Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (28 page)

Chapter Six

Over the next few days, the underlying tensions among our
mixed-family party begin to die down. Or at least, they dip back beneath the
surface for the time being. Everyone seems able to relax into the spirit of
vacation, spending their days as they wish while giving each other plenty of
room. Each of us falls into our own routine, coming together maybe once a day
to check in. The less time we all spend in the same room, it seems, the better
things tend to go.

But then, it’s not like familial tension is new to either of
the present families. The relationship between us Porter girls and our mother
is rightfully strained. Despite her imaginative and expressive personality, her
tendency to be flighty, absent-minded, and self-absorbed have made her a less
than
ideal mother, at times. I know that no
one’s perfect, and I don’t expect her to be either. But her shortcomings have
stunted her daughters’ ability to trust and rely on her, especially when we’ve needed
it most. I know I’ll keep trying my entire life to have a relationship with
her, but so far, it hasn’t gotten any easier.

What’s interesting, though, is that there seems to be a very
similar coldness to the Hawthorne boys’ relationships with John. Luke seems the
most determined to keep things civil, but he treats his dad with more respect
than affection. Finn, the youngest, seems to have pulled an Annabel and
fostered a self-sufficiency that makes a relationship with his dad all but
unnecessary. Of all three brothers, Cash seems to be the one who butts heads
with his dad the most fiercely. There’s a bitterness to their fighting that
tells of deep, unresolved strife.

But seeing as Cash Hawthorne isn’t exactly a “talk about
your feelings” kind of guy, I’m pretty in the dark about his family’s past. I
don’t know anything about the circumstances of his enlisting in the army, or
what’s beneath the rivalry he has with Luke, or even what the story is with his
absent mother. Maybe I’ll find out in time, though I get the feeling that
Cash’s emotional side isn’t going to be an easy nut to crack.

Despite his persuasive promises to make staying here at the
lake house worth my while, Cash plays a very cool game with me as the first
week wears on. Though we seemed to end up alone at every turn that first day,
it’s not a pattern that holds. Sure, I see enough of him—I just never quite
catch him alone. Around the house, down by the lake, and even on some
excursions into the woods, there’s always someone else keeping us from getting
some alone time. He doesn’t seem too perturbed by the constant company—I wonder
if he’s letting me squirm like this on purpose? Trying to build up the
anticipation or something?

Whatever the plan is, I hope this phase of it is over soon.
I can’t go much longer without another taste of him.

One afternoon halfway through the week, I find myself
lounging on the dock with Anna and Sophie, catching some much-needed rays. My
office-bound body is super pale, even compared to my similarly fair-skinned
sisters. I’m rocking my favorite bikini—a red bandeau top with matching
bottoms—and have my hair pulled up into a white bandana, Rosie the Riveter
style. Sophie’s wearing a super skimpy black bikini and huge Jackie O
sunglasses, her long caramel hair woven into a mermaid tail braid. Anna’s
classic white halter top bathing suit complements her nearly platinum locks,
which hang loose over her freckled shoulders. It’s a rare event indeed that all
three Porter sisters are in the same place (and good spirits) long enough to
have a good old fashioned gab session, but that’s exactly what we’re up to now.

“I give you a lot of credit,” I tell Anna, letting my toes
dangle in the cool lake water, “I wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to take a
gap year before college at your age.”

“Well, you knew what you wanted to go to school for,” my
little sister shrugs, lying on her stomach beside me, “I’m still feeling it
out.”

“I just couldn’t wait to get out of the house,” Sophie puts
in, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my program at Sheridan. But more than anything,
getting away from Mom was the priority.”

“Yeah, well. Imagine being the only one in the house with
her after Dad died,” Anna says with a rare hint of condemnation.

Sophie and I exchange an uneasy look. Anna was only sixteen
when Dad was killed. With me away at school already and Sophie on the cusp of
leaving, Anna was on her own with Mom in the aftermath of the accident. As
flaky and distant as our Mom was at the best of times, Anna’s experience with
her in the throes of grief was on a whole different level. In a lot of ways,
our youngest sister had to finish raising herself on her own. And it shows,
too. She’s far more mature than Sophie and I were at her age…Or even now, for
that matter.

