Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (40 page)

It’s almost funny when you talk to people who clearly have
no
idea where you came from, and who you really are.

“I do, actually;” I shrug again; “Ditch him.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes; “Gee,
thanks
, Hudson but it’s not that simpl-“

“No, it really is.” Reagan is staring at me with a strange mix of loathing and curiosity, but I force myself to concentrate on Chelsea; “He’s not going to suddenly just
change
, Chelsea.
As
a former lying, cheating asshole, I feel pretty confident in telling you that.” I level my eyes at her; “Just ditch him.” I can see her frown begin to fade as my words sink in; “You’re a strong, confident, beautiful girl, Chelsea, and you don’t need dead-weight like whoever this total idiot is holding you down.”

Chelsea’s fierce look is
gone
as stares at me with a whole new, much nicer expression on her face; “Um,
thanks
Hudson.” She looks confused for a second, as if amused that those words came out of
my
mouth, before her face suddenly breaks into a big grin as she smiles at me; all traces of her former sneer gone. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Reagan shooting a venomous look at her sister, as if she’s somehow traitorous just for not acting like a total bitch to me like Reagan is. I’m almost ashamed to admit the sense of smug satisfaction I get in seeing it.

“He really is kind of an idiot, isn’t he?” Chelsea shrugs in a defeated way, and I find myself opening even more.

“To cheat on an Archer girl like you?” I shrug and wink at her; “Total idiot; must be blind too, which almost makes me feel bad for him.”

Chelsea blushes and grins at me and I see Reagan roll her eyes dramatically and turn back to reach for the water bottle she’s left on the stair-master machine. For whatever reason, I suddenly feel compelled to push her buttons even more on this.

“Why don’t we all go out to lunch? My treat, of course.”

Chelsea’s nodding eagerly but Reagan cuts her off; “Thanks but no thanks, we came here in gym clothes, remember?”

I wave off her concerns like they’re nothing, because they aren’t with the resources I have; “I’ll have one of my guys bring something here for you to wear. Just go hit the shower and I’ll be sure there’s a selection waiting for you when you’re done.” The dichotomy between Chelsea’s impressed and beaming face and Reagan’s look of “are you kidding me” disdain almost makes me laugh, but I compose myself; “
So
, that’s a yes then?”

I can see
just
the tell-tale signs of a smile teasing the corners of Reagan’s frown as she shakes her head at me; “Who
are
you,
God
.”

“Just ‘Hudson’ will do.”

She rolls her eyes; “You know what I fucking mea-“

“Well right now, I’m your lunch date. So go hit the showers sweet-cheeks.”

P A S T

“So, how was Dad last night?”

Chelsea looks up from her homework and frowns at me. I’m supposed to be doing the same thing, especially since I’ve just started sending transcripts to colleges, but I’m mindlessly paging through TV channels instead. “You should have at least gotten on to say hi, Ray.”

I shrug; “It sounded like you were having a hard time hearing him anyways, wherever he is.”

“Angola.”

“What?”

“Angola; that where he is.”

I roll my eyes and sneer; “Of
course
he is.”

Chelsea slams her homework down and glares at me; “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“It means wherever there’s some third world conflict with terrible people willing to spend money of disputable origins, that’s pretty much where you can guarantee our father will be, Chelsea.”

I turn back to the TV with a huff, but my younger sister jumps out of her chair, grabs the remote out of my hand, and shuts it off; “
Meaning
?”

“Meaning Dad sells guns to bad people, Chelsea!” I shout at her. She flinches at the outburst but I keep going; “It means all of
this
” I’m gesturing around at the opulent home around us; “We have all of this because Dad is an arms dealer.”

Chelsea’s face scrunches up in a frown and it looks like she’s about to cry; “You don’t
know
that, Reaga-“

“I know how to put one and one together and get two, Chelsea.” She starts to snivel, and I feel the wind go out of my sails as I reach out and pull her into a hug; “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t
know
that, Reagan!” She says again weekly as she presses her wet eyes into my shoulder.

“I know,” I say, stroking her hair; “I should gotten on the phone yesterday. So, how
did
he sound?”

“Good,” Chelsea pulls aways, her eyes red and wet looking.

“Who’s yelling in here?” Quinn pokes her head into the room and frowns when she sees Chelsea; “Reagan-“

“It’s nothing, we were just talking about Dad.”

Quinn shrugs; “Oh yeah, he’s in Angola with The Guys.” She frowns at me; “You
really
should find the time to talk when he calls you know, it’s not exactly easy to make phone call from there.”

I suppress the urge to growl; “So he’s with the guys in some remote corner of the globe instead of spending time here with us while you’re back on break, huh?” I roll my eyes; “Shocker.”

