,” he suggests.

“Sure.” A few butterflies begin to fly around in my stomach.
We undo our seat belts and hop out, meeting around the front of the car and
walking up to the front door. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and
wish there were something calming I could say to him, because he looks way more
nervous than I do. We reach the door and turn to each other.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight.” He pauses, looking into my eyes, and then begins
to move forward. I lean in, and close my eyes. His lips touch mine and I frown
slightly. I mean, there's nothing wrong with his lips or anything, but I
thought I'd feel…more. He keeps his mouth chastely pressed against mine for a
few seconds and then pulls back and smiles at me.

“Goodnight, Brynn,” he says again.

“Goodnight,” I reply, and turn to go inside. I shut the door
behind me, and lean back against it, disappointed. Greg and I get along well,
and he’s such a nice guy—I’d hoped I would eventually develop romantic feelings
for him…but that kiss…was not so good. I sigh and continue through the foyer
and into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Nate greets me.

I stop as a buzz runs through me at just the sight of him.
That's the feeling I can't manufacture when I'm with Greg. “Hey. You go for a
run?” I ask, taking in his sweaty appearance.

“Yeah, well, just on the treadmill. Too dark for a trail
run. Did you…did you have a nice time tonight?”

I glance over at him. He gulps a long sip from a Gatorade
bottle and then puts it down on the counter.

“Um, yeah, it was good,” I reply.

“I was just going to watch a movie in the den if you're
interested.”

“Fine, but I choose tonight,” I reply with a smile. We've
both committed to this whole being friends thing, though at times I feel like
I'm going through the motions. I don't know if I'll ever be able to turn off
the part of me that will always want more from him.

“No romantic comedies,” he says, as he walks to the door of
the kitchen. “I'm just going to hop in the shower really fast.” The phone on
the counter rings and he steps toward it, but it only rings once.

We both look toward Pierce's study as raised voices emanate
from that direction. A moment later, we hear stomping coming our way and frown
at each other in concern. Pierce storms in and walks to the fridge.

“Reporter?” Nate asks quietly.

“Your mother,” Pierce replies, equally quietly, though
there's a hint of venom in his voice. My eyes flick over to Nate. I hope I
haven't made the situation worse by taking her call that one time. He meets my
gaze and shakes his head quickly as though to warn me not to say anything. “I
don't know how she got this new number—it's unlisted. That bitch just won't
give up.”

My mouth drops open at Pierce's language. I've never even
heard him swear before, and it's so at odds with his genteel appearance that it
sounds even more shocking coming out of his mouth.

“We're going to go watch a movie,” I murmur, wanting to get
away from him when he's in this kind of mood. I can feel the waves of anger
coming off of him. But Pierce swings around to face Nate, the Gatorade bottle
in his hand.

“How many fucking times have I told you to clean up after
yourself?” he growls, and I shrink back.

“I wasn't done drinking—” Nate begins.

“Don't interrupt me! You think the rest of the world is just
here to serve you? That everyone else exists to make your cushy life a little
easier? You've never had to work for anything in your life. It's pathetic,”
Pierce spits at his son. I remain frozen on the other side of the counter,
feeling like a coward, and not knowing what I should say.

I see color rise in Nate's cheeks, but all he says is, “Yes,
sir.”

With that, Pierce slams the bottle back on the counter and walks
back toward his office without even looking at me. Nate remains motionless for
a moment, then walks over to the bottle, drinks the rest of it, and tosses it
into the recycling.

“I'm sorry, you didn't deserve—” I start, feeling horrified
by the scene I just witnessed.

“You still want to watch that movie?” Nate asks, tilting his
head toward me but not making eye contact.

“Yes,” I whisper back, unsure of what else to do or say.

“OK, meet you in there in ten minutes,” Nate says simply and
walks out. I wait until I can hear him walking up the stairs before I move.
I've never heard a father talk to his son like that before, and our old
neighborhood wasn't exactly full of model families. And the way Nate's
shoulders slumped as Pierce was speaking to him, it was like he agreed with
what his father was saying about him.

