Mine: A Stepbrother Romance: (With bonus novel Bossy!) (48 page)

Where the fuck was I when they were doing pictures?

Probably ignoring everything and hoping it would go away. I made so many excuses to avoid being around Dad and Annette in the last few months. I was always walking my non-existent dog or “stuck in traffic”.

Claire looks so pretty in her picture. I wonder what I would have done if I’d been there. We’d have reconnected in totally different circumstances. Maybe things would’ve been easier for us.

Or maybe we’d never have hooked back up at all.

I notice that Mom is missing, and Claire’s dad too. A nice and neat, new little family. How convenient. Annette wiped the house clean of our messy pasts.

Taking off my shoes, I step into the hall and yell, “Anybody home?” Knowing my luck, they’re all out.

Dreading more changes, I start up the curved staircase to the second floor. Right away I can see I was at least partly wrong. There are more pictures. Lots more. From the bottom of the stairs to the top, there are small pictures dotting the wall. New ones alongside old images I haven’t seen in ages. Mom and me. Dad and Mom on their wedding. Me as a kid.

But not just us. There are pictures of Claire and her Dad. Happy times it looks like from before he got sick. I recognize one that must have been taken around the same time as the one on her desk.

Both of our families are there, in all their iterations. It surprises me. Last time I was home, everything was cleared away with a fresh coat of paint on the walls.

I feel like a hypocrite. I’m never home because of all the memories, but I’m willing to resent Annette for putting those memories away. Fucking masochism, is what that is.

Which room is Claire’s? Probably not my old room, though there’s a dirty sort of appeal in the idea of fucking her deep in the bed where so many teenage fantasies played out. We’d probably break it, if it’s still there. My fifteen year old self would be proud.

Taking the stairs one by one, I call out again. “Claire? You home?” Why am I going so slowly? What the hell am I afraid of? That she doesn’t want to see me? That she won’t talk to me? Fuck if I know. She’s probably not even here.

At the top, both the door to my room and the door to the guest room are closed. Dad’s master suite is open a crack, but she’s not in there. Instead, I knock on the guest room door.

No answer. I try my room, just in case. You never fucking know, right? I knock, but it’s as quiet as the guest room.

Oh fuck it, it’s my damn room. I open the door.

Whatever I expected, what I see wasn’t it. It’s still my room, I guess, but on my wall is a huge picture of Mom and me that didn’t use to be there. It’s from one of the last vacations we took together as a family, and on my desk is a little jar of sand I know came from that same trip. I remember her cleaning out the glass and filling it up so we could take the beach with us.

There are other photos, along with bits and pieces of my life pulled out of boxes and off dusty shelves to be given places of honor, but none of them feel important next to this.

I pick up the jar and hold it, sitting down on the bed with my eyes closed so I can feel the sun. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep in this room again, but somehow knowing it exists makes me feel better.

“Do you like it?” Annette’s voice sounds behind me softly. Whirling around, I find her standing in the doorway, leaning against it. “I went through everything I could find and tried to pick what I thought would mean the most. I figured you’d want the memories.” She’s cautious, staying away like she’s not sure what I’ll do or say.

I suppose I’ve earned that. “Does it matter what I think? I don’t live here anymore.”

She surprises me by drawing herself up straight and taking a step closer. I stand, towering over her. Annette raises her head and looks up like it doesn’t matter that I’m nearly a foot taller. She might not be
my
mom, but she sure is
a
mom.

There’s a look only mothers seem to have. The one that makes a person feel like they’re about to get grounded, no matter how old they are. When she takes a step closer, I’m halfway taking a step back before I catch myself, standing my ground.

Her frustration bubbles over, and she looks so much like Claire when she’s angry that I have to keep myself from grinning. “Declan, I’m trying here. I’m not your mom, and I never will be.”

“Obviously.” I don’t even really mean to be sarcastic. It just comes out reflexively. I sigh and try again. “I know, Annette.”

She huffs and looks ready to throw something. “Do you? Because I think you look at me and see some sort of monster, and I don’t know what else to do to prove I’m not. Your father loves us both, and I know a part of his heart will always belong to your mother. If you look around, I’ve left something of her in almost every single room.” She looks away sighing. “It’s not a competition. She’s part of your history, and I accept that, just like Garrett accepts that Claire’s father is part of ours.”

