Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (9 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving his hand away. The laughter was gone,
almost as though it had never been there at all.
Well, shit,
I thought.

“Nothing, I just…I don’t want to be touched right now,” I said,
mumbling the words, embarrassed as much as anything else.
What a little wimp you’re being,
I thought, reprimanding myself for
ruining the first nice moment since we’d gotten out onto the road. But the
memory of the Admiral’s body against mine was so fresh in my brain, so…heavy.

“I thought you were going to let me drive for a while,” I said,
wanting to change the subject again.

“Uhh, yeah, well,” Ashton said, keeping his eyes
far from mine.

“Please, you must be so tired. And I want to drive. I want to…do
something,” I said. I knew that, at the very least, being in control of the
truck would make me feel a little empowered, even if it was sort of a silly
way.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Ashton said, pulling over to the side of the
empty road. We both hopped out, trading seats, and I adjusted the driver’s seat
and mirrors to accommodate my significantly-smaller frame. I had been right;
with my hands on the wheel and my foot on the pedal, I
did
feel better. More in control. More occupied. Less idle. Now, at
least, I could keep my mind on driving and away from the Admiral.

“How far are we?” I asked.

“Another two hours, probably,” Ashton said, his eyes closed, his head
pressed against the window. I admired him for a moment in the sunlight that
streamed through the dusty, bug-spattered windshield. He looked calm, then. He
didn’t have that haunted look that I’d come to know so well in the month we’d
lived in the house together.

Now, when it was worse than ever for both of us, I could only be happy
that there was still sleep. I wished, though, with all my heart, that I could
reach out and run my fingers through his hair. But I couldn’t. Something inside
me said
no.

Not yet.

11

As the highway signs began to announce the exits for Pilger, where
Ashton had said his aunt’s house was, I said his name, quietly at first and
then louder. He stirred in his sleep. It had been silent in the car for the
past hour and a half as he slept and I drove, my mind staying on the road and
away from the mess.

Now, as he came back to consciousness, I wished we could keep driving.
Getting to wherever we were going meant stopping, and stopping meant nothing
but time to think and remember. I wanted to think about how to take the Admiral
down, but I also didn’t know if I was fully ready to sit down and process
everything. I knew that I’d have to deal with my feelings before I could really
work on retribution, but the thought of letting those thoughts and feelings in
scared me.

“We’re close,” came Ashton’s sleepy voice. The highway looked exactly
the same as it had two hours ago. We might as well have been riding along a
cartoon world, where the same illustrated background just played on a loop.

“Do you know how to get there from here?” I asked
as another old farmhouse flew by.

“Yeah,” Ashton said, righting himself and
awkwardly trying to stretch in the tiny cab.

“Does she know we’re coming?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t even
questioned it before. Ashton shook his head.

“She doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter. She hates my father. For good
reason, I guess. She’ll be fine with us staying with her. She’s got a big old
house, too, and she lives there all by herself. Hell, she’ll probably offer us
room and board for the rest of our lives if it means she has some company and
someone to help out with the horses,” he said.

“Horses?”

“She’s a breeder and she does riding lessons,” Ashton said, rummaging
through the bag of food I’d bought at the gas station. He seemed to be in
better spirits after napping; I wished I could say the same.

As we neared the farmhouse, Ashton giving me directions down dusty
side-streets and country roads, I felt my heart beginning to race.
She’s going to want to know,
I thought.
She would ask why we were there. What had happened…

I didn’t want to tell that story. But, I knew, I’d have to,
eventually. If I was going to bring down the Admiral, I’d have to tell it to a
lot of people – a courtroom full of people, probably. Maybe even on national
television. I’d have to start somewhere, and I guessed Ashton’s aunt, who
already hated the Admiral, was as good a place to start as any.

Finally, Ashton had me pull off onto a dirt road. After a mile or so,
a farmhouse appeared on the horizon. It looked old but well cared for; the
siding was caked in dust, but it wasn’t leaning to the side or collapsing on
one end like so many run-down old houses in the Grain Belt do. As we pulled up,
I turned off the engine, letting the light ticking of the car cooling down act
like a metronome.

