Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (56 page)

P R E S E N T

After that first night at his penthouse, it’s like we’ve hit the reset button on the whole thing; whatever this
thing
is that Hudson and I have. But for the first time in probably ever, I don’t give one flying crap about labeling anything, or compartmentalizing it, or making it fit a certain parameter I’ve set for it.

With him, I just
let go
.

And things are just
better
with him around, and I don’t just mean the sex, though that’s of course mind blowing. It’s
everything
. Over the next two weeks, I just start to
surge
ahead in the polls, and I know it’s got everything to do with him and the way he makes me feel. Every speech I give, he’s there to the side, nodding silently; his eyes flashing at me and encouraging me. He’s helping me run speeches, late at night while I’m tucked against him without a stitch of clothing on, and for some reason the scripts I’ve run through once or twice with Hudson’s half-erect cock pressed against my back somehow just come out even
better
when I deliver them. Really, he’s giving me his undivided support, even if he really can’t give it in public.

Which brings me back to the sex.
Out
of the public, it’s something else altogether. We’re sneaking around like fucking teenagers, screwing every chance we get and every wild place I let him drag me; like really
every
place. It’s like I can’t resist him, or I can’t say no when he looks at me the way he does. He takes me on the hood of his car, up on the top floor of a parking garage looking out over the New York harbor and the twinkling lights of the city, or against the floor to ceiling glass of his living room windows without me giving a care in the world. I arrive red-face and glowing, and
barely
on time for a stump speech at the city manager’s office because Hudson’s just had me bent over in the utility closet down the hall with his mouth on my pussy.

Essentially, I’m better with him, and for two full weeks, we pretend that there’s no way anything in the world can touch that.

*****

“Yes, second row?”

I’m at podium up in front of the Police Union offices surrounded by Donald, Erika, Hudson, and a few other staffers giving a quick press Q&A. This by now
quite
mundane and routine thing is made
somewhat
more interesting by the fact that I can literally still taste Hudson on my tongue from the hot and fast fun we had right before I stepped onto stage in an empty office.

“Yeah hi, Marc with the Times,” The sweaty looking reporter with the ironic mustache suddenly looks right past me, to
Hudson
; “It’s Hudson, is it?”

Hudson smirks and turns to look out the windows to the side of the conference room; “I believe that’s the East River, actually.” He grins as the murmurs and chuckles spread through the gathered reporters - mostly from the female contingent I notice - aided by his winning smile and that roguish charm it exudes. The reporter smiles thinly and nods before Hudson winks at him and nods; “Yes, it’s Hudson, last time I checked.”

“Sir, if I may-”

“All questions to Ms. Archer, if you would.” He cuts the man off succinctly as he nods towards me and takes a step back into the gathered staffers behind me.

“Well, no actually, this one’s for
you
.”

I frown as I look over my shoulder to see Hudson’s face darkening and his jaw tightening slightly; “Well then I’m all ears, Mar-”

“You’re military, right?”

Hudson’s jaw tightens even more, his lips thin, and I can see his eyes flash with some emotion I can’t quite place. He looks almost
grim
. “That’s correct, but again, I must ask that all questions be directed towards Ms. Ar-”

“Right, yeah no, you said that. But the thing is, Mr. Banks, I don’t actually see anything about you anywhere.”

The Times or not, I have
no
idea what this guy is going on about. I step up to the mic ready to cut him off; “Excuse me, Marc, but I think we should move on to oth-”

“I’ve looked you up, Mr. Banks; public record and all that and I don’t see anything.”

Hudson’s face is white and drawn tight, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breath; “I’m not sure what you’re implying-”

“Sir, I’m implying that there’s simply no record of you being in the U.S. Military.”

Hudson’s face goes dark, his lips thin, and the hushed murmur has barely begun to spread through the crowd before he turns and abruptly leaves the stage. Donald is smiling his showman smile as he steps to the mic and says something about no further questions, but I’m already rushing off after Hudson. He’s gone by the time I get backstage, and my heart sinks as his phone goes right to voicemail when I try calling his cell. Whatever happened back there hit him somewhere deep, and somewhere where his armor doesn’t protect him, and all I want to do is tell him I don’t care and that whatever it is I’m here for him. 

Of course, I have to
find him
first, in order to tell him that though, wherever it is he’s gone to hide that he thinks is safe.

I freeze, and just like that, I know exactly where he is as I run out the backdoor and hail a cab.

P A S T

“Shit, man.” Logan shakes his head and looks at the floor; “I’m sorry, brother; I’m real sorry to hear that.”

I’m not, though even I get that it would be weird to say that out loud.

“How-” He coughs uncomfortably; “Shit, sorry man, that that’s none of my-”

“Booze.” I shrug and look up at him with a wry grin; “Apparently what they say about apples and distances from trees is pretty spot on, huh?”

“You’re not your father, Hudson.” Bryce says quietly.

