Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (41 page)

“I don’t know about you,” Danny finally says, “But that’s
enough excitement for me tonight.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, still attempting to blink back my tears,
“A shitty Disney movie doesn’t seem too bad right about now.”

“I have
Hercules
on DVD and a bottle of Merlot at my
place,” Danny offers.

“Done,” I smile back at him, glad for a spot of levity. We
could use it after the intense, startling night we both had.

“So…how did you leave things with the Professor?” Danny asks
after a moment.

“I’m not even sure,” I tell him, “But I’m pretty sure I
managed to fuck it up.”

“Wow. In just one night? That’s a new record for you,” Danny
laughs weakly.

“You know me,” I sigh, sinking against the backseat as we
race along the highway, “Always gotta outdo myself somehow.”

***

The campus is nearly deserted the next morning when I
finally make my way home from Danny’s place. We fell asleep watching cartoons
and drinking cheap wine like we were wee little freshmen again—but then, we
both needed a little bit of comfort after the events of last night. Already,
everything that happened at The Bear Trap feels like a dream—a sexy, scary,
unsettling dream. For the first time, I find myself wondering whether I
am
ready to deal with the world outside my cozy university walls. After all, there
may not always be a Luke Hawthorne to rush to my rescue.

Luke weighs heavily on my mind as I arrive back at my dorm
to find that my roommate Kim has already moved her things out of our shared
abode. Though we barely traded more than a few niceties over the course of the
year, I find myself feeling unaccountably lonely here in my half-empty dorm
room. But then, maybe it’s not just anybody’s company I’m longing for now.
Maybe it’s the company of a certain sexy professor—the man who saved me and my
best friend from god knows what last night. The memory of Luke’s hands, the way
his body felt against mine, comes roaring back to me, and I hurry to sit down
at my desk before I topple over with longing. 

I eagerly open my laptop to see if he’s reached out to me
since last night. But when I scan my email inbox, there’s no new message from
Luke Hawthorne. My heart sinks as I sit back in my chair, unreasonably
disappointed. My fear that I bungled things between us last night burrows
deeper into my heart. It’s not like we promised to keep in touch or anything,
now that school is over. What was I expecting? What do I even want from him,
come to think of it?

As I stare despondently at my computer screen, a new message
appears in my inbox. My heart leaps into my throat as I hurry to open it, sure
that it’s Luke checking up on me…But no dice. The email is from my mother,
Robin Porter. I open it up and read a short message, written in her typical
scatterbrained syntax.

Hi Sophie girl! Happy
summer!! Can’t wait to see you for family vaca. Did I remember to give you the
address? The lake house is gorg, you’re going to love it. Hmm…
Actually need to LOOK UP the address first, but
I’ll get it to you eventually. See you in a week baby love you!!1 Mom

I let my head fall into my hands as my mother’s email jogs
my memory. Of course. The family vacation. With all the hustle around the end
of the semester, I nearly forgot that my mom has planned some big reunion for
me and my two sisters in a week’s time.

Our mom has been here in Montana for nearly a month already,
spending some time in her hometown of old to “ground herself” or something.
Really, I think she just needed to get out of Vermont, and away from the house
she used to share with Dad. His death three years ago totally leveled her,
caused her to become even more flighty and erratic than she had been while we
were growing up.

Mom’s a visual artist, and a pretty decent one too. She was
always the fun, unpredictable parent while my father, Archie, was the source of
our stability. They really did balance each other well. Neither was perfect,
but they were perfect for each other. When we lost Dad, Mom lost that sense of
balance entirely. By the time I headed off to school, she was already sleeping
around again, inviting men back to the house on a whim, taking off on
unannounced “trips” despite the fact that my little sister Annabel was only
sixteen.

This inconsiderate streak of my mother’s is something I’ve
learned to work around out of necessity. Since Dad died, I’ve gone out of my
way to spend as much time here at school as possible. I even stopped going home
for the summers, claiming that I wanted to take extra classes in order to
graduate early. And while there may be a nugget of truth in that, the real
reason I don’t go back to Vermont anymore is because it’s just too painful. I
need to keep distance between me and my family, for the sake of my own mental
health. My older sister Maddie is doing the same thing by settling down in
Seattle, whether she realizes it or not. Grief may unite some families, but
it’s flung us Porter women all across the country.

