Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) (9 page)

Our
mom has been here in Montana for nearly a month already, spending some time in
her hometown of old to
“
ground herself
”
or something. Really, I think she just needed to get
out of Vermont, and away from the house she used to share with Dad. His death
three years ago totally leveled her, caused her to become even more flighty and
erratic than she had been while we were growing up.

Mom
’
s a visual artist, and a pretty decent one too. She
was always the fun, unpredictable parent while my father, Archie, was the
source of our stability. They really did balance each other well. Neither was
perfect, but they were perfect for each other. When we lost Dad, Mom lost that
sense of balance entirely. By the time I headed off to school, she was already
sleeping around again, inviting men back to the house on a whim, taking off on
unannounced
“
trips
”
despite
the fact that my little sister Annabel was only sixteen.

This
inconsiderate streak of my mother
’
s is something I
’
ve learned to work around out of necessity. Since Dad
died, I
’
ve gone out of my way to spend as
much time here at school as possible. I even stopped going home for the
summers, claiming that I wanted to take extra classes in order to graduate
early. And while there may be a nugget of truth in that, the real reason I don
’
t go back to Vermont anymore is because it
’
s just too painful. I need to keep distance between me
and my family, for the sake of my own mental health. My older sister Maddie is
doing the same thing by settling down in Seattle, whether she realizes it or
not. Grief may unite some families, but it
’
s flung us Porter women all across
the country.

Of
course, I couldn
’
t very well say no to a family
vacation when my mom planned for it to take place just a couple hours away. I
begrudgingly agreed to her little adventure, then immediately put it out of
mind. No getting out of it now, though. It looks like I
’
m headed into the backwoods for two weeks of awkward
family bonding.

Between
the impending reunion and the fiasco that was last night, this summer
’
s really getting off to a good start, huh?

Chapter Four

Outside of Kalispell, MT

One Week Later…

Squinting
in the bright afternoon sun, I trudge along the narrow shoulder of the highway
with my heavy backpack weighing me down. I don
’
t
own a car, so my only way of getting to this middle-of-nowhere lake house my
mother rented was to take a bus from Sheridan. Little did I know that the
“
nearby bus stop
”
my mom swore existed would be
three miles away from my final destination.

So
far, this vacation is definitely living up to my expectations.

My
caramel hair is plastered to my sunburnt forehead, my shoulders aching with
lugging my pack along. If I knew I
’
d be hiking to our vacation spot, I
would have left
War and Peace
behind in my dorm room. Nothing to be done
now, I guess. If my mom
’
s directions are right (which at
this point is anyone
’
s guess) the house should be just a
ways down the dirt road coming up on my right. I pause to rest before the final
leg of my long walk, letting my backpack fall to the hot pavement with a thud.
Just as I unburden myself, I spot a pickup truck rumbling down the road toward
me.

And
it looks to be slowing down.

“
Great,
”
I mutter as the truck approaches.

I
’
ve gotten more than enough catcalls, whistles, and
offers to trade a ride for a blowjob today. Montana boys can be just as forward
as any big city man, that
’
s for damn sure. I cross my arms,
trying to signal the driver that I
’
m not interested in being harassed
today. But, big surprise, he doesn
’
t pick up on the hint.

“
Hey there,
”
says a man
’
s voice over the pickup
’
s engine,
“
Are you
—
?
”

“
No,
”
I
cut off the driver,
“
I
’
m
not lost, I don
’
t need a ride, and I don
’
t have any cash, grass, or ass to spare. So you can
keep on trucking, pal.
”

The
man behind the wheel lifts the brim of his baseball cap, revealing a stoic but
handsome face halfway obscured by a bushy, salt and pepper beard.

“
Actually, I was going to ask if you
were Sophie Porter,
”
the man replies.

I
look up at him sharply, taken aback.
“
How do you
—
?
”

“
Thought so,
”
he nods,
“
You look just like Robin when she
was your age.
”

“
I
’
m
sorry
…
Who
are you?
”
I ask. I wouldn
’
t know this man from Adam
—
how is it that he knows both my and my mother
’
s name?

“
Apologies,
”
he goes on,
“
Shoulda introduced myself. Name
’
s John. I
’
m an old school friend of your
mother
’
s.
”

“
Oh,
”
I
reply,
“
That
’
s
…
nice.
”

“
Sure is,
”
John chuckles,
“
She told me you were coming in on
the bus, so I came out to meet you. That woman may be a good painter, but she
can
’
t read a map for shit.
”

“
That
’
s
for sure,
”
I smile tentatively.

“
Sorry you still had to walk most of
the way,
”
John goes on,
“
Come on. Let me give you a lift back to the house.
”

“
Um. All right,
”
I agree, approaching the truck and wrenching open the
rusty door.
“
You know where this lake house is,
then?
”

“
I sure hope so,
”
John laughs gruffly as I climb up into the truck,
“
I built the damn thing.
”

“
You built
…
the house we
’
re renting?
”
I ask him, totally lost.