Quinn makes a face; “Oh, did
you
want to go to the sub-Saharan conflict zone, Reagan? Were you just
dying
to take in the scenery with a dash of extreme poverty and active war zone?”

“You know what I mean. I mean spending time with
them
all the time.”

My older sister frowns; “It’s
work
, Reagan. And besides, you know they’re all military or whatever; it’s like a brotherhood thing.”

I shrug; “Yeah but they just - I don’t know, they’re weird.”

Quinn grins; “You mean
hot
.”

“Um,
not
what I meant, but eh, I guess.”

“You
guess
?” Quinn is grinning at me; “Uh, news to Reagan, they’re hot. Chels? You with me here?”

Chelsea blushes and grins; “They’re super cute, Reagan.”

“They’re old!”

Quinn laughs; “Fuck you!
Old?
I think Hudson’s
my
age and Bryce is younger than
that
, bitch.”

“Fine, whatever.” I reach for the TV remote.

My older sister frowns again; “Did you finish your application essay for Columbia yet”

I groan dramatically; “
Yes
, MOM.”

She bristles, and I cringe; “Sorry.”

“Just finish that application, dummy.” 

P R E S E N T

“What, no Charger?” I smirk at Hudson as his driver brings the Bentley limo around to the back-door of the gym. 

He flashes that cocky grin at me as he opens the door for us; “Not today”.

“Hmm, yeah,
much
too flashy,” I nod with phony enthusiasm; “Good thing you’ve got the Bentley limousine as a far more
inconspicuous
backup.” 

He shrugs; “What fun is money if you can’t spend it?”

“Oh
is
there money you haven’t spent? I wasn’t aware of that” I smile sweetly at him, nodding towards the sleek, ultra-luxury Bentley.

“Get in the car, Archer,” He smirks, his eyes glinting at me.

*****

Later as we’re finishing lunch on the rooftop terrace of the exclusive place he takes us, I frown as I watch him; half-listening to him as he doles out relationship advice to Chelsea. There’s a mystery to Hudson, almost as if there are two of him both sharing the same stupidly good-looking body. The one Hudson is arrogant and - wait, no, scratch that;
both
Hudson’s are arrogant. But while the one smug, cocky, overly-confident Hudson surrounds himself with luxury and and sarcasm and boorish behavior, there’s another one that I keep getting glimpses of, like the one sitting here talking to my sister.
That
Hudson is, well,
utterly
different. The second Hudson is fragile and partly broken; full of demons with fire in his eye. He’s the man with battle-scars and tattoos peeking out just enough from underneath that Armani armor to make me crazy to want to know which Hudson is the
real
one.

Or are they both?

But then of course, I’m reminded of
who
he is. I’m reminded that however charming and sober and put-together this new Hudson is, this is still one of the family of men my father surrounded himself with off in some remote corner of the globe when he was avoiding
us
- his
real
family. I remind myself that however handsome his face is, and however sweet he’s being to Chelsea right now, this man has an agenda in helping finance my campaign. My father might be gone, but Hudson Banks is here, as if he’s helping my Dad exert his will over me from beyond the grave, which is a bizarre and uncomfortable thought.

Chelsea seems right as rain with him though, sitting there wrapped around Hudson’s finger. I shake my head at the sudden pang of, well, something that sure
feels
a whole lot like jealousy, even I know that’s impossible. But just the same, I find myself clenching my hand a little tighter around my water glass as Chelsea leans towards him, and puts her hand on his arm as she laughs at something he says. I mean it’s
harmless
; her mannerisms are far more sibling-like than anything
flirty
, but I still can’t seem to shake the
possessive
feeling, as if Hudson is
mine
somehow. 

But of course, he’s
not
‘Mine,’ I’m not ‘His,’ and there’s nothing between us in that regard at all. He made that perfectly clear back before, during that summer and then at my father’s house. And then of course, I have to remember what he did - or more importantly what he
didn’t
do
that night back then. I have to close my eyes and
remember
just how shitty I felt when I came downstairs and saw him walking out the door with that girl-

“Uh, Reagan?”

“Hmm?” I look up, started from my thoughts to see them both looking at me, as if waiting for an answer to a question I never heard. 

Chelsea rolls her eyes at Hudson; “I
told
you she wasn’t listening.”

Hudson grins at me as he twirls his empty espresso cup around the saucer; “I was telling Chelsea that you can’t get weighed down with what came before. You’ve just gotta keep your head up, because you never know when something new might come next.”

I smile thinly at him, still mulling over everything I was thinking about before, but now also wondering which of the three of us that particular advice was really meant for.