Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (8 page)

The longer I stared out the window and tried to control my thoughts
and feelings, the less I loved Ashton and the more I hated him. I hated him for
not telling me. I hated him for never telling anyone. I hated him for letting
his father get away with it, again and again.

Not, I knew, that there was anything he could have
really
done. He’d almost done enough
just by saving me. But I couldn’t help it: I was mad about so much, and some of
that anger funneled directly to Ashton.
He
should have told me, he should have told everyone,
I thought, the words
repeating themselves over and over again.
He’s
a soldier. He’s supposed to protect us.

That wasn’t fair, either. This wasn’t a grenade he could have jumped
onto. This wasn’t a firefight. This wasn’t a car bomb that could be defused. It
was a totally different animal. A beast, I thought. A big, monstrous beast he’d
kept inside for years. And now that it was out…

Now it’s my job,
I thought. I remember that moment because it was
so surprising to me. The thought surprised me. In that moment, I didn’t feel
like I could do
anything
but lay in
bed for the rest of my life. But somewhere, deep down, I knew that I couldn’t
stay silent. I couldn’t just run away. I had to
do something.
Say something. Tell someone. Ashton had let the beast
loose, and now it was my turn to kill it.

But how?

10

“How long have you been driving?” It had been thirty or minutes or so
since we’d spoken, and I’d only just realized that if Ashton had been driving
since the night before, he must be tired. Maybe he’d stopped and taken a nap or
gotten some food while I was sleeping, but somehow I felt that wasn’t the case.

“Since we left,” he said, not looking at me. I wondered if he knew
about the feelings, the thoughts, I’d been having, and assumed he could at
least guess at a few of them. I still wasn’t ready to be lovey-dovey with him,
but I didn’t feel hate towards him anymore. Maybe some disappointment, maybe
some disgust, and certainly a lot of anger, but not hate. All those feelings
sat on the surface: underneath, I knew, I still loved him.

“We should stop,” I said, placing one hand over his. The contact was
warm, but it felt cold inside me. I wondered if, after what the Admiral had put
me through, my ability to feel desire and lust had been chased away again. I
mean, there’s nothing like attempted rape to give you second thoughts about
sex.

The coldness of that contact was almost the worst thing about it all.
I’d only just discovered my ability to feel that sort of pleasure, that sort of
connection with another human being. And now I couldn’t imagine feeling that
way again. Of all the things the Admiral’s actions had taken from me, like my
dignity and feeling of security, that would be the worst.

“I don’t want…”

“And I don’t want to die because you fall asleep at the wheel. At
least let me drive for a while. Please, let’s stop and get gas and food, and
then I can drive for a while,” I said. Ashton nodded, not taking his eyes from
the road.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Next exit, we’ll get
off, okay?”

Seven minutes later we were pulling into a rundown gas station. It
could have been a gas station anywhere, and it reminded me a little too much of
the gas stations back home. Suddenly, I yearned to see the ocean, or the
mountains, or anything except that flat, sad land. There, at least, I could
pretend to be someone new. Seeing something new. I wanted to peel away my old,
dirty skin and be reborn into a more beautiful world, where things like what
had happened to me and those other girls never happened to anybody.

Maybe Ashton will take me there, maybe we will go
to Colorado,
I found myself
thinking, the thought warm and comforting. It was a little glimmer of hope that
I could, in fact, feel normal and good again. There was a light at the end of
the tunnel, after all. Dim, and distant, but there nonetheless.

The dinging of the door-open alarm shook me from
my reverie.

“Want anything?” Ashton asked, halfway out of the driver’s seat. I
nodded and unclipped my seatbelt.

“I want to go inside and get some food,” I said, slipping out of my
side. The truck was so high that I had to hop out, and a plume of dust rose
around my ankles as I landed. I realized, as I walked towards the front door of
the gas station, that I must look a sight. From crying, from sleeping in a car,
from not having showered in a day. From the struggle…

No, no, stop,
I thought. I had to take more control over my thoughts. I couldn’t let
my mind run crazy with memories and bad thoughts. If I was going to recover
from this, fully recover, I had to be mindful and reign myself in.
He didn’t get to do what he wanted, Christy.
So many girls have been through so much more,
I thought to myself. It made
me shiver. If I felt this bad from him just
trying,
I couldn’t imagine what those girls had felt when…

And there I went, letting my mind run away again. I shook my head, as
though I could physically remove the thoughts. The bells above the door jingled
as I stepped into the little market. The shelves were stuffed with snacks that
only people who’ve been on the road for hours would really want.