Of course, I couldn’t very well say no to a family vacation
when my mom planned for it to take place just a couple hours away. I
begrudgingly agreed to her little adventure, then immediately put it out of
mind. No getting out of it now, though. It looks like I’m headed into the
backwoods for two weeks of awkward family bonding.

Between the impending reunion and the fiasco that was last
night, this summer’s really getting off to a good start, huh?

Chapter Four

Outside of Kalispell, MT

One Week Later…

Squinting in the bright afternoon sun, I trudge along the
narrow shoulder of the highway with my heavy backpack weighing me down. I don’t
own a car, so my only way of getting to this middle-of-nowhere lake house my
mother rented was to take a bus from Sheridan. Little did I know that the
“nearby bus stop” my mom swore existed would be three miles away from my final
destination.

So far, this vacation is definitely living up to my
expectations.

My caramel hair is plastered to my sunburnt forehead, my
shoulders aching with lugging my pack along. If I knew I’d be hiking to our
vacation spot, I would have left
War and Peace
behind in my dorm room.
Nothing to be done now, I guess. If my mom’s directions are right (which at
this point is anyone’s guess) the house should be just a ways down the dirt
road coming up on my right. I pause to rest before the final leg of my long
walk, letting my backpack fall to the hot pavement with a thud. Just as I
unburden myself, I spot a pickup truck rumbling down the road toward me.

And it looks to be slowing down.

“Great,” I mutter as the truck approaches.

I’ve gotten more than enough catcalls, whistles, and offers to
trade a ride for a blowjob today. Montana boys can be just as forward as any
big city man, that’s for damn sure. I cross my arms, trying to signal the
driver that I’m not interested in being harassed today. But, big surprise, he
doesn’t pick up on the hint.

“Hey there,” says a man’s voice over the pickup’s engine,
“Are you—?”

“No,” I cut off the driver, “I’m not lost, I don’t need a
ride, and I don’t have any cash, grass, or ass to spare. So you can keep on
trucking, pal.”

The man behind the wheel lifts the brim of his baseball cap,
revealing a stoic but handsome face halfway obscured by a bushy, salt and
pepper beard.

“Actually, I was going to ask if you were Sophie Porter,”
the man replies.

I look up at him sharply, taken aback. “How do you—?”

“Thought so,” he nods, “You look just like Robin when she
was your age.”

“I’m sorry…
Who
are you?” I ask. I wouldn’t know this
man from Adam—how is it that he knows both my and my mother’s name?

“Apologies,” he goes on, “Shoulda introduced myself. Name’s
John. I’m an old school friend of your mother’s.”

“Oh,” I reply, “That’s…nice.”

“Sure is,” John chuckles, “She told me you were coming in on
the bus, so I came out to meet you. That woman may be a good painter, but she
can’t read a map for shit.”

“That’s for sure,” I smile tentatively.

“Sorry you still had to walk most of the way,” John goes on,
“Come on. Let me give you a lift back to the house.”

“Um. All right,” I agree, approaching the truck and
wrenching open the rusty door. “You know where this lake house is, then?”

“I sure hope so,” John laughs gruffly as I climb up into the
truck, “I built the damn thing.”

“You built…the house we’re renting?” I ask him, totally
lost.

“Ah,” he grumbles, pulling off onto the dirt road, “Guess
Robin left out a couple details about this little trip.”

“Guess so,” I reply, sinking back against the passenger’s
seat, “Care to fill me in?”

“Well,” John starts, “The long and the short of it is, your
Mom’s been staying with me while she’s back in town. She called up a couple
months back and let me know she was coming home for a spell. I told her she
could crash with me while she spent some time getting back to her roots.”

“Mom’s been living with you this whole time?” I ask him,
eyes wide.

“Yep,” the man replies, “Like I told you, we go way back,
Robin and me. Grew up in this little town together. Used to be thick as
thieves, once upon a time.”

“Uh-huh,” I say flatly.

Something tells me that John and my mom are thicker than
ever, if she’s been living out here in the woods with him
—
for months. Without
letting any of her daughters know. I’ve managed to avoid meeting too many of
Mom’s little boyfriends since Dad passed away, but it looks like my lucky
streak has just come to an end.

“I didn’t realize this would all be news to you,” John says,
stealing a glance at me, “I hope you can still enjoy yourself here. How long
are you staying?”