I walk up the stairs to my room and change into my sweats,
before heading back downstairs to make some popcorn—food always makes me feel
better. As soon as it's finished popping, I head into the den to wait for Nate.
Should I tell my mom about what Pierce just did? Would she even listen? She
seems to have drunk the Pierce Kool-Aid pretty heavily by this point. And now
that Pierce has been the victim of false allegations, it will be even harder for
her to believe anything bad about him. I glance up, frowning, as Nate walks in
and sits down on the couch next to me.

“I can tell by that expression on your face that you want to
talk,” he begins. I smile slightly, he knows me well. “But the stuff with my
parents—it's off-limits, OK?”

But I need to tell him that those things Pierce said aren't
true. “Just—”

“No, Brynn. I really want us to be able to keep hanging out.
But if you keep bringing it up…”

I sigh. “Fine. I won't say anything. In exchange, though…” I
walk to the wide bookcases full of DVD options.

“No romantic comedies!”

“Big Fish,” I say, pulling out the case.

“Is that a romantic comedy?” he asks, narrowing his eyes
suspiciously.

“Well, not really. There is romance in it, but it's more
about a family,” I explain, careful not to mention the predominant father-son
themes. “Hey, friendships have to have some compromise,” I add with a smile.

“OK, fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. He takes a handful of
popcorn and leans against one end of the couch as I pop the DVD in. As I make
myself comfortable on the other end, he pulls a blanket from the back of the
couch and arranges it over my feet, because he knows that they get cold.

I feel a pang in my chest at the small gesture, but try to
push it away. He's not being romantic, just thoughtful. I look up at the large
TV screen as the picture comes up. I feel more comfortable around Nate than I
do with anyone else in my life right now, so I have to settle for being friends
with him. Otherwise I could lose him altogether.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“You and Nate head down there so we don't lose the
reservation!” my mom instructs me. She planned a family outing to go rafting on
the Potomac, but Pierce is stuck at the office in meetings, even though it's a
Saturday. “I'll swing by and get him and meet you there.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, he said he'd only be a little longer,” she assures
me.

“OK,” I reply with a shrug, and walk into the anteroom off
the kitchen where Nate is slipping on his sneakers.

“My mom says they're going to meet us there,” I tell him.

“Fuck it, let’s make tracks, Sis.” he smirks.

And off we go in his Wrangler, Nate blasting some god-awful
metal music.

“How do you listen to this shit? It sounds like two cat’s
screwing in a trashcan.” I shake my head.

“What? This is Slayer, they’re classic trash metal, you have
to have respect.” He says reverently. “I always listen to
Reign in Blood
before all of my games.”

“Lovely.” I screw my face up in mock horror.

He turns it up louder, nodding his head enthusiastically as
the guitar riffs collide into what I assume is his favorite part of the song.
It’s strange to see him let loose like this, and even though I think his taste
in music is horrifying, I have to admit I like to see him enjoying himself.

Thankfully, the boathouse is just a little ways down the
Potomac in the direction of the city, and I’m only subjected to Slayer for a
few more minutes. The temperature on this August day is in the mid-nineties,
but my mom was insistent upon doing a family activity outdoors. As we take a
left on the dirt road with an old sign pointing the way, I spot an empty
parking lot, and figure most people are wisely staying inside with their
air-conditioning today.

After we park, Nate heads over to the wood-slatted structure
to secure the boat, and I take the sunscreen out of my bag. As Nate walks back
over, he smiles as he sees me struggling to smear it in between the straps of
my sports bra.

“Want some help?' he asks.

“…Sure,” I reply, though I'm anything but. The idea of
Nate's hands on me, when I know nothing else is going to happen, sounds like
torture. I might actually prefer getting a first-degree sunburn, but he's
already taken the bottle from me and squeezing some of it out into his palm.

“Um, just pull the back of your shirt up,” he instructs me.
I do as he says, pulling it up to my hairline. I feel his greased-up hands
slipping under the straps of my bra, and am glad he can't see the blush that
immediately spreads across my face. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my
raging hormones at bay, as his fingers slide around the side of my ribcage.

“Now you do me,” he says, as I release my shirt.

“That's what she said,” I mutter.

“Ha!” Nate barks, a short, joyful shout of laughter. “I
didn’t know you were funny Brynn,” he says, grinning wide at me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I say, daring to
meet his gaze for a brief moment.

I clear my throat and take the bottle of sunscreen from him,
willing myself to keep my thoughts clean. He pauses, then turns around and
pulls off his shirt. I groan inwardly at the sight of his wide, muscular back.