I made straight for the Pop-tarts, remembering how my mother used to
let me eat Pop-tarts on weekends when I was growing up. During the week, she
liked me to eat a healthy breakfast: eggs and toast and fruit and all that. But
weekends she’d let me toast Pop-tarts and watch TV, and I always had a soft
spot for them because of that.

You need to get yourself together, Christy,
I thought again as I felt tears pricking behind
my eyes. It was one of those moments where you can almost get a bird’s-eye view
of yourself: I was a girl in a dusty gas station, idly handling a package of
Pop-Tarts, looking at them like they held the secrets of the universe, tears
watering up her eyes.

I looked up and out the window; Ashton was pumping gas, staring back
at me through the grimy glass. I smiled and waved, half-heartedly, and picked
up a few other snacks before heading to the register. The old man tending the
cash register was exactly as interested in me as I was him: not at all. It was
only when he told me the total and watched me frantically searching my pockets
for my wallet that I think he actually looked at me.

I smiled nervously, realizing that I’d left my wallet at the house.
Of course I had. I’d had bigger things
on my mind than making sure my debit card was with me. I waved frantically at
Ashton at the gas pump, trying to get his attention. The old man tapped his
fingers on the counter, as though annoyed by the hold-up, even though we were
the only ones at the station. Annoyance twinged in my mind:
Oh, am I making your day difficult, sir?
Sorry, being on the run from your rapist step-father is nothing compared to the
hell that you’re going through, I’m sure.

Finally, Ashton saw me and trotted into the
store.

“I left my wallet…” I said, gesturing towards the bagged items on the
counter. Ashton paid for the snacks and grabbed the bag, escorting me out of
the store with one hand on the small of my back. A day ago, that slight contact
would have sent me into a frenzy. Now, it almost made my skin crawl: that
feeling of being slightly pushed, the dominance inherent in the action.

Outside, I lagged behind, taking a moment to stare out into the
endless plains.
Is this going to be
forever?
I wondered. Since I’d woken up, I’d felt sad, and angry, and
confused, and annoyed, and fearful, and overwhelmed. Not an ounce of happiness
or relaxation. What if he’d broken me? What if I was going to be this way for
the rest of my life?

He didn’t break you,
I thought, my internal voice suddenly coming in
strong and fierce.
He can’t. He can only
break you if you
let him
break you.

Fuck that.

I was Christy Starling, and I wasn’t going to let one asshole change
that. I was too smart, too independent, too
good
to be taken down by the Admiral. I was going to take
him
down instead. Immediately, my brain started turning, the way it
did when I was working out a particularly tough issue in my schoolwork.

I felt a flood of energy coursing through me, the same energy that
always possessed me when I felt inspired or determined. The energy that had
taken me to the top of my class, the energy that had put me at the forefront of
so many causes and rallies. The energy that meant I was about to throw myself,
head-first, into an impossible situation, and come out victorious.

Ashton said not to go to the cops, and that might
be true, but what about the media? I could take this straight to the Times. If
the government won’t do something, we’ll make them do something. I’ll tear that
motherfucker right down to hell. I’ll have to get some names from Ashton of the
other girls, start making calls, I’ll talk to Professor Jordans, he’s got
connections in the media…

My mind was already three steps ahead of me as I trotted back to the
truck, hoisting myself into the front seat, seeing my own eyes, now burning
with purpose, in the rearview. Ashton looked at me strangely from the driver’s
seat, hand poised on the keys. I knew he could see the change that had come
over me.

“Everything okay?” he asked, waiting to turn the key in the ignition.
I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a scowl.

“I’m going to take him down, Ashton,” I said, repeating the phrase
that had been running on a loop in my mind. Ashton looked confused, then
anxious.

