Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (50 page)

Though I can’t say I wouldn’t prefer something a little
stronger than a thread.

Chapter Eleven

Just a couple hours later, shortly before midnight, Luke
turns onto the darkened Sheridan campus. The place is absolutely deserted on
this summer night. And while I should be comforted by the sight of these
familiar lawns and halls, the eerie, dead quiet of the empty campus ruins the
effect.

It’s a week earlier than I was meant to return to school for
summer classes. Luckily, I got to keep my dorm room from spring semester, so I
still have the key. At least there’s a place for me to rest my head, in the
midst of all the chaos that’s erupted tonight. And at least I get to share that
place with Luke for the time being.

He’s been nearly silent for the entire drive. I can’t even
begin to guess at the contents of his mind. Luke’s had to be the responsible,
loyal son among the Hawthorne boys his entire life. For him to have left with
me tonight is a huge departure from that role. I don’t blame him for not
wanting to talk about it right away. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me his
thoughts. I hope.

We roll to a stop in front of my dorm. Not a single light is
on in the entire hall. I glance over at Luke, sitting motionless in the
driver’s seat.

“Did we just ditch a family drama for a horror movie?” I
joke softly, “This place looks creepy as hell, all empty.”

“It’s still better than being back at that house,” Luke
says, cutting the engine and swinging himself out of the car.

I push open the passenger side door and step out into the
night. Luke falls back into silence as he grabs my suitcase out of the trunk,
leaving his for a second trip since I can’t exactly carry anything. He walks
past me to the front door of the dorm, unlocking it with his Sheridan ID card.

“You know this dorm?” I ask him, stepping into the building
in his wake.

“Yep,” Luke replies, nodding at the security guard, “I used
to live here, too.”

“Small world,” I say quietly, as he summons the elevator.
But he doesn’t reply as we step inside. My pulse quickens anxiously. Something
feels off, here
…
between
us. He’s stonewalling me in a way he hasn’t done since I was his smitten
student. And I don’t like it one bit.

The elevator doors whisper open, and we walk down the hall
toward my room. Our footsteps echo loudly on the tile, the only sound save for
the humming of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. I catch a glimpse of myself in a
darkened study room window. The harsh light casts dark shadows under my
tear-swollen eyes. My long hair is pulled into a hasty top knot, and the sling
glares ominously against my white tank top. I look like a complete mess. But
that stands to reason, since I feel like one too.

“Here we are,” I say, my voice artificially light as I
unlock my dorm room and step inside. I take a deep breath, savoring the
familiar scents of sage incense and dark coffee. Already, the lake house is
starting to feel like part of another dimension. Some place far removed from my
real life—the real life where Luke isn’t my almost-brother, but a sexy teacher
with a nose for justice. Being back here, I almost believe that we can put the
events of this last week behind us.

…Almost.

“Do you have everything you need?” Luke asks, setting down
my bag, “Ice packs for your wrist, Advil, all that?”

“I’m a dancer, remember?” I remind him, “I’ve got ice packs
and Advil for days.”

“Good,” he says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets,
“That’s…good.”

We stare at each other across the living room, unspeaking.
There’s only a few feet of space between us, but I’ve never felt farther away
from him. His face is entirely unreadable, that easy understanding we’ve come
to share is totally out of my reach. A sense of foreboding hangs over me like a
swollen cloud, ready to burst. But maybe if I don’t glance up, it’ll disperse
on its own.

“You up for a movie or something?” I ask him, turning into
the kitchen, “I don’t think I can sleep just yet. I’ve got some snacks left
over here, too. Do you like popcorn? That’s a stupid question. Who doesn’t like
popcorn?”

“Sophie…” Luke says from the doorway, his voice harsh. He
hasn’t taken a step into my room.

“Maybe we can push the two beds together for tonight?” I go
on, purposely not hearing him, “Something tells me you’re not gonna fit in a
twin with me. Oh! Or we could just lay out all the couch cushions and—”

“Sophie, stop,” Luke rasps. I force myself to take a deep
breath and look back at him from the kitchen. He’s standing there in front of
the door, his feet rooted in the ground. Pain and frustration grip his sculpted
features.

