Break Me: A Stepbrother Romance (7 page)

S
ummer

I
f there was
one thing I had never wanted to do, it was lie to my dad. Okay, fine, I’d never told him that Bram took my virginity. But
no one
ever tells their dad how they lost their virginity. So that didn’t count.

But I was lying to him now. As we walked through the farmer’s market on that beautiful summer morning, Dad chatting about the shop and asking about my business, I felt like a heel. On a normal day, I’d invite him to my apartment for a cup of tea before taking him home. But I couldn’t let my dad see the state of my apartment after Bram and I had spent the night screwing each other to pieces.

“It was such a nice surprise to see you two having breakfast,” Dad said to me as we took a break on a park bench, my bags of produce at my feet. “I think it’s good for him to spend time with you.”

“Um, Dad,” I said, glad he was looking out at the park greenery and not at my embarrassed face. “You’re making too much of it. We were just having breakfast. Just, you know, hanging out.”

“You’re forgetting that he hasn’t had the chance to ‘hang out’ with anyone except criminals for the past six years,” Dad said. “I remember so clearly what it’s like when you’re first out. It’s like you’ve forgotten how normal people act day in and day out. You’re always afraid you’ll say the wrong thing, and people will run screaming. Did he tell you that his mother won’t even speak to him?”

“What?” I had been so busy lusting after Bram, I hadn’t even asked him about Brenda. “No, he didn’t say anything about that.”

“He wouldn’t. He keeps it bottled up. Summer, Brenda cut herself out of Bram’s life as soon as he went to prison. She told him he wasn’t her son anymore. It was one of the reasons my marriage to her broke up.”

My jaw dropped. “But how could she judge him like that? She knew about your past when she married you. She knew how you’d rebuilt your life.”

“And she thought Bram’s arrest was due to my influence,” Dad said. He looked sad about it, but there was a hard glint in his eyes. “She said Bram was following a pattern, and she couldn’t stick around to watch it. I heard she remarried and runs a yoga retreat in New Mexico.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Does she know Bram is out?”

“He called her and told her, but all he got was her voicemail. She never called him back.” His expression darkened. “Bram doesn’t know this, and don’t tell him—but when I heard that, I called her myself. I got her voicemail, too, and you better believe I gave her a piece of my mind.”

My heart sank. I was distant from my own mother, but we had come to an understanding over the past few years. She was happily married now, and her hatred and distrust of my dad had faded over time. We weren’t best friends, but we talked on the phone at least once a month, and we made time to visit at Christmas. It had been hard enough for me to grow up refereeing between my father and my mother—and both of them loved me. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Bram, whose father had abandoned him as a toddler and whose mother no longer admitted he was her son.

It was so easy to look at Bram and see muscles, tattoos, and a criminal record. It was harder to see what was really inside—even for me, who should know better.

“Dad,” I said, “does he ever talk to you about—about the night of the liquor store robbery?” I couldn’t put the Bram I knew together with the picture of a violent felon.

Dad was quiet for a long minute, watching people stroll by in the park, cyclists and moms with strollers. “Bram made a mistake,” he said. “A big one. If you want to know about it, you’ll have to ask him. It’s his story to tell.”

I stared down at my lap. I couldn’t tell him that Bram and I didn’t exactly have that kind of relationship—the kind where we told each other things.

But maybe that was wrong. Even after he’d launched me into the atmosphere last night, we’d sat at breakfast and I’d told him about my life. He’d confided in me about his worries over Dad’s shop. We’d had some good times that summer I was eighteen, too, before we took it so far that day on the beach. Maybe we didn’t have to just be two strangers who had sex. Maybe we could actually be friends.

Was I ready for that? I didn’t know.

Did he even want my friendship? I didn’t know that, either.

I needed time to think. After parting with Dad, I went home and cleaned my apartment. I washed the sheets that Bram and I had soaked and the sexy bra and panties he’d practically torn off me. I even tidied the living room, cleaning the floor where I’d gone on my knees as he’d stood over me, his hand on my head. I put away the food I’d bought at the market. I took a nap, then got up and made myself a healthy dinner, which I ate alone. I changed into a comfortable pair of cotton tights and t-shirt, scooped myself a bowl of ice cream, and curled up on the couch, watching interchangeable home renovation shows. Totally normal. What any single woman in her twenties would do on her Sunday off. I was a Bridget Jones cliché. And I didn’t call him.

At ten o’clock, my phone pinged with a text. I picked it up. It was Bram. It was one single word.

When?

Suddenly, I was shaking. Oh, God—I wanted him so much I could barely breathe. I had to squeeze my legs together as I imagined him, huge and muscled and hulking, fucking me again. I wanted it so bad I could taste him in the back of my throat.

