Stepbrother Dearest (31 page)

Sully laughed. “With all this book stuff, I just didn’t want you to forget your roots.”

Elec took it in stride then accepted his actual present, which was a gift certificate to Starbucks where he

spent a lot of time writing after work. We’d recently inked a publishing deal for
Lucky and the Lad
and a yet to be written sequel he was developing now. He was still working at the middle school during the day.

Elec’s present to me was the last to be handed out. I was surprised he even brought something for me

since we agreed to exchange gifts in California. Let’s just say, once I opened the box, it made total sense.

This wasn’t my actual gift. It was the last pair of underwear he’d stolen from me all those years ago. They

were turquoise lace. I remembered them well and shook my head.

“I can’t believe you’ve held onto this all these years.”

“It was the one memento I had of you for a long time.”

I whispered in his ear. “You’re lucky my ass still fits inside these.”

He whispered in mine. “I think I’m even luckier because I fit inside your ass.”

I punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re so nasty. I love it, though.”

“You didn’t read the card,” he said.

I opened it. It had a picture of an old couple kissing by a Christmas tree. It was one of those blank cards

where you could write your own note inside.

Greta,

This Christmas will be the best of my life.

Because of you…I:

Am grateful.

Am happy.

Am fulfilled.

Am at peace.

Am excited for the future.

Am in love.

Because of you this Christmas…I:

Am Merry.

Am Merry.

It didn’t register at first until I saw him getting down on one knee and reaching into his pocket.

Am Merry=Marry Me.

“I didn’t know what love felt like until you, Greta, not just giving it but receiving it. I love you so much.

Please say you’ll marry me.”

I covered my face in shock. “I will. Yes. Yes!”

Everyone in the room clapped. Sully must have been in on it because a bottle of champagne popped in

the air.

When Elec placed the ring on my finger, I gasped. “Elec, this is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen,

but there is no way you could afford it.”

The diamond was at least two carats and channel set with small stones all around the white gold or

platinum band.

He stood up and pressed his nose to mine. “This ring is the one that Patrick gave Pilar all those years

ago. Money was no object to him. Mami stopped wearing it after Patrick died but didn’t want to part with it.

She held onto it all these years. I hadn’t ever seen it before, but she showed it to me just before I moved

here. I immediately asked if I could have it, knowing I wanted to give it to you someday. She gave it to me, but I insist on paying her back eventually. This ring once represented a lot of pain for my family, but I don’t look at it that way now. If it weren’t for all of that, there’d be no us, and I couldn’t imagine that. This ring is an indestructible piece of light among all the darkness that was my past. It reminds me of your love for me.

It is
the
ring for you.”

***

A year later, on New Years Eve, Elec and I had a private ceremony officiated by a justice of the peace. I

wore my hair up. He was happy about that.

A big wedding wasn’t necessary; we just wanted to make it official. We chose New Years Eve as a way

of sticking it to fate.

After a nice dinner alone at Charlie’s Pub following the wedding, we joined the crowd in Times Square.

When the ball dropped, Elec lifted me into a passionate kiss that more than made up for our lost

opportunity here five years ago.

When he put me down, I whispered into his ear and gave him the surprise of his life.

Later that night, he’d put his head on my tummy, and cleverly joked in typical Elec fashion about how

we belonged in a reality TV show: he’d now officially become his brother’s bastard child who impregnated

his stepsister.

The Final Chapter: True Romance

“Are you baby O’Rourke’s father?”

An unfamiliar twinge developed in my heart upon the nurse’s use of that term. “Yes. That’s me. I’m the

father.”

The father.

My whole life had seemingly been defined by being the antithesis of father. I was the son: bastard son,

bad son, estranged son. But now, I was the father. It was my turn to be…the father.

“Can I check your identification please?”

I lifted my arm and showed her the plastic bracelet locked around my wrist. I wanted to wear it forever.

Gangrene may not have even been a good enough reason to cut that thing off.

“Follow me,” she said.

I’d missed the birth. I’d been visiting Mami in California when Greta called me to say her water broke.