“And how do you reckon…”

“Does it matter? You don’t want to go to the police, fine, we won’t go
to the police. But by the end of the week, every major news source in America
is going to be talking about Admiral Joe Walsh,” I said, the words spitting out
of my mouth like bullets from a gun. The anxious look didn’t leave Ashton’s
face.

“I don’t know if….”

“I do. Let’s go, please. Let’s get to your aunt’s house, at least, and
then we can talk. But it’s going to happen, Ashton. I’m not going to take this
lying down. I’m sorry if you…”

“No, no, it’s okay. I should have expected this. I mean, you are…well,
you’re you, after all,” he said, smiling through a mask of fear.

Why is he so afraid?
I wondered. I mean, there was obviously some
father-son loyalty that was going to be seriously strained if he was going to
help me expose the Admiral, but from what I could see of Ashton and the
Admiral’s relationship, that shouldn’t be too hard to get over. Unless there
was something else…

“You don’t have to help me, Ashton,” I said as the engine turned over
and we headed back towards the highway. “I’d like your help, I’ll take anything
you’ll give me, but if there’s something you’re scared of…”

“I’m a soldier, Christy. I dealt with scary shit every day overseas.
This is different but…well, I’m supposed to be protecting the free world,
right? Well, I’d say this country would be a lot safer without my father. I
just…don’t underestimate him, Christy. He’s smart, and he’s powerful. And he’s
ruthless. We just need to be very, very careful.”

I stared at Ashton’s profile, his eyes fixed on the miles ahead.
Reaching into the bag of food, I pulled out the Reese’s cups I’d bought.
Something like happiness glowed softly as I fingered the bright package. When
we were kids, so many years ago, Ashton and I would always split a Reese’s when
we got a ride into town. One for each of us. Now, I saw a tiny smile creep
across Ashton’s face as he looked at the candy out of the corner of his eye.

“Remember this?” I asked, holding out one of the candies. He took it,
his fingers barely grazing mine.

“Of course,” he said, holding the cup in one hand and looking at it in
short glances, as though it was the first time he ever saw one. “It’s been a
long time since I had one of these.”

I bumped my own peanut butter cup against the
side of his.

“Here’s to all the wars we fight, wherever they are,” I said. “Here’s
to coming out the other side in one piece.” I took a huge bite out of my
portion, suddenly plunged into the past, where none of this had happened yet.
Ashton smiled at me, chuckling slightly.

“You’ve changed your approach,” he said, swallowing his entire piece
in one bite. I shot him a puzzled look, my mouth still full of chocolate.

“You used to eat off the ends. You’d, like, nibble all around ‘til it
was just the peanut butter with chocolate on the top and bottom. Then you’d
pull off the top and eat that. And
then
you’d
eat the peanut butter with one layer of chocolate. It was so…patient. I always
thought it was cute,” he said. I remembered, now, that I
had
been very particular about eating my Reese’s. It had been a
long time since I’d had one at all…

“I can’t believe you remember that,” I said.

“I always remember things like that. About you. Like, when you used to
wear those shoes all the time. Remember, those like little white tennis shoes?
You wore them for three summers straight, and they were grey and full of holes?
But you loved them. You said they felt like home for your feet. And that summer
we had that game, sort of, where we’d yell ‘Eye of the Tiger’ lyrics randomly,
during dinner and just anywhere? Drove everyone crazy…”

“Oh man, I forgot all about that. Do you remember that day you
convinced me that if I stared hard enough at that picture in the living room,
I’d see a ghost? That was the summer I was all about Ghost Hunters, and I
stared at that picture for like three hours…”

Ashton laughed, and it was infectious: it felt wrong to laugh, to let
myself have a moment of happiness, but I couldn’t help it. And that’s really
when I felt like it could all be alright in the end. Until I felt Ashton’s hand
against my thigh. It was as inoffensive as possible: he gently laid his palm
against my leg, giving me a soft squeeze. But to me, it felt like the weight of
the world landing against my flesh. My heart constricted slightly. He felt the
change as my body tensed.