My fingers were trembling as I texted him back:

Wait for my signal.

There was silence for a moment, and then he sent:

You taste like strawberries.

I actually moaned aloud at that, alone in my apartment. Four words, and he had made me wet.
Soon,
I told him, and then I went to bed, my body empty and aching.

I
was
in the shop the next day, putting through a sales transaction for a customer, when Caitlyn came through the door, baby Jordan on her hip. It was a hot day, and Caitlyn’s bangs were stuck to her forehead. She waved at me impatiently.

I gave her the “just one second” gesture and finished up with my customer, a woman buying an antique settee I’d reupholstered. She was excited and chatty, wanting to talk about exactly where she’d place the settee once I’d had my delivery guys deliver it. Since she’d just spent enough money to make my day in the shop, I took my time and talked to her.

Behind her, Caitlyn shifted from foot to foot, impatient. She usually wasn’t like this—perhaps she had a juicy bit of gossip. I didn’t feel like gossiping, but once the customer left and there was no one else in the shop, I supposed I had no choice. “Hey, Caitlyn,” I said.

“I can’t believe you,” she said. Jordan made a crowing noise, and she bounced him on her hip. “You’re just so
calm.
”

I frowned at her. “Calm? What are you talking about?”

“It’s kind of shocking, don’t you think? Though I guess you know him, sort of, so maybe you aren’t surprised. Do you think he deserved it?”

I sighed. “Caitlyn, you’re not making any sense. Do I think who deserved what?”

She paused, and I saw the surprise on her face, followed by gossipy glee. “Oh, my God. You don’t know?”

I was starting to get alarmed. Something was wrong. Was it Dad? Had he hurt himself again? “Don’t know what?”

“Okay, well.” She thought about drawing it out for drama, but saw the look in my eyes and decided against it. “It’s that stepbrother of yours, Bram Riordan. One of the guys at the shop saw it, and called his wife, and she called Meg Garber, you know, my neighbor. There’s an eyewitness account. It’s true.”

My blood had gone cold in my veins.
Bram.
“What is it?” I nearly shouted at Caitlyn. “What happened?”

“Well, I guess he wasn’t such a good guy after all,” Caitlyn sniffed. “He was taken away from your father’s shop in a police car. He’s been arrested.”

B
ram

I
t had started
out so fucking good.

It had been a good day. Like, from the minute I got up that morning to the minute it happened. I went for a long run on the high school track as the sun came up, before it got too hot, and then I had breakfast with Nate and we shot the shit over toast and coffee. He still looked strained and pale, but he managed to throw me some insults that had me laughing. Then we got in our cars and went to work.

I fixed cars. I was good at it. It wasn’t something that made me leap out of bed in the morning, eager to get to work, but it wasn’t bad. I was damned lucky to have a job, and I had been able to put away a lot of the salary Nate had paid me so far. If I kept my head down and my nose clean, I’d thought, I might be able to make something of the rest of my life. Not much, but something.

And Summer. She was in my thoughts every other second—her laugh, her moans, her naked fucking body. The way her skin smelled, the way her breasts felt in my hands, the pleasure sounds she made in the back of her throat, the filthy words she’d said in my ear. Whatever I’d done with any other woman years ago had been on another planet, by some other man. If a string of strippers had walked into the garage and taken their thongs off, I wouldn’t have noticed. I could barely keep my eyes on my work, because all I saw was Summer.
Soon,
she’d said. I thought, that day, that things might actually be good.

Ha fucking ha.

Nate left after lunch, saying he had some mysterious appointment. I knew his doctor appointment schedule by now, so I had no idea where he was going. But he was a grown man, not a kid, and sometimes a guy just needs a little privacy to go do some shit without someone hanging over his shoulder. I got that. I’d spent six years without privacy, and taking an hour to go do something without security cameras or guards or other inmates around was a luxury I’d never take for granted again.

I was just putting one of the cars up on the hoist when Karl, one of Nate’s old timers, wiped his hands on a grease rag and jerked his thumb, his squinty eyes on me. “Behind you, son. Are those yours?”

I turned around. Through the glass to the front office I could see two uniformed cops, talking to Lisa, the office manager. They turned away from her and peered through the glass at me.

Something happened to me in that moment. Those two cops, those blue uniforms, staring at me through the glass. I just stopped. Everything shut down, went a dark gray color. I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet. I was a lump of clay, and the look on my face was probably guilty as hell.

One of the cops opened the glass door to the back, and they casually strolled through, looking at me.

Karl spoke to me without moving his lips. “You don’t say anything to them, son,” he said. “Not one thing. You keep your mouth shut. You got rights.”