Now that I think of it, I think that Anna’s even-keeled
nature is the trait she most clearly inherited from our dad. Archie Porter was
entirely unflappable, utterly dependable, and straightforward at all times. He
never lied to us, even when we were little girls. I remember him that way—with
his lean, long-limbed body, sandy hair, and horn rimmed glasses—laying his
hands on my shoulders and giving it to me straight. I may have gotten his love
of literature and learning, but Annabel absolutely got his insistence on
telling the truth—whether or not anyone wants to hear it.

“So, uh…have you given any thought to how you’ll spend the
year?” I ask Anna, somewhat awkwardly changing the subject.

“Mostly just building up my photography portfolio,” she
replies, rolling onto her back on the warm deck boards. “I want to get some
more portraits and event photography.”

“I could hire you for the next ReImaged party!” I offer
enthusiastically. It’s not often that Anna’s world and mine intersect, and I
can’t help but leap at the opportunity.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replies noncommittally, puncturing the
bubble of my excitement, “I was thinking of heading in a less corporate
direction, though. Finn’s letting me tag along to his band’s show tonight to
take some shots of them, actually.”

“Finn’s in a band?!” Sophie exclaims, sitting bolt upright.

“Yeah. He’s the lead vocalist,” Anna replies placidly.

“But I’ve barely heard a full sentence out of him,” I say
incredulously. I can’t deny that I feel a little pang of jealousy that Finn’s work
is more interesting to Anna than mine.

“Yeah. I didn't realize he spoke in full sentences,” Sophie
adds.

“Maybe that’s because neither of you lets anyone else get a
word in. Ever think of that?” Anna shoots back, that hint of heat rising into
her usually cool voice once more.

“Whoa, Anna…” Sophie replies, stung. “That’s a little
harsh.”

“Yeah, well. The truth can be a bitch,” Anna shrugs, pulling
herself to her feet.

“Did we do something wrong?” I ask my little sister as she
gathers her things, “You seem really pissed off at us.”

Anna levels her gold-flecked eyes at me, with a frankness
that reaches down to the corners of my soul.

“I just wish the two of you would think about someone
besides yourselves once in a while,” she says, swinging her gaze between me and
Sophie. She doesn’t sound angry, or even sad—just terribly disappointed. It’s
the sort of tone that makes you feel about two inches tall, especially when
it’s coming from someone who’s supposed to look up to you.

“Anna, what are you talking about?” Sophie asks her, looking
as wary as I feel.

“Come on,” Anna says, shaking her head, “You can’t play dumb
with me, you guys. I know you too well for that.”

Before we can utter another word, Anna turns on her heel and
marches away. As she goes, a knot of unease twists in my stomach. What have I
done to make her so upset? Could it be possible that she’s somehow caught wind
of what’s going on between me and Cash? She’s always been crazy perceptive, and
that would certainly explain her disapproval of me. But then what the hell
could she have on Sophie?

“Do you have any idea what she’s on about?” I ask Sophie,
trying to keep my voice light.

“Nope,” Sophie replies, a little too quickly. “No idea.”

“Huh. You know Anna. Always the sensitive one,” I offer,
convincing no one. “We should probably just let her go off and do her own
thing. Close quarters do weird things to people…”

Sophie and I fall into an uneasy silence, angling our bodies
away from each other. Try as I might, I can’t think of anything neutral to say
to her. We’ve already burned through all our small talk about work and school,
and the only thing we seem to have in common these days is our dysfunctional
family.

What I wouldn’t give to have that closeness the three of us
shared as little girls. I remember being nine years old, with six-year-old
Sophie and four-year-old Anna, living on our sprawling farm in Vermont. We’d
roam that land for hours on end, making up games and languages, sharing stories
and secrets. Three tow-headed, rough-and-tumble girls, united in the kind of
love that only sisters can know. God, how I mourn the loss of that closeness.
Though this is the first time in a long while that all three of us Porter
sisters have been in the same place, I’ve never felt further away from them both.

A flash of bright red catches my eye up by the house. As I
turn to get a closer look, my eyes land squarely on the fine, perfectly
balanced form that’s occupied my every waking daydream these past few days—that
of Cash Hawthorne, of course. And a
shirtless
Cash Hawthorne,
nonetheless.

