Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (15 page)

“Is this everything you have?” he asks, breaking away to
help me gather my things.

“Just the backpack, yeah,” I say, slinging it onto my
shoulder.

“Good,” he nods, grabbing my hand, “We’re gonna have to
travel pretty light. I’ll leave my shit here. It’s not worth holding us up.”

“Wait a minute,” I say as Finn tows me out of the room and
down the hall, “How the hell are we even going to get there? Neither of us has
a car here. And we can’t very well take a cab to Portland, can we?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it taken care of,” Finn says vaguely
as we hurry down the steps. I nearly tumble down the staircase as the clamor of
shouting voices rises up beyond the heavy front door, startling me.

“What’s going on out there?” I whisper, rushing to peek
through the front window.

“Don’t—” Finn hisses, but it’s too late. I’ve already pushed
aside the curtain and watched Cash and John go flying through the air, pounding
each other with vicious fists.

The naked display of violence knocks the wind out of me.
Unaccountably, the memory of my father Archie comes whirling into my mind’s
eye. My tall, lanky father was even-keeled, intelligent, and compassionate.
He’d never hurt a fly, much less his own child. I want more than anything in
this terrifying moment to run into my father’s arms. This unexpected pang of
grief nearly takes me out at the knees. How could my mother ever want to be
with a man like John Hawthorne after knowing and loving my father? It just
doesn’t make any sense.

“Come on Anna,” Finn urges gently, easing me away from the
window, “We can’t do anything to stop them, now. Trust me.”

I let Finn lead me through the darkened house, fear and
anxiety gripping me by the throat. Sipping in shallow breaths, I follow him
through the garage and out toward the perimeter of the property. We’re heading
straight for the thick woods.

“Where are we going?” I whisper to Finn, glancing nervously
over my shoulder. 

“To Portland, eventually,” he answers, leading me to a break
in the trees.

“On foot?!” I ask, only half kidding. Nothing would surprise
me after everything that’s happened tonight.

“Of course not,” Finn says, smiling wryly, “I may not have a
car, but that doesn’t mean we’re totally without wheels.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, squinting as a large
wooden structure rises up before us among the trees. It’s some sort of shoddy
lean-to, barely more than a shack.

“Wait just a second,” he tells me, ducking into the
haphazard shed.

I stand with my arms wrapped firmly around my waist, looking
back toward the palatial lake house. The fight has been broken up, and from
here I can see both the front yard and back. A sudden flurry of motion catches
my attention in the driveway, and I take a step forward to see what’s going on.

I just barely catch sight of Cash as he tears open the door
of the pickup truck and swings his body into the driver’s seat. The headlights
and engine roar to life, and he takes off down the long drive way, driving at
top speed. So startled am I by his sudden departure that I almost don’t notice
Maddie watching him go. Her face is frozen in a mask of wounded disbelief. She
looks so beside herself that my sisterly instincts almost send me racing out of
the woods to comfort her.

But before I can move a muscle, she’s turned to her own beat
up car and climbed inside, tearing off in Cash’s wake. I have no idea why she
would be following him. As far as I know, those two are barely on speaking
terms. I’m far less surprised to spot Sophie and Luke standing in the garage
together, though the sling I see Luke fitting my sister with makes my stomach
drop sickeningly. What happened to her arm? Did that fucker John Hawthorne hurt
her? Before I can rush forward and find out, Sophie and Luke have slipped into
his car and taken off into the night.

I guess it’s every Porter woman for herself, then. What else
is new?

“Here we are,” I hear Finn say from behind me.

I turn to find him standing at the mouth of the shack,
wheeling a vintage motorcycle out into the open. I stare at the decades-old
machine, eyebrows leaping up in skeptical surprise.

“Y-you can’t be serious,” I sputter, backing away from the
bike.

“I’m dead serious,” Finn replies, handing me a half-shell
helmet. “Cash fixes bikes for a living. We still have a few of his old projects
out here. He used to let me help him out—I brought this baby back to life
myself.”

“How do you know it’s safe?” I ask, shoving a hand through
my hair in distress. “It could blow up. Or spin out. Or—”

“Annabel Porter,” Finn says, a wicked smile spreading across
his face, “Have you never ridden on a motorcycle before?”

“That may be the case,” I allow vaguely. Part of me still
doesn’t want Finn to think that I’m an inexperienced little girl. But of
course, he sees right through me. I could never hide anything from him.

“Don’t worry,” he says, stepping around the bike to rest his
hands on my hips, “This bike is completely safe. It also happens to be our only
ticket out of here tonight. I wouldn’t even be suggesting this if I didn’t
think it was our best option. You can trust me, Anna.”