I’m too stubborn to know when to quit. “I’m not stupid. I get it, but I don’t have to like it.”

Annette tips up her chin and looks me in the eyes. “It’s a good thing your opinion doesn’t matter, then.” Her tone is icy.

“What do you mean it doesn't matter?”

“It doesn’t,” she says with a shrug. “Your father and I are in love. I’m here to stay, and you can get used to it, or not. I’ve gotten a second chance at happiness, just like your father. We’d be idiots to let that go, even if you don’t like it.” Bringing her hand up, she rubs her forehead, like she’s working out a headache.

“Well I don’t.”

Her eyes flash like lightning. “Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m not your mother, and you don’t have to like me, but you will respect me. I love your father, and you’ll just have to deal with that.” She throws up her hands. “God, I don’t understand what Claire sees in you.”

My head jerks in surprise. “Sees in me?”

“I’m a mother, remember? What, you didn’t think I could figure it out? She adored you until your stunt at the wedding.” She shudders.

“Annette. I swear, it wasn’t me. The only person who had that footage was Michael. I’d never seen it until then. I was only trying to shut the damn thing off.” Claire’s mom might not be my favorite person, but I don’t want her to think I’d do something so cruel.

“Michael, right. So where was he?”

“When you guys charged in? Apparently crawling away with his tail between his legs.”

She arches her eyebrows, waiting for my explanation.

“Look, I spotted him going in, and I should’ve dragged him to security or something, but I tried to handle it myself. You saw how well that worked out.” I sigh. “Claire is the one that needs to hear this, but if she’s not around, I’ll see myself out.”

“Declan, wait.” She stops me as I leave the room. “Claire isn’t ready to talk to you. Even if you’d found her here. But I’ll tell her what you said.”

“You believe me?”

One slender shoulder tips in a half shrug. “I agree with Garrett that it seems out of character, and I’m willing to defer to his judgment considering he knows you better. Personally my experiences with you haven’t left me so inclined to be generous.”

I wince. “And it doesn’t bother you that Claire and I were,
are
... involved?”

“Truthfully? Yes it bothers me, because you seem petty and immature. But it bothers me more to see her like she is now. Quiet, adrift and obviously not over you in any sense that I can think of.” She shrugs. “She’s an adult, and she’s seen me make mistakes in the name of love. Maybe she sees something in you that I don’t.”

I nod. “That’s fair.” With a sigh, I do one of the things I’m worst at. “Annette, I’m sorry.”

She purses her lips, bemused. “For which thing are you apologizing? Just so I know.”

Shit, I can see where Claire got her attitude from. I’m starting to see why this was finally the woman who got through to Dad. “For being a dick. You’ve obviously put a lot more thought into me and my happiness than I have yours. Can we start over, maybe?”

Her face softens. “I’d like that.”

I hold out my hand. “Declan Riordan, stepson, lawyer, hotheaded jerk.”

“Nice to meet you, Declan.” She takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “Annette Riordan, event planner, wife, not your fucking mother.”

A laugh bursts out of me, and she takes one look at my face before laughing right along with me. This might just work out after all.

Now all I have to do is win back the girl.

“H
ello?” It takes a second before I realize I haven’t answered the call yet because I actually need to press a physical button.

My old phone is in pieces by the roadside, and I need to get a new one—which is great, I guess—but in the meantime I’m borrowing one of Mom’s old phones and it’s straight out of the digital stone age, plus none of my contacts are in it.

On the positive side, hardly anyone has this number, so I don’t have to worry about hearing from Declan, or Michael or pretty much anyone else on my current shit list.

I find what I hope is the right button and try again. “Hello?”

“What’s the difference between a lawyer and a herd of buffalo?”

A faint smile curls my lips. I haven’t missed work, but I’ve missed Carl. He must've gotten the number from Mom. “I have no idea. What is it?”

“A lawyer charges more.”

I groan with appropriate theatrical flair. “That one was horrible. Really horrible.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound it. “I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here. I think you’ve heard all my good ones.”