“
Ah,
”
he
grumbles, pulling off onto the dirt road,
“
Guess Robin left out a couple
details about this little trip.
”

“
Guess so,
”
I reply, sinking back against the passenger
’
s seat,
“
Care to fill me in?
”

“
Well,
”
John
starts,
“
The long and the short of it is,
your Mom
’
s been staying with me while she
’
s back in town. She called up a couple months back and
let me know she was coming home for a spell. I told her she could crash with me
while she spent some time getting back to her roots.
”

“
Mom
’
s
been living with you this whole time?
”
I ask him, eyes wide.

“
Yep,
”
the
man replies,
“
Like I told you, we go way back,
Robin and me. Grew up in this little town together. Used to be thick as
thieves, once upon a time.
”

“
Uh-huh,
”
I say flatly.

Something
tells me that John and my mom are thicker than ever, if she
’
s been living out here in the woods with him
—
for months. Without letting any of her
daughters know. I
’
ve managed to avoid meeting too
many of Mom
’
s little boyfriends since Dad
passed away, but it looks like my lucky streak has just come to an end.

“
I didn
’
t realize this would all be news to you,
”
John says, stealing a glance at me,
“
I hope you can still enjoy yourself here. How long are
you staying?
”

“
Two weeks,
”
I tell him.
And not a second longer,
I add
silently to myself.

“
Plenty of time to kick back and
relax,
”
he smiles,
“
I really think you
’
ll
like it here. The house is plenty big for the whole lot of us. My boys aren
’
t exactly the most socialized creatures you
’
ll ever meet, but they
’
re
harmless. Mostly they just keep to themselves.
”

“
Your
…
boys?
”
I ask.

“
My sons,
”
John nods,
“
Got three of
‘
em. Otherwise known as
‘
a
handful
’
.
”

“
I
’
m
sure,
”
I reply, trying not to sound
annoyed. It
’
s bad enough that I
’
m stuck here in the boonies for two weeks. Now I have
to deal with some rowdy trio of country guys smashing beer cans against their
foreheads, and stalking around with BB guns, or
…
whatever
it is men do when left to their own devices?

Just
as the silence between John and I reaches the point of being comfortably long,
he turns off onto a long driveway lined with trees.

“
Here we are,
”
he says proudly,
“
Home sweet home.
”

I
peer through the windshield, expecting some rickety lean-to or dilapidated farm
house. But what I lay eyes on instead takes my breath away.

John
’
s house is a gorgeous, three story masterpiece. It
strikes the perfect balance between rustic and elegant, and through the trees
beyond it I can see a sprawling, crystal blue lake. The house
’
s well-made wooden exterior is a rich, deep brown,
spotted with dark green shutters that
—
I can
’
t
help but notice
—
are the same color as Luke
Hawthorne
’
s eyes.

Get
a grip, Sophie,
I
chide myself,
You
’
re supposed to be getting over Luke
while you
’
re here, not dwelling on him every
waking moment.

But
getting over Luke Hawthorne has proven to be easier said than done this past
week. I haven
’
t heard a word from him since our
steamy run-in at The Bear Trap. God, if only our little tryst hadn
’
t been cut short by that awful asshole who was
harassing Danny. If Luke and I had been alone for five more minutes
…

No
. It doesn
’
t bear thinking about. If he wanted to see me again,
he would have gotten in touch with me by now. He has my email address, doesn
’
t he? Granted, I also have his, but I can
’
t very well be the first one to reach out. Not after I
acted like such a weirdo at the end of the night. It
’
s time to face the facts: I totally botched my one
shot at getting it on with Luke Hawthorne, and now I have to get over it,
whether I like it or not.

“
John, this place is gorgeous,
”
I finally manage to say once I
’
ve forced Luke Hawthorne from my mind once more.

“
Thank you,
”
the man replies, bringing the pickup truck to a stop
and swinging down from the driver
’
s seat. When I scramble down after
him, I see that he
’
s built like a grizzly bear, tall
and imposing. I can
’
t help but be a little intimidated
by him, to be honest. But after the other night at the bar, I can say that I
’
ve met scarier guys than him. Thank god I had someone
to stand up for me when I did.

I
follow John around the house, admiring the wide covered verandah that circles
the house. He leads me up the stairs to the back patio, and I pause to take in
the gorgeous view of the lake. The smooth water reflects the horizon back on
itself, each tree, hill, and cloud cast in striking double relief. For the
first time, I manage to give this trip the benefit of the doubt. Maybe spending
some time in such a beautiful place, removed from the stresses of school,
friends, and my baffling love life will do me some good after all.

“
Is that Sophie?!
”
I hear my mother
’
s voice trill from inside the
house.

Before
I can even turn around, I
’
m being smothered by a cloud of
golden blonde curls and airy, girlish laughter.

“
Hello to you too, Mom,
”
I reply, pulling away from her ardent embrace to get a
look at her.

No
matter how much time goes by between our visits, my mother never seems to age.
John was right when he said that we look alike. With her slender figure, smooth
skin, and playful blue eyes run through with hints of gold, she looks more like
my sister than my mother. And more often than not, she acts like it, too.