“I know I can,” I say softly, circling my arms around his
shoulders, “Which means, I suppose, that we’ll be heading to Portland on two
wheels instead of four.”

“That’s the spirit,” he grins, pulling me in for a fast,
firm kiss. “I bet you’ll love it once you give it a shot.”

Swallowing down my doubts, I fit the helmet on my head and
clamber onto the seat behind Finn. With all of my belongings strapped to my
back and my arms wrapped firmly around his muscled torso, I clench my jaw and
stand by for takeoff. Stealing one last glance back at the lake house, I spot a
petite, curly-haired figure framed in the front doorway. My mother looks out
across the deserted lawn, realizing that all of us have scattered to the wind
once more. I can’t tell if her expression is actually one of remorse, or if I
just wish it was.

The part of me that’s been so devoted to taking care of my
mom these past few years stirs painfully…and as the engine roars to life
beneath me, I have the sudden urge to leap off the bike and run to her, to tell
her everything’s OK.

But I steady myself. Because now, for the first time,
everything simply isn’t OK. After this latest stunt of hers, we may never be OK
again.

My silent tears are dashed away from my cheeks as we take
off along a back dirt road, speeding away from the lake house at last. The
impressive home is swallowed up by the forest as Finn and I fly away, alone
once more. Despite the pain and guilt that tug vindictively at my heart, I feel
a new vibrant glow growing at the core of me. I realize, as we turn off onto
the main road and set our sights for Oregon, that the warm glow is one of hope.
And the fuel that’s making it grow is my belief in me and Finn.

I rest my cheek against his broad back as we speed off into
the night, feeling that hope glow brighter with every mile we traverse. It cuts
through the darkness of the Montana woods just as decisively as the bike’s twin
headlights. But unlike those shining lamps, this isn't the sort of light you
can see. It’s the kind you feel. I know that as long as I have Finn in my life,
it will only go on glowing more brightly.

Chapter Nine

Portland, Oregon

Three weeks later…

I fall forward against Finn’s firm chest, which rises and
falls like mad as we both struggle to catch our breath. His hands run up along
my back, holding me close as we both regain control of our senses. I glance up
at him in amazement, still straddling him in the golden afternoon light. He
brushes a lock of blonde hair behind my ear, chuckling at my shocked
expression.

“Why do you look so surprised?” he murmurs, running his
hands back down my sides.

“I just…I still don’t understand how this can be so
good
,”
I tell him honestly, sitting back from my perch on top of his incredible body.

“Hey, that was all you,” he sighs, his voice raspy with sleep
and satisfaction. “You can be on top anytime you like, babe.”

We both groan softly as his words reverberate at the point
of intimate connection that we still share. I loathe the thought of ever
leaving this bed, to do anything but lose myself in the bliss of being with
Finn. But alas, the world hasn’t stopped just because we’ve found each other.
Life does go on, no matter how much great sex one has.

“Don’t go…” Finn says, catching me in his arms as I
reluctantly lower myself off of him. “It’s only noon.”

“Precisely,” I laugh, giving him a playful shove as I sit at
the edge of the bed, “I have to get to work on this editing job eventually. And
if I’m not mistaken, you have work of your own to do.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling himself up to sitting behind me,
“We’ll give this whole ‘responsible adult thing’ of yours a try.”

“That the spirit,” I smile, relaxing back against his sturdy
chest, “Though you certainly don’t make it easy on a girl…”

“Hey, I’ll be right here at the end of the day,” Finn
murmurs, kissing along my neck as he wraps his arms around me from behind, “And
so will you. Right, roomie?”

“I have to say,” I tell him, letting my head fall back
against his shoulder as he brings his hands to my naked breasts, “If this is
what having roommates is like, then I’m all in.”

We fall back into bed together, hidden away from the rest of
our housemates and free to do as we please. Finn’s room is the attic space of
an old Victorian house that has served as The Few’s communal home for the past
few years. Blaine, Gabe, Buck, and any number of their friends and followers
are crashing in this house at any given time. And despite the occasionally
awkward run-ins with the guys and their scantily clad female guests, I’ve loved
crashing here in Portland with Finn over these past few weeks.

The house is located off Hawthorne Blvd, on the southeast
side of the Willamette River. The neighborhood is chock full of wonderful
restaurants and bars, vintage shops, food trucks, breweries, and awesome music
venues. Tall hills enclose the city, with Mt. Tabor rising up in the east.
Peering out through the wide windows in Finn’s room, my view is all pine trees
and wide skies, arching bridges and rambling parks. In short, it’s absolutely
beautiful.