Before we could even get out of the car, a woman appeared at the front
door. She was short, shorter than me, but seemed to radiate a sense of power.
She had fiery red hair and was wearing a plain cotton dress; if you’ve ever
seen or read “Little House on the Prairie”, she could have stepped right out of
that world. With one hand to her brow, shading her eyes from the sun, she put
her other hand on her hip.

Ashton glanced at me before opening his door and hopping out of the
truck; taking another moment to gather myself, I soon followed.

“Aunt Jane,” Ashton called, crossing the dirt
yard towards the house.

“Well, I fucking never,” the woman said, and I saw a smile appear on
her face as we got closer. “Ashton, pictures don’t do you justice.”

“You look great,” Ashton said, close enough now to embrace the woman,
who stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders.

“And who’s this little Juliet? Don’t tell me someone tied you down,
you’re too young for all that,” she said, breaking away from the hug to turn to
me, extending a weathered hand. Her grip was strong, almost intimidatingly
strong.

“I’m Christy, Ashton’s step-sister,” I said,
trying to match her grip but failing miserably.

“So you’re the one trynna change the world,” she said, standing back
with her hands on her hips again and looking at both of us. “What on earth
draws you two to my door? Can’t be the scenery.”

“Well,” Ashton said, looking at me. I knew he was wondering how much
to tell her. I was wondering, too. Jane saw the tension between us and raised
her eyebrows.

“Trouble on the homefront?”

I nodded.

“That damn brother of mine?”

I nodded again.

“Well, you come in now, have a sit down, you both
look mighty tired.”

She disappeared into the house, and we followed. It was sparsely
decorated but homey, almost cheerful in its simplicity. The living room had an
ancient fireplace and a single couch with a hand-knit quilt bunched up in the
corner. Bookshelves stuffed with huge tomes were lined up along the road. I
was, honestly, a little surprised as my eyes flitted over some of the more
obvious titles:
Civilization and its
Discontents, The Brothers Karamazov, The Art of War, The Bhagavad-Gita.

I lingered slightly looking at the bookshelves, but Ashton followed
Jane into the kitchen. I soon heard the clatter of cups and water pouring.

“Tea, Christy?” Jane called. I breathed deeply, focusing on the smell
of old books, dust, faint floral notes. It smelled like a home. Not my home,
perhaps, but “home” nonetheless. It was a comforting smell. The house seemed to
exude comfort, warmth, safety, much like Jane herself. Despite her “don’t mess
with me” vibe, there was something in her eyes that told me she was a good
person to have on your side, that she would fight for you if you needed her to.
She reminded me, almost, of my mother.

“Yes, please,” I called back, taking another second to feel settled
before moving into the kitchen, which was huge with an ornate wood stove in one
corner and a gigantic round table in the center. Ashton was already seated at
the table, and I took a chair across from him, running my fingers along the
rich oak surface. I glanced up at a clock set over the fridge and was more than
a little shocked to see that it was already 6pm. It hadn’t felt like such a
long drive.

“I wasn’t plannin’ on company, but I can whip us up something nice for
dinner. You eat meat, Christy?”

“Well, not usually, but I don’t want to…”

“Nonsense. You got your convictions, I respect that. They don’t treat
animals good anymore in this country, it’s a damn shame. But how about chicken
stock? Make it from my own girls, you can go see ‘em right outside if you want.
I could make up a stew, but I gotta use the chicken stock for that,” Jane said,
whipping around the kitchen, gathering sugar and milk for the tea.

“That would be fine,” I said, grateful enough for the safe haven she
was providing to not worry about offending my vegetarian sensibilities.

“Well, good, I have some bread to use up, anyway. You all have your
tea and get comfortable and we’ll have a nice big family-style dinner,” Jane said
just as the kettle began to scream. She nearly slammed the two cups of tea onto
the table; from someone else, it would have seemed like a sign of anger, but I
got the sense that Jane did
everything
with
that sort of force. It was a miracle that the teacups, which looked fairly
dainty, weren’t covered in chips and cracks.