“What is it?” I ask quietly, not wanting to hear the answer.

“I just wanted to make sure you got back here safely,” Luke
says, his jaw set, “But I can’t stay here. You know that.”

“Oh…” I reply, my voice straining through my throat, “That’s
right. You’ve got your own room on campus, right? Since you’re going to be an
RA? That’s cool, if you want to sleep there—”

“No,” Luke growls, his hands clenching into fists, “It’s not
about the room, Sophie. It’s about… Everything else. I can’t be here. At
Sheridan. Not now.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer, “That was the plan. We
were going to come back here together and have the rest of our summer.”

“You know that’s impossible now,” Luke says firmly, fixing
his green eyes on me. “I can’t stay here with you, Sophie.”

“But…I don’t understand…” I breathe, steadying myself against
the kitchen doorway, “You
have
to stay. You’re teaching, aren’t you?”

“I’ll let the school know that something’s come up,” he says
shortly, “I’m done with this place. For good.”

“And me?” I ask tremulously, “Are you done with me, too?”

Luke looks at me in silence, and I watch as his green eyes
harden into stone. He’s pulling away from me. Drawing up his defenses. Getting
ready to lock me out forever.

“Luke,” I say quickly, moving toward him across the room, “I
know that tonight has been hard. With everything going on with our parents,
and—”

“Hard doesn’t begin to cover it, Sophie,” he cuts me off,
shaking his head.

“That’s fair,” I say, keeping my distance, “But isn’t that
all the more reason we should try and get through it together? I mean—”

“Wake up, Sophie,” Luke roars suddenly, striking the wooden
door with his fist, “We
can’t
be together. Not anymore.”

“Luke, calm down,” I tell him, backing away from his
towering form. He catches sight of me shrinking back and shoves a hand roughly
through his short brown hair.

“Look at me, would you?” he growls through gritted teeth,
“Now I’ve scared you. Jesus Christ… I’m just like him.”

“Who…Your dad?” I breathe, stopping dead in my tracks,
“You’re nothing like him, Luke.”

“Then how did I get saddled with his fucking life?” Luke
demands furiously, blinded by resentment and rage. I’ve never seen him like
this, on the edge of losing control. And I can’t lie, it
does
scare
me. 

“If you’d just talk to me, Luke, maybe we could figure
something out,” I venture.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says harshly, “You know
as well as I do that this thing is impossible now. They’ve ruined it for us.
It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I whisper, willing myself not to
cry, “We don’t have to give them the final say, Luke.”

“No,” he says with grave finality, “We don’t have to give it
to them. They’ve had it all along. I’m sorry. I need to get out of here.”

“Look, I don’t need to be here for summer classes,” I cut
in, “Let me come with you. We can just go off together, start all over.”

“Don’t be crazy,” he shoots me down, “You need to be here,
doing what you love. Getting your future all squared away.”

Because I won’t be a part of it.
That’s what he’s
really trying to tell me. That I need to get on with my life without him, and I
might as well start now. God knows, he’s going to.

“Please don’t do this Luke,” I plead softly, balling my
trembling hands into tight fists, “Please don’t leave me here.”

“I know it’s hard. But one day, you’ll thank me for not
dragging this thing out,” he says, not looking at me.

“This thing?” I laugh bitterly, “Is that what you’d call us?
Just some
thing
?”

“I’m going to go now,” he says, turning away from me,
“Before you say something you’ll regret in the morning.”

“The only thing I regret is trusting you to be different,” I
snap at him, “Trusting you not to hurt me like everyone else has.”

“Don’t turn this into some kind of melodrama,” he says
meanly, looking at me over his shoulder, “We’re not in acting class, Soph.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper, “Get out of my room.”

Without a word of response, he does just that, striding out
of my dorm room with his shoulders squared. I rush across the space and slam
the door shut behind him, snapping the lock into place with a decisive click. I
listen to his retreating footsteps, barely audible over the sound of my
pounding heart. Only once I’ve heard the elevator doors open and shut do I let
that dark cloud of despair break over me.