Portland a far cry from the farm I grew up on, but I’ve
never set foot in a city that felt so immediately comfortable. The pace of
living here is distinctly West Coast, with none of the cynicism that pervades
so many places I’ve visited back East. I’ve spent these past three weeks exploring
all the diverse neighborhoods that make up this city, traipsing around with my
own personal tour guide, Finn. He takes me to all his favorite haunts, and we
spend long afternoons peering out cafe windows at the bicyclists, roving
musicians, and tatted-up locals.

Is it the city itself that has me feeling so safe and sound,
or the person with whom I’ve arrived? Maybe a little bit of both.

Even if the city didn’t totally agree with me, this house
would be worth hopping state lines for in and of itself. It’s an absolute gem
from the turn of the 20th century, with five bedrooms, an adorable antique
kitchen, and a cozy backyard studded with vegetable gardens and huge willow
trees that offer us a little privacy. With a merry band of miscreants on hand
at any given moment, this place is quite the party spot. Not a night has gone
by without a gathering around the fire pit, a huge group potluck, and all
manner of excellent jam sessions in the backyard. Throw in the fact that I’ve
gotten to spend just about every waking moment in Finn’s company (clothed or
otherwise) and this impromptu getaway has been a dream come true.

Of course, I have my moments of darkness when the
circumstances of this trip rear up in my mind. Nothing about the blowup at the
lake house has been resolved, as of yet. Though I checked in with both my
sisters to make sure they got home safely, I haven’t heard from my mother. Then
again, I haven’t exactly made myself available to her, or any of them for that
matter. When I let my sisters know I’d made it home in once piece, I neglected
to mention which home I’d made it back to. A little lie of omission,
perhaps—but I didn’t quite know how to explain my shacking up with Finn. As far
as my sisters know, he and I are just passing acquaintances, after all.

I put my woes out of my mind as I lie back in Finn’s bed,
gazing up at him as he lowers his body to mine. I know I won’t be able to keep
the rest of the world at bay for much longer, but while this little honeymoon
phase lasts, I want to enjoy every single minute of it. 

Later that afternoon, I’m nestled in the breakfast nook
pouring over some photos on my laptop. With no job waiting for me in Portland
and no real home to return to back East, I wasted no time looking for some
freelance work once I arrived here on Finn’s bike three weeks ago. Luckily, I
was able to round up some portrait and event photography gigs right off the
bat, and word of mouth has already helped me line up another party shoot for
next week.

People are incredibly relaxed about work in this city, and
many people my age cobble together a living in unconventional ways. For his
part, Finn tends bar and repairs guitars to earn his keep here. The Few pulls
in some money from ticket and merch sales, but nowhere near enough to fully
support four people.

Since I’ve been spending more time around the band, I’ve
gotten a little more familiar with their situation. Turns out, Blaine has been
in charge of everything for most of the band’s existence, from booking shows to
holding the purse strings of the whole operation. But truth be told, he seems
to work the least of anyone here at the house. As the oldest bandmate and de
facto leader, he’s more than happy to sit back and let everyone toil beneath
him. But when I’ve brought up this disparity to Finn, he’s shrugged off my
questions every time.

“That’s just how Blaine is,” he told me during our last
conversation, “So what if he likes playing ‘rock star’? He’s not doing anyone
any harm.”

But I’m not so sure that’s entirely the case. From Blaine’s
suspicious lack of income to the extremely young girls I’ve seen him bring back
to the house, I think there’s plenty about Blaine’s lifestyle that would do
well to be investigated. But I don’t push the issue. Not yet. This is still the
man who got Finn on his feet when he first arrived in Portland. I don’t want to
cause any friction between them, especially not since the group has been cool
enough to let me crash here for the past few weeks.

 “Oh…” a disappointed voice says from the kitchen doorway,
“I didn’t know you were still here.”

I look up from my work to see Natasha leaning against the
doorway, wearing nothing but one of Blaine’s old tee shirts. I guess I
shouldn’t say the
entire
group has been cool with my crashing here.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to keep my voice friendly, “Just
trying to get some work done.”

“You’re really making yourself at home, huh?” Natasha goes
on, pulling open the fridge.

“I guess you can say that,” I reply, “I’ve really been
enjoying getting to know the city.”

“How nice,” she replies flatly, plucking a couple of beers
from the shelf and setting them down on the counter.

“Look, Natasha,” I call after her as she turns to go, “Is
everything cool between us? I feel like you’re upset with me.”

She shoots a withering look over her shoulder. Ever since
that first night I showed up to see The Few play in Montana, I’ve gotten
nothing but icy ire from this woman. I know she was pursuing Finn when I
arrived on the scene, but he said himself that he had no interest in her. She
can’t still be nursing a grudge about that. Besides, she seems to have
rekindled things with Blaine anyway. What’s the problem?