“Thank you, so much,” I said, looking into my tea and feeling tears
pricking behind my eyes again. I was overwhelmed by the hospitality, by the
pervasive sense of safety. I realized that being on the road had been its own
sort of torture, with me having no idea where we were going or if we’d be okay
there.

After we finished our tea, Jane sent us upstairs to take showers in
the house’s two large bathrooms. When I emerged into the guest room she’d shown
me, the bed had been made up and an old-fashioned, long nightgown lay on the
comforter. I picked it up, smiling slightly.

It was frumpy as hell, and I couldn’t imagine who would ever want to
wear it, but it was better than putting on the clothes I’d been wearing again.
It was huge on me, billowing out like muumuu.
Well, I’m glad I don’t want to seduce Ashton tonight,
I thought,
the idea both comical and painful. Would I ever want to seduce him again?

I headed back down to the kitchen, where Ashton was already setting
the table. The thick smell of wholesome stew filled the first floor of the
house, and the end of a loaf of crusty bread sat in the center of the table.

Throughout dinner, which was warm and delicious and made me realize exactly
how hungry I’d been, we steered clear of any touchy subjects. I let Ashton do
most of the talking, filling his aunt in on his life overseas and his current
situation waiting for orders. She didn’t press anymore about why were there.
She seemed to accept it without question. I appreciated that almost more than
anything else she’d provided.

12

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to sleep: strange bed, strange smells, my
mind on fire with memories and questions. After dinner, though, Jane made some
strong chamomile tea, and I found myself nodding off before the old fireplace,
listening to the wood pop and the clock tick. I’d nestled myself up on the
couch, the old quilt draped over me, one of the copious books from the shelves
in my hand. When I woke up, early morning light was streaming in through the
high windows. The house smelled like fresh-baked bread.

Wandering into the kitchen, I found a hot mug of coffee waiting for
me, and Jane at the counter, slicing a still-steaming loaf with a large knife.
She turned as I entered.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did, actually. That tea is something
else,” I said.

“So’s the coffee,” Jane said, motioning to the mug set out on the
table. I let myself wake up slowly, keeping my most immediate concerns buried
underneath the haze of sleep and the bright morning light.

“Do you have a computer here?” I asked. It’d been two days since I
checked my e-mail, which was almost a century for me. Plus, I knew I needed to
call and cancel my credit cards and debit cards; even though I knew exactly
where my wallet was, I didn’t want to take any chances. Jane shook her head no.

“I don’t like ‘em. I go into town and use the library computers when I
need to,” she said. “You can take a ride into town today if you want, I could
use some groceries if you go.”

“I’ll ask Ashton,” I said, still feeling a sense
of dependency on him. Jane raised her eyebrows.

“You know, you can go on your own,” she said. “I hate to see a young
girl like you so attached to a man.”

I had to smile. Of all the things people had criticized me for, not
being independent enough had never been one of them.

“I know, I’m not usually…I’m very independent, normally,” I said,
somewhat sheepish. Jane nodded, dropping her gaze.

“Well, I s’pose you go through something, you’re entitled to want a
little comfort. Just don’t make a habit of it, now. Well, when I was your age,
I guess I thought I’d need a man around for everything. But look at me now! No
man around for years, and I’m doing just fine. ‘Course, some things it’s nice to
have a man around, but they got all sorts of toys for that now,” she said,
turning back to the loaf of bread she’d been cutting up.
 

My mouth must have dropped straight to the floor. I never expected, in
a million years, to be talking about sex toys with a crazy old lady living in
the middle of nowhere. But I had to admit: she had a lot of spunk, and just
being around her gave me a sense of strength. She wasn’t someone to mess with,
you could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice, and it was admirable to
say the least.

“How long have you lived out here?” I asked,
genuinely curious now to know more about her.

“Oh, I s’pose, getting on thirty, thirty-five years now. Me and this
old house been knocking around for a while. I know every nook and cranny, just
about. Something goes wrong, I don’t call no plumber. I fix it myself. This is
my house, and I take care of it. They teach you stuff like that at school? How
to keep your pipes from freezing? I bet not,” she said with a scoff.

“And you’ve lived out here alone for all that
time?”