“Two weeks,” I tell him.
And not a second longer,
I
add silently to myself.

“Plenty of time to kick back and relax,” he smiles, “I really
think you’ll like it here. The house is plenty big for the whole lot of us. My
boys aren’t exactly the most socialized creatures you’ll ever meet, but they’re
harmless. Mostly they just keep to themselves.”

“Your…boys?” I ask.

“My sons,” John nods, “Got three of ‘em. Otherwise known as
‘a handful’.”

“I’m sure,” I reply, trying not to sound annoyed. It’s bad
enough that I’m stuck here in the boonies for two weeks. Now I have to deal
with some rowdy trio of country guys smashing beer cans against their
foreheads, and stalking around with BB guns, or…whatever it is men do when left
to their own devices?

Just as the silence between John and I reaches the point of
being comfortably long, he turns off onto a long driveway lined with trees.

“Here we are,” he says proudly, “Home sweet home.”

I peer through the windshield, expecting some rickety
lean-to or dilapidated farm house. But what I lay eyes on instead takes my
breath away.

John’s house is a gorgeous, three story masterpiece. It
strikes the perfect balance between rustic and elegant, and through the trees
beyond it I can see a sprawling, crystal blue lake. The house’s well-made
wooden exterior is a rich, deep brown, spotted with dark green shutters that—I
can’t help but notice—are the same color as Luke Hawthorne’s eyes.

Get a grip, Sophie,
I chide myself,
You’re
supposed to be getting over Luke while you’re here, not dwelling on him every
waking moment.

But getting over Luke Hawthorne has proven to be easier said
than done this past week. I haven’t heard a word from him since our steamy
run-in at The Bear Trap. God, if only our little tryst hadn’t been cut short by
that awful asshole who was harassing Danny. If Luke and I had been alone for
five more minutes…

No
. It doesn’t bear thinking about. If he wanted to
see me again, he would have gotten in touch with me by now. He has my email
address, doesn’t he? Granted, I also have his, but I can’t very well be the
first one to reach out. Not after I acted like such a weirdo at the end of the
night. It’s time to face the facts: I totally botched my one shot at getting it
on with Luke Hawthorne, and now I have to get over it, whether I like it or
not.

“John, this place is gorgeous,” I finally manage to say once
I’ve forced Luke Hawthorne from my mind once more.

“Thank you,” the man replies, bringing the pickup truck to a
stop and swinging down from the driver’s seat. When I scramble down after him,
I see that he’s built like a grizzly bear, tall and imposing. I can’t help but
be a little intimidated by him, to be honest. But after the other night at the
bar, I can say that I’ve met scarier guys than him. Thank god I had someone to
stand up for me when I did.

I follow John around the house, admiring the wide covered
verandah that circles the house. He leads me up the stairs to the back patio,
and I pause to take in the gorgeous view of the lake. The smooth water reflects
the horizon back on itself, each tree, hill, and cloud cast in striking double
relief. For the first time, I manage to give this trip the benefit of the
doubt. Maybe spending some time in such a beautiful place, removed from the
stresses of school, friends, and my baffling love life will do me some good
after all.

“Is that Sophie?!” I hear my mother’s voice trill from inside
the house.

Before I can even turn around, I’m being smothered by a
cloud of golden blonde curls and airy, girlish laughter.

“Hello to you too, Mom,” I reply, pulling away from her
ardent embrace to get a look at her.

No matter how much time goes by between our visits, my
mother never seems to age. John was right when he said that we look alike. With
her slender figure, smooth skin, and playful blue eyes run through with hints
of gold, she looks more like my sister than my mother. And more often than not,
she acts like it, too.

“I’m so happy to see you, baby!” Mom beams, clapping a hand
to her flushed cheek. “It’s been…God, how long
has
it been?”

“Just since Christmas, Mom,” I reply, adjusting my backpack
on my tired shoulders.

“Here, let me take that,” John says, lifting the bag from my
back, “I’ll put it upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms.”

“Oh. Sure,” I tell him, receiving a gruff nod in reply.

“Thanks for going to pick her up,” my mom says to John,
laying a tender hand on his bulging bicep, “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John grumbles amiably, “So you keep telling
me.”

I wait until our brawny host has disappeared into the lake
house before rounding on my mother.