Where are our parents? I need some kind of buffer between
us. But there are no signs of any cars pulling into the parking lot anytime
soon, so I dutifully squeeze some lotion onto my fingers and then begin to
spread it across his back. I carefully press it all the way up to his neck,
across his shoulder blades—feeling the sinewy ropes of muscle there, down his
back, and finally down to the top of his athletic shorts, my fingers venturing
just inside his waistband. I hear him suck in a small bit of air, and see the
slight throbbing of his member in his shorts. He’s trying hard to hold back, I
can tell.

“OK, all done!” I say overly cheerily, as I hand him the
bottle. Nate tosses his shirt into the back of his Jeep and begins to spread
sunscreen across his chest. I keep my eyes trained on the hazy river.

“They say how long they were going to be?”

“Nope, my mom just said—” I break off as I hear my phone
start to ring in my purse on the front seat. “I bet that's her now. Hey, Mom,”
I greet her as I accept the call.

“Hey, honey.”

“What's wrong?” I ask, immediately hearing stress in her
voice.

“Oh, it's nothing, but Pierce won't be able to get out of
the office long enough to go kayaking today. I'm just going to drive down to
the office now, so at least he and I can have lunch together.”

“OK, should we—”

“No, you two go kayaking and have fun, alright? We'll see
you tonight for dinner.”

“Oh, alright, if you're sure,” I reply, wincing as I catch
Nate watching me, his muscular torso gleaming in the sun. “Your dad got caught
up in work stuff, and my mom's going to go meet him at the office for lunch, so
they're not coming. They said we should still go if we want,” I explain as I
hang up.

“Since we're here,” Nate says with a shrug. “You ever been
kayaking here before?”

“Never been kayaking at all.”

“Well, you'll love it,” he replies, locking up his car.

“Says the captain of the UVA crew team.” I smile.

In short order, we're pushing off the dock in a tandem
kayak. With Nate's powerful oar strokes, we quickly clear the shallow, muddy
water and head toward the open water. “You'll get the hang of it,” Nate
encourages me, and I turn around to smile sheepishly at him.

“I think I'm just holding you back, here,” I laugh, trying to
get the feeling of how to dip the oar in the water at the right time.

“Well, I have a lot more experience than you in a boat,” he
says. “We used to train for crew on the Potomac in high school, but we were a
lot closer in to the city. We'd pass Georgetown, the Kennedy Center…You'd be
amazed at the wildlife you can see out here, though,” he tells me as he steers
us upriver and into the current.

“I feel so far away from everything,” I observe as the
sounds of traffic are quickly covered up by the trees rising on either side of
us.

“This land used to belong to a Native American tribe called
the—”

“Piscataway,” I finish reflexively.

“Damn, I keep forgetting my stepsister is a nerd,” he says,
and I can hear from his voice that he’s grinning. “I won’t even try to impress
you with my passion for local history, then.”

“No, come on, impress me,” I tease him.

“I can’t hold a candle,” he feigns defeat. “You get better
grades than me.”

“Yeah, well, put me on two varsity teams and I think those
grades might dip a little. I don't know how you do it. My friends Allison and
Miriam tell me I spend too much time at the library—I barely have enough time
for them. Not to mention, I'm not athletically gifted
at all
,” I add,
nodding to my ineffectual rowing. “So you’ve got me there.”

“I met Allison on the 4
^th
, right?”

“Right.”

“But Miriam?”

“She's back home in Memphis for the summer. She's my other
good friend; she and Allison room together.”

“Why don't you live with them?” he asks, and I pause to
listen to his oars dropping quietly into the water.

“Mm, I thought about it, but I like living alone. My mom can
be…”

“What?” he prods me.

“I'm trying to think of a more flattering word for needy.”

“You can say needy if you want. I won't tell.”

“OK, she’s really fucking needy,” I reply, feeling like a
weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I hardly ever talk about the more
negative aspects of my relationship with my mom. “Honestly, a lot less so since
she's met Pierce, though. Sometimes I just feel like I'm—”

“Her mom,” he finishes for me.

I turn to face him, raising my eyebrows. “Is it obvious?” I
ask worriedly. “I don't mean to sound resentful.”