“No, not all alone. Sometimes I take a farmhand in, in the summer, to
help with the horses. And I have my friends. Some gentlemen I keep in touch
with, sometimes they come out for a week or so, get a little rest. Give me a
little company, if you know what I mean. Like I said, a man can be good for
some things,” she said, a twinkle in her eye as she looked up at me. “But
mostly, I guess, it’s just me and the girls.”

“And you’re not afraid of, like, I don’t know, something happening to
you? I mean, even, like, the Admiral, if he knew we were here…”

Jane suddenly stopped what she was doing and looked me dead in the
eye. Knife in hand, she gestured at me, almost pointing at me with the knife.

“Somethin’s gonna happen to you no matter where you go, who you are,
who you with. Life doesn’t care if you’re married or you’re a kid or you’re in
jail. If whatever is out there decides you’re gonna have to deal with
somethin’, you better deal with it.
 
And once you dealt with it, you’re gonna be stronger than you were
before. Or you’re gonna die. Either way, it takes you out or you come up
throwin’ punches, you can’t do nothing about it until it happens. Ain’t no real
way to prepare for all the things life’s gonna throw at you, just be ready as
you can be.

Now, I don’t know what happened to you, between you and my
good-for-nothing, piece-of-shit brother, but if I know him, it was probably
somethin’ pretty damn nasty.
You
takin’ it all in now,
but you better believe you gotta buck up and get back if you wanna be happy
again. You didn’t ‘spect whatever happened, I’ll bet, but it happened. You can
walk away, but you’re just gonna be scared for the rest of your life. When you
ready to do something, you come to old Jane Walsh, we’ll figure it out and
you’ll be stronger.

‘Til then, you’re
welcome to stay here. But if I see you doing nothin’ and doing nothin’, that’s
when you’re not welcome anymore. You can’t be afraid, little miss. You’re
young, you gotta lotta learning ahead of you, but you can’t be afraid. And I
don’t harbor no cowards in this house. So don’t you go asking me again if I’m
afraid of somethin’ happening. I ain’t afraid of shit, and I sure as hell ain’t
afraid of that bastard of a brother of mine. By the time we’re through with
him, he won’t be no scarier to you than a fruit fly.”

With that, she plunged the knife into the loaf of bread. She looked
defiant, strong, unbreakable. I wanted to be her in that moment, with that fire
behind her eyes. It dimmed as she began to cut the bread into slices again, but
it was still there.
 

I don’t know if anyone had spoken to me quite like that before. I
guess I’d always puffed myself up enough with politics and book smarts that I
seemed intimidating, like I could hold my own and didn’t need advice. But now,
after everything, I was finding out who I really was. In Jane’s eyes, I was a
scared little girl. And, to be honest, that’s how I’d felt ever since the
incident. In between the various bursts of energy and anger, I’d felt lost and
fearful.

But everything she said was true, and, coming from her, it was useful.
Here, cutting bread, was a woman who’d obviously fought her share of fights,
who’d found a place where she could be happy, who’d made peace with herself,
her God, her life. I didn’t need someone to tell me that it would behoove me to
pay attention when she spoke.

I don’t harbor no cowards in this house,
she’d said. The words rang in my ears. I felt the
same surge of ambition I’d felt standing outside the gas station. I wasn’t a coward,
and I’d prove it.

“Let me tell you, then,” I said. I wanted to look down at my lap, but
I forced myself to keep looking at Jane, who’d turned back to me, placing the
knife down on the table. She moved towards me, taking a seat across the table.

She looked less fierce than she had during her little sermon, more
open. It was amazing to me how she could so quickly change from the overbearing
and intimidating force she’d been when she was speaking and this softer woman,
offering a sympathetic ear.

“You go ahead, then,” she said, reaching out to take one of my hands
in hers. Unlike my flinching at Ashton’s touch, her hand felt warm against
mine. It also felt old, almost crinkly with wrinkles and callouses. It felt
almost like my mother’s hand. I felt tears prickling behind my eyes as I
wished, for the umpteenth time, that my mother was still alive so I could talk
to her.