My father was mean, fall-down drunk who I stopped talking to the day after my high school graduation when I enlisted. The only reason I even know about the neighbors finding him is because of a Google alert I set up for my old hometown newspaper’s online obituary report. I know Bryce is right; I’m
not
my father, but it’s still this grim fucking reminder about mortality. Besides, the man  I actually think of as any sort of actual Dad-figure in my life was the Old Man, and I’ve already grieved for that father.

For a weird, brief moment, I think about calling Reagan, even though I know that door is shut. I want to call her and tell her, and just talk to her about her Dad and Dads in general. I want to hear her voice, even just once more, but I know calling would be a useless venture.

“Do you wanna call someone? A sponsor maybe?” 

I know Logan is being serious, but I laugh out loud anyways; “No, man. I’m good.”

P R E S E N T

I’m sitting in my living room, in the dark, staring at a bottle when the front desk buzzes up that she’s in the lobby, and I’m ashamed to say I almost pretend I’m not home before I finally grumble a confirmation into the phone.

I don’t turn when I hear her come in, not even when I hear her footsteps pause as she walks into the room. I just
stare
at the bottle of scotch sitting like some sort of monolith in front of me on the carved wood table.

“Are you ok?”

Her voice finally breaks the spell the amber liquid holds over me, and I turn to her, seeing the worry etched across her face; “That was nothing, back there, it was just-” I trail off and force a smile at her instead. I’m not comfortable feeling this exposed to her, knowing that the emotions and the baggage I usually cram down somewhere deep inside are threatening to rip me apart while she’s right in front of me, and the thought of that is almost more than I can stomach.

“Look, this is nothing,” I nod at the bottle; “I’m not going to actually open it or anything, I just- I don’t know, I just like to look at it sometimes. I guess it helps in some weird way when I can stare it in the face and know I’m not going to let it get to me.” I shrug as I look at her standing there in the doorway of the dark room, silhouetted by the low light from the kitchen behind her.

“I know you aren’t.” She steps hesitantly into the room; “Hudson, I don’t care what that asshole was talking about, and you don’t have tell me anything. I just want to know that you’re OK.”

Jesus, how did I find this girl?

“I’m- I’m fine.” But then I look into her eyes and it breaks me, breaks the bullshit; “Well, no, I’m not actually.” I close my eyes as she moves into the room, and when I feel her weight on the couch next to me and feel her wrap her arms around me, I just
sink
into her. “Reagan, there’s a lot about me-” I pull back to look her in the eyes, and she’s looking at me so innocently, and with such an intensity that I can’t even tell her. How can I ruin that smile and the light in those eyes with the literal hell I’ve seen; with what I’ve
done
.

I kiss her instead, and I’m just like that, I’m losing myself in her. I’m lost in that kiss and i’ts better than any escape I’ve ever found in any bottle I’ve ever seen the bottom of. She’s pulling us both back onto the couch and I’m collapsing into her, tearing at her stiff formal clothes. I’m pulling off the vestiges that make her the prim, poised public Reagan to get to the sexy, animalistic primal Reagan that I know that lives deeper; the Reagan that comes out when we’re both naked and my mouth is on her pussy. She gasps as I slide my lips over her sex and push my tongue inside her, and she’s rocking against my face as her hands grip my hair and my name falls from her lips. Her hands are on my hips, pulling me onto the couch alongside her, and I groan into her wetness as she takes me in her mouth. Her lips are like heaven, her tongue dancing across me, and there’s something so sensual, so visceral about this that I almost don’t want to break away.

But I have to have her; I
need
her in that moment. She’s my new vice, my everything.

She pulls me into her as she lays back in the plush sofa, her legs wrapping around my waist to keep me inside as she rocks against me almost as hard as I push into her. We’re panting, kissing, grasping at each other like we’ll fly away if we don’t as we move together like one wave in an ocean, like a tempest. We’re both lost in the everything until the world shatters around us, as we both come screaming to the neon skyline.

Her head is lying against my chest afterword, her fingers tracing an inked line across my skin.

“Before, that time at my Dad’s-“

“Ray-”

“No, no, it’s not like that. You already explained all that, and I’m not
mad
that you didn’t take advantage of the situation, Hudson; believe me. I just want to know-”

“Why I walked away, you mean?” The words are ones I’d never have imagined telling her before, though for some reason they come easy now.

“Because I knew you were hurting; I was too.” I take a deep breath; “Reagan there’s so much he never told you, about everything.”

I can hear her sniff against my chest; “I know,” She says quietly.

“I had so much shit, so much pain inside. You- you don’t know, and you can’t know the things I’ve seen, Reagan,” I whisper out; “The things I’ve done-”

Her lips kissing my chest stop me; “You don’t have to tell me.”

Right, but being near me might be bad enough for you
I want to scream. I’ve come a long way from the broken man I was when her father found me, but I’m still toxic, and I know that. I still have the demons clawing at my back, the lust for vices I’ll have to deny myself for the rest of my life, and the recklessness of a man who’s already seen death. How can there be a place for a girl like her in all of that shit? She’s so
good
, and just so damn perfect and unbroken and undimmed by the darkness of the world that I can’t bare the thought of even telling her that darkness exists. She’s the light, and I can’t let my darkness swallow that up.