“No, wait. How about, ‘Nobody would bother bringing lawyers back from the brink of extinction’?”

He laughs. “You’re a natural, kid. Why are you wasting your time studying so you can work with these stick-in-the-muds?”

“It’s one of life’s great mysteries. So what’s up?” I look out the kitchen window at the grounds behind Garrett’s house. I might be living here now but it doesn’t feel like mine. Not yet, if ever. Anyway, if Carl’s calling me, something is probably going on, and that something likely involves Declan.

“It’s about Mr. Riordan.”

I knew it. “Listen, it’s great to hear your voice and this oatmeal isn’t nearly as satisfying as a donut, but there’s a reason I’m not picking up
Mr. Riordan’s
calls. I don’t want to talk to him. It doesn’t matter whose phone he uses. Feel free to tell him that.”

“Don’t hang up.” The words rush out of him before I can disconnect. “He didn’t ask me to call, it’s not like that. Well, okay, it sort of is, but hang on a minute. He’s not here. It’s just me.”

A phantom noose is dropping down around my throat, threatening to drag me back into Declan’s drama, but I owe Carl. Even if listening to him about chances got my heart stomped on. “Alright. What’s this about?”

“I’ve got a message of sorts for you. Do you have the news on?”

“No. Why?”

“The Cooper trial starts today. They’ve allowed for televising it.”

That’s unusual. I know for a fact we were planning on requesting the trial be held in private. Or at least as private as such a juicy popular interest story can get. “Why on earth would they do that?”

“Well, obviously the workers want all the attention they can get on the case, so their lawyers requested it. The judge allowed it, and for God knows what reason, Mr. Riordan agreed.”

That’s beyond unusual. That’s crazy. Why on Earth would Declan agree? It’s not like Cooper isn’t in a terrible light already. Putting that sleaze on camera for everyone to see? It will be a nightmare.

“Anyway, Mr. Riordan said that you had some sort of personal stake in this case and asked me to call and let you know it would be televised. That’s the whole message. I don’t know anything more, honest.”

None of this makes sense, unless... Unless he’s having it televised for me. I hated being on the wrong side of the case, but I’m actually interested in seeing how it plays out and Declan would know that. What does it mean that he wants me to watch?

It could be a peace offering, him wanting me to watch the inevitable crash and burn, or it could be another setup. Maybe he’s so secure in his win that he wants to rub it in my face.

I want to believe the first, but I’m afraid it might be the second.

Either way, the bait has been dangled, and I know I won’t be able to resist watching. “Alright, I’ll turn it on. I hope you’re making his life miserable, by the way. I can’t be there to help, but I’m sure you can think of something.”

He laughs, a loud braying sound that comes straight from his gut. “I miss you
and
your donuts.”

“Miss you too, Carl.” I never thought I’d miss that laugh, but I do. “Maybe I’ll drop by one day to say hi.” Not very likely, not so long as Declan’s working there.

He one-ups me. “How about we make plans for lunch next week? I’ll email you, and we’ll figure something out.” Carl pauses, and I almost hang up, but then he drops his second bomb. “I’m not the only one who misses you.”

The noose tightens, squeezing my heart instead of my neck. “It doesn’t matter. He went too far.”

“I know, kiddo. I know.
If
it was him. Do you really believe he’d go that far??”

“You think Declan has limits?” What a joke. Even so, what if? I can’t go down that route. I won’t. “Right and wrong don’t matter to him. He told me as much himself when he convinced me to work that case. What matters is who presents the strongest argument, and let’s just say that the evidence is stacked against him.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

I shake my head even though I know he can’t see it. “My heart isn’t as durable as the criminal justice system.”

“T
his is Anne Caraway for Breaking News. In a move that surprised many industry experts, Cooper Holdings has refused any attempt to settle the lawsuit brought against them on behalf of a large group of former employees. Today, we will be bringing you the start of what promises to be quite an interesting trial.”

The TV at Garrett's house is so ridiculously huge that I feel like I should’ve brought popcorn. It’s like watching the news on a movie screen. Considering I’ve never seen him even turn it on, it feels like a bit of a waste.