“There’s not much to it, really. He…he tried…” I stuttered over the
words. It would be the first time I spoke them aloud. For some reason, it felt
like by saying the words I would make it true, whereas keeping them in my head
made it easier to act like it was just a dream or a story.

“He tried to rape me. That’s all. There’s nothing more, really. But
that’s what happened. That’s why we came here. And he’s done it before,” I
said. The words had fallen flat when I said them. I’d been expecting something
more: fireworks or sirens or a gas explosion. Something momentous to really
drive the point home. It seemed like the words, “he tried to rape me”, weren’t
enough. They needed to be accompanied by some sort of catastrophic soundtrack.

Across from me, Jane nodded, her face soft but
her eyes turning cold and steely.

“I coulda guessed that, angel child,” she said after a long pause. “He
always was a pushy fucker. Always tryin’ to get the girls into his car. Even
tried to get me once or twice, that sick little shit. He hit you? He hit your
momma?”

I shook my head no. “No, he didn’t hit me, he just…he tried to force
himself on me. I thought he was just drunk but…and then Ashton told me about
these girls in the Navy. For years, Jane, he’s been doing this. And no one’s
stopped him. And he
kissed
me, with
his dirty mouth, oh, it was so awful, I was so scared…”

I couldn’t help myself. As I spoke, tears rolled down my cheeks. My
voice grew high-pitched and strained. I kept speaking, revealing details I’d
been trying to forget. Saying them didn’t feel
right,
necessarily, but it somehow felt
better.
So did Jane’s hand stroking mine, and her eyes, which I can
only describe as being like a warrior before battle. Those eyes felt
invincible. And like they could protect me. As I went on, spewing out my
memories in between sobs, those eyes only grew more and more fierce.

Finally, the last of my words flew out and I slumped into my seat, my
last sobs heaving out of my chest. I felt emptied, almost hollow. It was a
welcome feeling, considering everything else I’d been going through. Jane’s
hand squeezed mine. She opened her mouth to speak, but we both jumped in
surprise as Ashton burst into the kitchen.

“I’ll kill him,” he said, his hands in fists,
shaking.

“Didn’t anyone teach you shit about eavesdropping?” Jane cried out,
dropping my hand and throwing her arms up in the air in frustration.

“I will, I’ll go back right now and put one between his beady little
eyes,” Ashton said, his jaw set in a horrific grimace.

“You’ll do no such thing, young man. You sit down and let me get you
some oatmeal. Little ball of trouble, you always were. Can’t get a second of
privacy,” Jane said, walking to the stove and ladling some oatmeal into a bowl.
It was almost funny, watching Ashton fuming while Jane sprinkled cinnamon over
the steaming bowl.

“How can you expect me to eat
oatmeal,
Aunt Jane? I mean, I saw it, at the end, I saw it happening, but listening
to it…listening to her, how can you just sit there and listen to it?” He was
talking directly to Jane now, as though I wasn’t even there.

“Ashton, sit down,” I said, wiping the wetness from my cheeks. I
hadn’t wanted Ashton to hear me break down like that. He knew I was hurting,
but not how much. But now he did, and now he was whipping himself into a
frenzy. Jane and Ashton both ignored me. I could see, for the first time, how
alike they looked, especially in their eyes. They shared the same warrior
quality.

“I can sit there and listen to it ‘
cause
that’s what Christy needs right now, not some damn fool murder plot. You sit
down, boy, and get something besides fire in your belly.” Jane set the bowl
down on the table with a loud clunk, then stood with her hands on her hips in a
staring match with Ashton. She won.

He sighed as he slid into the seat, idly turning the bowl around but
not eating. He was avoiding looking at me. I still felt invisible in the room.
Easing herself back down into the seat across the table from me, we could
almost have looked like a normal family enjoying a normal breakfast.

 
“I’m
sorry, Christy,” Ashton said, eyes still down. “It’s just hard to hear, you
know?”

 
“It’s okay. We’re gonna take
him down, somehow. I have connections at school who can get us in the media…” I
said, my mind already sprinting ahead. Speaking aloud about the incident had
made me feel like I was falling apart, but now that it was over and the words
were out, I felt more clear-headed and strong.