I swallowed. Nate was an ex-con, and a lot of his customers were, too, so Karl knew the drill. He didn’t judge. He assumed that any cop in here was on some bullshit mission.

It didn’t matter. They were coming for me.

“Bram Riordan?” one of the cops said.

“That’s me,” I said. And then, almost against my will, the words slipped out. “What the fuck do you want?”

Both of the cops’ faces grew hard. At my shoulder, Karl repeated, “Mouth shut, son.”

“We just have some questions for you,” the bigger, fatter cop said. “You mind coming with us?”

I couldn’t help it. I was panicked. I understood why guys went crazy in situations like this, tried to run or tried to shoot their way out. I’d spent six years inside. The prospect of going back—even though I’d done nothing wrong—suddenly seemed inevitable. And worse than dying.

“What’s this about?” I said. “If you’re going to arrest me for something, read me my rights.”

“You’re not under arrest, Riordan,” the thin cop said. “It’s just some questions. Purely voluntary. You’re free to go.”

I glanced around the garage. It had gone still, every guy there staring at me, watching what was going down. Every guy there thanking God it wasn’t him.

I threw down the rag I was holding. “All right,” I said. “I’ll go.”

They put me in the car—in the fucking black and white. In the back seat, like the criminal I was. When I’d been arrested six years ago, it had all been a blur—I didn’t remember much, except flashes of images. But this, I remembered. This, I felt seared into my skin and my blood.

On the drive, I didn’t ask them again what it was about. There was no point. They weren’t going to tell me shit. So I didn’t say anything, either. Already, my jail habits were coming back, my walls going up.
Say nothing. Don’t give them anything.
I looked out the window and thought about getting up this morning, going for a run, daydreaming about Summer. Watched the town go by from behind the dirty glass.

At the station, they led me into an interview room and sat me down, both of them across from me. The fat cop sat down. The skinny cop stayed standing. The room was dimly lit with fluorescent light and smelled like stale sweat, bad breath, and fear.

“We want to ask you about the money in the safe,” Fat Cop said. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

I stared at him and said nothing.

“There’s cash in that safe every day,” Fat Cop continued, “ except that some days it goes missing. And that’s been happening ever since you became an employee, ever since Nate Friesen gave you the code to the safe. Is any of this ringing a bell, Riordan?”

Still I stared at him, remembering Karl’s advice to keep my mouth shut, as I turned the options over in my head. They’d been talking to Lisa, the office manager, in the office before they came to get me. It must have been her. She’d decided I’d taken the money, and she’d called the cops on me.

I couldn’t believe it. It actually stung. I’d always treated Lisa with respect, and I’d never given her any reason to hate me. But when the money went missing, she’d called the cops and told them it was me.

Now Thin Cop took a turn. “Today’s cash went missing as well, Riordan,” he said. “You know anything about that?” He looked at my stone-cold expression and said, “If you cooperate with us, it’ll go better for you. Just admit it and give the money back, and maybe Mr. Friesen won’t press charges. We’re just trying to get to the truth here.”

“This is bullshit,” I said finally. “Nate didn’t call you about this. He didn’t accuse me.”

“He didn’t have to,” Thin Cop said. “There are company employees who handle that cash and know that it’s gone. But I’ll say again, if you come clean, maybe Nate Friesen will go easy on you.”

“I didn’t take the money,” I said.

“But you knew it was missing, didn’t you?” Fat Cop’s eyes were full of accusation and pity. “Of course you did. Why didn’t you report it if it wasn’t you?”

Again I said nothing. He didn’t know that I knew the money was gone—he was just fishing. An old cop trick. No way was I walking into it.

Fat Cop sighed and flipped through the little notepad he had in his hand, squinting at the handwriting as if he was trying to solve the OJ case. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself since getting out, haven’t you?” he said. “Looks like you have a job and a place to live, thanks to Nate Friesen. He’s even given you a company car to use and a company cell phone.”

I stared at him. What was he getting at? “He used to be married to my mother,” I gritted out. “I’ve known him a long time.”

“Still.” This was Thin Cop, still standing in the background. “A lot of guys, they marry a woman, they won’t give a shit about the woman’s son. And Nate has been good to you all these years, hasn’t he? Stood by you when you went to prison. Helped you when you got out.” He shook his head. “That just seems really nice to me.”

“A little too nice,” Fat Cop agreed. “It makes me wonder if he’s scared of you, Riordan. If maybe you’re threatening the old man to make him do what you want.”

I felt sick. This was what they could do—take your life and put it under their fluorescent lights, dissect it, interpret it any way they wanted and make it the truth. I knew it was because of my record and because of how I looked. Because I was bulky, and tatted, and I’d cut my hair short. Because I looked like an ex-con, a mean motherfucker. To them, the looks and the record were all there was to Bram Riordan. End of story.