“Let’s just say that some of us in this house don’t take too
kindly to outsiders,” she says, flicking her perfect brown curls over her
shoulder.

“I thought people were always coming and going here?” I
reply, “I mean, isn’t that how Finn and the others ended up—?”

“Well you’re not one of them, are you?” she snaps, “Scratch
that. You’re not one of
us
. Just because you’re fucking Finn doesn’t
mean you get rule of the castle, Princess Annabel.”

“I didn’t know that’s how you saw it,” I tell her, cringing
at her favorite disparaging nickname, “I have every intention of contributing
to the rent next month, and I’ve been doing my best to lend a hand around the—”

“Whatever,” she says testily, “That’s not even the point.”

“What is the point then?” I press, irritated by her temper
tantrum.

“I guess the point is that you’re not as welcome here as you
may think,” Natasha says coldly, turning to walk away, “And I’m not the only
one who feels that way, either.”

Before I can respond, Blaine strides into the kitchen,
looking like he’s just rolled out of bed though it’s already 5 o’clock.

“What’re you two going on about in here?” he asks, snaking
an arm around Natasha’s waist, “Is there about to be a cat fight or something?”

“No,” I say firmly, sitting back down at my computer, “No,
of course not.”

“Damn,” Blaine pouts, looking back and forth between us,
“That would be so hot.”

“Anna and I were just having a friendly little chat,”
Natasha smiles icily, “Isn’t that right, my little princess?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, trying to focus on my work
once more.

“I have to say, I don’t mind having an extra chick around
the house,” Blaine says, running his hands all over Natasha as he leers across
the kitchen at me.

“No?” I reply, against my better judgement, “And why is
that?”

“I can show you, if you come upstairs with us,” he grins
suggestively, “I’m sure all three of us can fit in the master shower.”

I gape at Finn’s bandmate, gobsmacked by his crudeness. He’s
totally serious about his proposition. As if I would ever want anything to do
with him that way.

“I’m good,” I tell him flatly, snapping my computer shut and
rising to my feet.

“Suit yourself,” Natasha shrugs as I brush past them, “But
you don’t know what you’re missing. Isn’t that right, Blaine?”

“That’s right,” Blaine growls, grabbing Natasha by the hips
and slinging her over his shoulder. “Just know that my offer stands, Anna.
You’ll come around eventually.”

“In your fucking dreams,” I mutter under my breath,
grimacing at Blaine’s appalling caveman antics.

Out from under the stage lights, I’m starting to see
Blaine’s true colors. He’s at least ten years older than the other musicians,
pushing forty if I had to guess. His desperation to stay young and hip is
depressing. From bedding girls way too young for him to keeping Finn and the
guys around to make him feel like a big shot, I’m starting to see that The Few
is Blaine’s fountain of youth. He may have been helpful to Finn once upon a
time, but he’s clearly starting to suck the well dry. At some point, these
other talented musicians will have to put themselves first. But I know I can’t
force them to see that, not even Finn. That’s something he’ll have to realize
all on his own.

As if on cue, I feel my cell start to vibrate in my pocket
and spot Finn’s name on the screen. He’s been out all afternoon getting ready
for the happy hour shift at his bar. I shake the gross encounter with Blaine
and Natasha out of my mind and pick up the phone.

“Hey you,” I say, climbing the stairs to our bedroom, “You
miss me already?”

“Just checking in,” he replies, “Wanted to make sure you
could still move after this morning’s double feature.”

A pang of longing twists my core as I reach the top floor of
the house. The mere mention of being tangled up in the sheets with Finn is
enough to get my pulse racing.

“I’m managing,” I tell him, closing the bedroom door behind
me. After a moment of hesitation, I slide the lock shut, too. I hate feeling
like I have to protect myself without Finn around to stand up for me—but I’d
rather be safe than sorry. “How’s work?”

“Same old,” he says dismissively, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind
a little company later on. You want to swing by around eight or so?”

“Sure thing,” I tell him, sitting down on the edge of our
bed. I’ve already spent quite a few evenings hanging out at The Bearded Bird,
Finn’s place of employment. It's a small, hip joint in the Pearl District, just
a few blocks away from the river. They specialize in local craft beer and
classic cocktails, and Finn pretty much runs the place by now. The people I’ve
met there so far have been interesting and down-to-earth, passionate but not
pretentious. In short, my kind of people.

“Great,” Finn replies, “I’m glad you’ll be there. I’ve got a
little surprise for you."

"What kind of surprise?” I ask, sitting up straight.

“I can't very well tell you that,” he laughs, "Or don't
you know the meaning of the word?”

“Come on. Just a hint?” I plead.

“Nope. You’ll just have to wait,” he replies. I can hear the
grin in his voice.