“Funny thing,” I say wryly, “I don’t remember you mentioning
your pet lumberjack, when you invited me out here.”

“Pet lumberjack?” my mom echoes, cocking her head at me,
“You mean John?”

“Yes, of course I mean John,” I reply, “A little warning
would have been nice, Mom.”

“I could have sworn I told you…” she says absently, looking
out across the wide lawn.

“No,” I tell her, “You didn’t.”

“Well…Surprise!” she laughs, clasping her hands together,
“Isn’t he just the sweetest man you’ve ever met in your life?”

Nope. That would have been Dad,
I think to myself, resisting
the temptation to say so out loud.

“John’s been so kind to me since I’ve been back in town,” my
mom goes on, “Really, I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

“Yeah. He mentioned you guys were old friends,” I reply.

“Is
that
what he told you?” Mom asks, eyebrows
raised.

“Why,” I ask, “Is there more to the story?”

“Oh look!” Mom gushes, ignoring my question completely,
“Here comes your sister!”

I spin around on the patio and catch a flash of platinum
blonde in the sunlight. Walking up the long dock that stretches into the lake
is my little sister, Annabel. Though “little” is hardly the right world for her
anymore. At nineteen, she’s already the tallest of all the Porter women, with
long willowy limbs and big, beautiful doe eyes. All three of us girls were toe
heads when we were little, but only Anna retained her bright blonde locks as
she grew older. I haven’t seen her since the holidays, and in the past several
months she’s come to look more like a grown woman than ever.

“Look, Anna! Sophie’s here!” my Mom trills as Annabel makes
her way toward us across the grassy lawn.

“Yeah. I see that, Mom,” Anna replies, climbing the patio
steps, “What’s up, Soph?”

“Not too much. Just got in,” I tell her, a little put off by
her nonchalance.

Anna’s never been super affectionate, even when she was a
kid. I respect her utter lack of bullshit, but sometimes I can’t help but wish
for a big, giddy reunion with my little sister. I really do miss her when I’m
away at school. With only two years separating us in age, Anna and I were best
friends until we both hit our angsty teenage years. I always hoped that we’d
reconnect once we were a little older, but Dad’s death and my moving away
scattered any chance of that. I often feel like my little sister resents me for
leaving her alone with Mom these past three years. And to be perfectly honest,
I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Why don’t you show your sister around the place?” Mom says
to Anna, all but skipping away into the house.

“Sure,” Anna replies, watching her go, “No problem.”

The back door slams behind our mother, and Anna and I are
alone at last. I jerk my head toward the house, wiggling my eyebrows
conspiratorially.

“So, what’s the deal with that?” I ask her.

“What, Mom and John?” she replies, “You’re asking the wrong
person. I didn’t even know she was staying with him until I got in from
Vermont.”

“You mean she didn’t even tell
you
?” I ask, gaping at
my little sister, “But…you guys still live in the same house!”

“Eh. Nominally,” Anna shrugs, “I stopped trying to keep
track of her years ago. It’s better to just let her do her own thing. You know
she’s going to anyway.”

“Christ. You sound more like the mother than she does,” I
murmur, crossing my arms.

“Well,” Anna replies, “Someone has to be the mom in our
relationship, right?”

Sympathy wrings my heartstrings as I reflect for the
millionth time on how hard these past few years must have been on Anna. I wish
there was some way to talk to her about it, find out how she’s really doing.
But she’s become so closed off to me and Maddie that I wouldn’t even know where
to begin.

“So, you want to see this place or what?” Anna asks, walking
past me toward the house.

“Oh. Uh. Sure,” I reply, trailing behind her, “Might as
well.”

Despite my reservations about this trip, I can’t help but be
impressed by John’s lakeside home. The sprawling interior features a palatial
great room with two fireplaces, an incredible, fully stocked kitchen, and more
than half a dozen guest rooms. The decor strikes just the right balance between
rustic and modern, and it’s far more tidy than I would expect, what with four
men living here and all. Speaking of all those men…

“Where are these sons I’ve heard about?” I ask Anna, as we
wrap up our tour in the guest bedroom I’ve been assigned.

“I barely caught a glimpse of them when I got here this
morning,” she tells me, settling down on the quilt-covered twin bed, “The two
younger ones are off camping tonight. They’re getting back tomorrow afternoon.
And the oldest one hasn’t even shown up yet.”