She was only thirty-four weeks along, so I thought it was safe to take a quick trip out there before my time
became more limited than ever.

I immediately packed up and started driving to the airport once I realized she was likely in labor.

The next thing I knew, Sully was calling me to say Greta had been taken in for an emergency c-section.

I panicked because I wasn’t even on the plane yet. I knew I wouldn’t make it in time. The worst kind of

helpless feeling came over me. I prayed probably for the first time ever. It’s funny how you can spend your
entire life wondering if there’s a God until suddenly in a time of crisis, you’re begging Him for help as if
you’d never doubted He existed.

Sully sent me a text shortly before I boarded. It was a picture of my son.

My son.

I remember I’d been walking out of the bathroom and just froze, staring at my phone in awe. I looked

around me as if everyone should have known that this was the most monumental moment in the history of

the universe. The message said the baby was taken to the NICU but was fine. Greta was fine. They were

fine.

Thank you, God. I swear I’ll never doubt you again.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked down at the picture while I walked through the gate and onto the

plane. I think I must have stared at the photo for the entire six hours.

When I finally arrived at the hospital, Greta was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake her, but I couldn’t
wait another minute to meet my son.

The nurse led me to where he was asleep in the incubator.

If I thought the photo made me emotional, there was no comparison to seeing him in person, watching

his little chest rise and fall.

“He’s breathing on his own, and all his vitals are good. He should only have to be in here five to six

days.”

“Can I hold him?”

“Yes. We just ask that you wash your hands with the antibacterial soap over there and put on one of

these masks.”

I wasted no time heading to the sink, lathering my hands and placing the paper mask over my mouth.

She took him out and handed him to me. His warm body was swaddled in a blanket and felt light as a

feather. Suddenly, I became terrified, not only of keeping him safe for the rest of his life but worried even
about the ride home through the city. He was so fragile, and yet this tiny being comprised everything in
the world that now mattered to me. Talk about holding the world in the palm of your hand. I wished I

could carry him home in a breathable non-destructive display case with a lock. I wanted to shield him

from everything this crazy world had to offer.

Looking down at his little face made me truly realize that everything I’d been through in life was

supposed to happen exactly as it had. It couldn’t have transpired any other way if it meant that this little
person never came to be.

He had Randy’s nose, which was also Patrick’s. It was uncanny. With his lighter hair, he looked even

more like them than I did. How ironic that through all of the hate, love was spawned in their likeness.

Chills ran through me when I realized today—his birthday—was the 22nd but didn’t let it bother me

one way or the other.

“Hey, little buddy. It’s Daddy. I’m your daddy.”

His eyelids flickered, and he started to squirm in my arms.

“You don’t have to wake up. I’ll still be here. You won’t be able to get rid of me for a very long time.”

He opened his little hand, and I watched his tiny fingers close around my pinky. I wondered where any

of my inspiration to write even came from before him. I knew that from now on, every last bit of it would be
derived from my son.

Letting go of all lingering anger from the past was going to be more necessary now than ever. There

would no longer be room for any of it in my heart. I needed all the room for him. It was in that moment

holding my son when I knew I had to truly forgive Patrick and Randy. They’d schooled me on what not to

do as a father. I’d make up for their mistakes by giving my own son more love than he’d know what to do

with.

It may have seemed strange, but I quietly thanked Randy for what he had given me. In life, he led me

to my one true love. In death, he made it possible to find her again.

Through death there was life. Through hate there was love. I looked down at my son. “In the end,

there was you, and that made it all worth it.”

In the same way that you can easily switch the letters of a word around to see another hidden

meaning, such is life. A life can be defined by its hardships or its blessings. It’s all a matter of how you
look at it. So, while this book was once setting up to be a tragic tale, it turned into a love story, an
imperfect but unconventionally epic romance.

Scramble the letters of romance, you get Cameron. Greta came up with that one all on her own. It was

her very first anagram.

Romance=Cameron.

I love you, Cameron.

THE END

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