Pressing my back to the wooden door, I slide down onto the
ground. I pull my knees tightly to my chest, letting the tears come hard and
fast. I don’t make a sound as sorrow swells up all around me. I don’t cry and
sob to the unfeeling heavens, like I did back on the dock. I’m speechless,
voiceless in the face of this incredible, inevitable pain.

You brought this on yourself, you know,
some
malicious little part of me says over and over again in the silence of my empty
room,
You brought this on yourself. 

And it’s true. I asked for this. I’ve been courting this
heartache since that first day at the lake house, when I discovered the truth
about Luke’s family and mine. I could have cut ties with him right then and
there, saved myself from this unbelievable hurt. Maybe Luke is right about me.
Maybe I’m more interested in being the star of my own little melodrama than I
am in the people I care about most. Maybe I’m just a pathetic, masochistic
little drama queen who’s had it coming all along.

Well…What better company for a drama queen than her drama
king?

In a daze, I dig my cell phone out of my backpack and type
out a message with trembling fingers.

Me: Are you near campus? I
need you.

By the time I’ve managed to pour myself onto the well-worn
couch, I’ve received my reply.

Danny: I’m near-ish.
What’s going on? Is this a booty call? I thought Sexy Pants was taking care of
all your needs these days.

Me: I’m afraid Sexy Pants
has flown the coop. Everything’s gone to shit, Danny.

Danny: Where are you?

Me: In my dorm. He just
left.

A long moment passes while Danny takes in my message. But
finally, he replies.

Danny: I’m coming. Just
stay put.

Me: Thank you, Danny.

Danny: That’s what boy
friends are for, right? For when actual boyfriends fuck up.

A sound that’s part laugh, part sop rips out of my throat at
Danny’s message. I curl up on the couch, waiting for my best friend to arrive.
He may not be able to understand how I’ve let myself fall so hard, but I know
he’ll offer me a hand as I right myself again…and a swift kick in the ass if I
let myself mope too long.

The perfect combination for a broken-hearted mess like me.

***

The one precious week I got to spend at the lake house with
Luke flew by in one sweeping rush. The following week, however, moves so slowly
that I find myself wondering if time has simply stopped. With no classes, no
work, no tasks to distract me, the ache of Luke’s absence is amplified tenfold.
Danny does his best to keep me company, but I can tell that even his patience with
my despondency is wearing thin. By the time the week has come and gone, he’s
had it with my lovesickness.

“If you're not gonna eat that burrito, I am,” he snaps at me
across the table. We’ve hunkered down at
Pequeñ
o for
a little pre-summer semester feast. Classes start up again tomorrow, and by
rights I should be thrilled. But mustering up even an ounce of enthusiasm is
proving to be impossible.

“Have at,” I say to Danny, pushing my plate across the
table, “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve barely eaten anything all week,” he says, crossing
his arms, “You wanna pass out on our first day of classes and embarrass
yourself in front of everyone? You know we have guest artists coming in from
New York City to teach us, right? Artists who have theater companies, and connections,
and zero tolerance for mopey bullshit.”

“Are you trying to make me feel worse about all this?” I ask
him, taking a long swig of my margarita, “I haven’t heard a word from Luke
since he ditched me here last week. I don’t know where he is, or what he’s
doing. My sisters and I haven’t even had a chance to get on the same page about
what to do with our mother—”

“Babe,” Danny cuts me off, reaching across the table and
taking my hands, “You’ve got a whole lot to say about Luke, and Anna, and
Maddie. But you know who you should really be worried about right now?
Sophie
.”

“Wh-what?” I stammer, “What do you mean?”

“You have no way of controlling what Luke does next,” Danny
says, brushing his thumb against my hand, “He’s going to make his own choices,
and he’ll have to live with them. The only thing you have control over is what
you
do now. You can choose to self-destruct and waste this summer feeling sorry for
yourself. Or you can choose to pull yourself the fuck together, kill it for
those New York people, and keep on chasing the dreams you had long before Luke
Hawthorne stuck it to you. So, what’s it gonna be Sophie? What’s your move?”