I wouldn’t give them anything. Not a single guilty look, not a blink of fear, nothing. I
was
a mean motherfucker, and they could batter at me all day without making a dent. I just shut up and stared straight ahead.

“What do you say, Riordan?” Fat Cop said. “Did you tell the old man you’d hurt him if he didn’t give you a job and a car? Did you tell him you’d hurt his daughter if he called the cops about the missing money? No one would blame you. How else is a con supposed to get ahead, right?”

“Go fuck yourselves,” I said.

Thin Cop shook his head. “That is not convincing us, Riordan.”

They had nothing, I reminded myself. Nothing at all. They were just trying to shake me up. If they wanted to charge me with something, they’d have to have a hell of a lot more. And I’d have a right to a lawyer. Never mind that I couldn’t afford a lawyer if they decided to drop some bullshit charge on me.

There was a commotion in the hallway outside, and the door opened. Nate came into the room, hobbling on his crutches, his hair askew, his face red. “You assholes let this man go,” he said. “He hasn’t been stealing from me.”

Fat Cop stood up. “Mr. Friesen, we’re just questioning him. We’ve had a complaint.”

“Not from me, you haven’t.” Nate stared him in the eye. “It seems to me that it’s my money, so unless the complaint comes from me, all of this is none of your damn business.”

“Are you denying that money has been taken from the safe?” Thin Cop said.

Nate stood for a minute, shame and anger turning his face red. “The garage is my business,” he said. “If I took a little money to bet on the races, I don’t see that it’s police business.”

“Gambling?” Fat Cop said. “I didn’t take you to be a guy with a gambling problem, Mr. Friesen.” His face was blank, his voice disbelieving.

Nate stared at him. “You want to know? Look. Here.” He reached past his crutches and patted his pockets, pulling out three betting slips. “I was at the fucking bookie’s, trying to win back the money I lost the last time I went. Are you happy now? Are we finished here? My daughter is waiting outside, and I’d like to go home.”

My stomach burned.
Summer.
She was outside. She knew about this. About everything. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to puke from the shame.

Fat Cop looked at his notes again. “You go see your daughter,” he said to Nate. “Mr. Riordan here will be out in a minute.”

Nate gave him a look of pure fury, but there was nothing he could do, and he knew it. He stumped out while I sat very still at the table, wondering what this was. Wondering what was next.

Silence fell in the room after the door slammed. The two cops looked at me. I looked back.

“Listen, Riordan,” Fat Cop said. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” He stepped closer to me, and I could clearly see the stick he carried on his belt, the holster of his gun. “I don’t care what your employer says. You’re a con. Do you understand? We own you. Everything you do, everywhere you go, we own you. You need to get used to it.”

I swallowed and stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.

“You’ll have to watch your step, Riordan,” the cop continued. “No one wants you in their community. No one wants you working for them. No one wants you renting an apartment in their building. You’re shit everywhere you go, and you always will be. That’s why we’re watching. You get a little too aggressive with a girl in a bar on a Saturday night? You’re done. You hang around a kids’ playground a little too long? You’re done. You drink a beer, then drive to the corner store? You’re done. You smoke some weed at a party, put some in your pocket? You are done. Do you hear me? You cannot make one false move, you piece of shit, or
you are fucking done
.”

My eyes burned, but still I did not look at him.

“So this con game you’ve got going with your employer,” Fat Cop said, “is a losing game. Don’t make the mistake of walking out of here thinking that you won anything. Every game you play from now until the end of your life, you are the loser. That’s what happens when you spend six years inside. You lose.” He waited for me to say something, but finally he sighed. “Get out of here.”

I pushed my chair back and stood up. I walked to the door without looking at either of them, because if I’d looked at either of them I would have started swinging, and that was just what they wanted. For the lowlife con to hit a cop. That would have made their day.

Nate was in the corridor, waiting for me. He’d put the betting slips back in his pocket. “You okay?” he said roughly.

I looked at him, then I started walking. I heard his crutches thumping behind me.

“You didn’t blow that money at the races,” I managed in a low voice. “You don’t gamble.”

“I can explain,” Nate said. “Just don’t tell Summer. That’s all I ask. Don’t tell her.”

That was great. That was just fucking great. He was lying to me. I was lying to him. And now we were both lying to Summer.

She was in the front vestibule of the station, wearing a pretty, tailored skirt and blouse, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She was dressed for the shop. She’d come from there when she heard. She turned to us, her face twisted in worry and pain.

“Bram?” she said.

I looked at her, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t think of anything to say to either of them. I thought I might never say anything again.

One false move, you piece of shit, and you are fucking done.

I brushed past them and walked out the door, letting it shut behind me.