His defined pecs and gloriously cut abs are getting tanner
by the day, here by the lake. He’s got one end of a red kayak balanced on his
shoulder, holding it up effortlessly with his thick, powerful arms. His long
dark curls are pushed back from his sculpted face, and his light blue jeans are
riding low on the muscular
“
V
”
of his hips. So
entranced am I by the sight of my tatted up, scruffy paramour that I barely
notice Luke holding up the other end of the kayak. When it comes to the
Hawthorne brothers, I can’t help playing favorites.

“Jesus Christ,” Cash crows, trundling toward us with the
kayak in tow. “I should have worn some shades down here—that pale ass skin of
yours is gonna make me go blind.”

“Ha, ha,” Sophie replies, tossing her long braid over her
shoulder, “Just wait until you’re an old, sunbaked, wrinkly dude at the age of
thirty, and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“He’s already a grumpy old asshole on the inside,” Luke puts
in as the guys lower the kayak onto the dock, “I’m sure the outside will match
before long.”

Sophie zips her lips the second Luke jumps into the
conversation, turning back toward the lake. What the hell is the deal with
these two? Luke must have seen her pull a
Girls Gone Wild
at a college
party or something, for all the tension that seems to hang between them. Hell,
maybe there was even some kind of ill-advised hookup back at Sheridan. That
would certainly explain things. Though the chances of two Porter-Hawthorne
hookups—make that
three
, including our parents—seem pretty slim.

“You got the keys to the truck?” Cash asks Luke, brushing
off his hands.

“What do you need it for?” Luke replies, handing Cash a set
of keys to the ancient black pickup truck that lives on the property.

“Need some more smokes,” Cash says, laughing at the grimace
that crosses Luke’s face. “Sack up, man. It’s not meth.”

“Oh, right. I forgot that lung cancer is real fucking
manly,” Luke shoots back. “Forget sacking up—when are you gonna try
growing
up, Cash?”

“What would I do that for?” Cash shrugs, “You’re already
playing man of the house around here, isn’t that right little brother?”

“I’m not
playing
at anything, you fucker,” Luke snaps
back, squaring off against Cash, “All I’m doing is picking up your slack.”

“What a good little boy,” Cash grins, punching Luke in the
shoulder—just hard enough for it not to be a joke.

“Don’t touch me, asshole,” Luke spits, his hands balling
into fists.

“Come on, lil’ guy,” Cash eggs Luke on, giving him a firm shove,
“You still afraid to take on your big, bad brother?”

Sophie and I exchange nervous glances as Luke’s eyes flare
with anger.

“I’ve always preferred fair fights, Cash.
Clean
fights,” Luke shoots back at his brother, “Not exactly your specialty.”

I watch Cash’s jaw pulse with rage as Luke’s barb catches
him. It’s the same look that came over John yesterday, while he and Cash were
on the verge of fighting. For all their differences, it looks like there’s one
thing Cash inherited from his father—a willingness to fight, and fight
hard
.
Though maybe this wasn’t so much inherited as beaten into him. My heart aches,
just thinking about what might have befallen these boys when they were small.

“Guys, come on. Chill out…” I say, rising to my feet as the
Hawthorne brothers face off on the dock.

“Seriously, you’re being idiots,” Sophie adds, hurrying to
stand beside me.

“You girls just aren’t used to the way guys settle things,”
Cash smiles coldly, his eyes fixed hard on Luke.

“The way
some
guys settle things,” Luke corrects him,
lifting his chin defiantly, “No matter the consequences. Right, Cash?”

All at once, the playfulness goes out of Cash’s eyes. His
gaze becomes steely, that sharp jaw pulsing even harder with raw anger.

“Cash…” I say warily, taking a step toward them, “Could you
please just drop this? You’re freaking me out.”

“Yeah Luke,” Sophie adds, joining me as I inch forward to
diffuse the brewing fist fight, “This is nuts. You guys are brothers.”

“In name, maybe,” Luke growls, looking at Cash with pure
contempt, “But thankfully, that’s all.”

“That’s the good ol
’
Hawthorne name for you,” Cash grins, pulling himself back from the brink of
losing it, with nothing short of Herculean effort, “It’ll stick to you like a
motherfucker, even if it doesn’t mean shit.”