“You're allowed to feel however you want about her,” he
responds with a kind smile, and I turn back around. “At first I thought you
were fragile,” he says after a moment. “Like if I dropped you, you'd break. I
think that's why…that's why I wanted to test you a little.”

“You mean when you felt me up at dinner with our parents
sitting across from us?”

He laughs. “I can't believe I did that, and I don't think
I've ever apologized.”

“No, you didn’t, jerk.”

“I am sorry.”

“So, you don't think I'm fragile now?”

“No. I think you're one of the toughest people I've ever
met. Look!” he says suddenly. I glance back toward him and follow where's he's
pointing. “A great blue heron,” he explains as I spot the huge bird with its
wings spread, perched on a rock in the middle of the river. “That's how they
dry their feathers after they dive for fish.”

He stops rowing for a while as we watch it. Suddenly it pulls
its wings in, gathers itself like a coil, and launches into the air. We watch
it fly into the distant treetops before we begin paddling up the river again.

“Why are you interested in history?” I ask him.

“I like understanding why people behave the way they do,” he
explains quietly. I resist the urge to ask how this relates to his
own
history, trying to respect the boundaries he’s put up.

“How's Greg?” he asks suddenly. I turn around and narrow my
eyes at him.

“What? That's a friendly question,” he says with a devilish
grin.

“I…I don't want to talk about it,” I reply, a little more
huffily than I intend to.

“OK…so that either means really good or really bad.”

“It's not
really
bad,” I protest.

“Uh-oh.”

I sigh. “It's just, there's no…you know…”

“Spark?”

“Exactly. I have to tell him soon—I don't want him to get
hurt. Not that I think I'm breaking his heart or anything—”

“I saw the way he looks at you.”

“Meaning?”

“He's falling fast. I'd tell him before he falls any
further.”

“I think you're exaggerating.”

“Trust me.”

We fall back into a comfortable silence as I think about his
words. The stillness of the river, broken only by a soft wind blowing through
the trees, helps to ease my anxiety over the conversation I need to have with
Greg. The concept of “problems” seems to fade out here, though perhaps it’s the
unrelenting heat, which feels like it's beginning to melt my body into the seat
of the kayak. I grab the sweating bottle of water from between my feet and take
a long swig.

“Water?” I ask Nate, turning to offer it to him. He takes
it, brushing my fingers with his as he wraps his long fingers around it. My
insides clench…speaking of a spark. I spot a house very much like ours up on a
hillside in the distance. “Where'd you live before the house now?”

“Townhouse in Georgetown.” He says. “It was less of a
behemoth. Had more character.”

“The mansion isn't your taste?”

“It was always big for two people, and it still seems big,
even for four. But what I really don't like is that it's got all these fake
historical touches about it, and none of them are genuine.”

“Anathema to a history major.”

“Exactly. I always pictured myself in a smaller house, maybe
a converted barn or something…one that was actually built in the time period it
looks like it was built in. Maybe somewhere quieter than DC…it's pretty elitist
here…I want my kids to grow up more modestly than I did.”

“You want kids?” I ask, surprised.

“You don't?”

“No, I do…I'm just surprised. You know that having kids might
necessitate being in a relationship with a woman for longer than you're used
to.”

He laughs. “I honestly hadn't thought of that. I always just
pictured myself with kids. Is that horrible?”

“Yes!” I reply, quickly reaching down and flinging water
back at him.

“Hey!” he cries, and grabs the sides of the kayak, beginning
to rock it back and forth. “I'll tip this thing over,” he warns me with a grin.

“Nate!” I protest, grabbing on. He relents, and keeps rowing
after a moment.

“I think your mom picked the hottest day of the year,” he
observes.

“Want to head back?” I ask, hoping he'll say no.

He pauses. “Guess we should.”

I nod, feeling disappointed, and dip my oar in the water to
help him turn the kayak. Now that we're going with the current, it takes us
much less time to make the return trip back to the boat house.

“How’s your shoulder?” I ask.

“It’s better, actually,” he says happily, “thanks for
asking.”

I feel a tightening in my throat as we pull into the
shallower water. Nate steps onto the dock first, then offers me his hand to
help me get out of the unsteady boat.

“Much shadier under the trees,” he observes, nodding to a
hiking trail that cuts through the trees behind the boat house. I look at him
questioningly. “Short hike before we go back?”