Wrecked: A Stepbrother Romance Novel (3 page)

F
our days
after quitting my job and holing up in my apartment with a few gallons of ice cream while trying to move past the panic-induced ‘
what have I done?
’ reaction, I finally felt stable enough to leave my private world and rejoin the real one.

Besides, it was pretty overdue. I should have gone out on day one and started collecting job applications, but I desperately needed that short break to calm my frazzled emotions.

But it was time to get real again. I got dressed and grabbed my purse, walking through the city while I grabbed the cheapest lunch possible and a number of job applications for a bunch of different stores. Slinging coffee really wasn’t my idea of a fabulous career, but I knew I stood a better chance of landing that job in a hurry more than a job at a doctor’s office or something more suited to my education.

At this point, I’d gladly take whatever was offered to me. While I worked for the cash I needed to keep my bills paid, I’d also send in my resume to places I would better fit at. A responsible decision.

I was actually so proud of myself for my reasonable choice that my first reaction was to call and tell my mom, until I remember her and Harold had just left for their extended vacation.

Oh well, I’ll tell her later
, I thought as I stepped back into my apartment building. I was at the staircase when I paused, remembering that I hadn’t even been down to check my mailbox in four days. I made my way for the boxes and opened the slot, shoving the stack of mail into my oversized purse before I started the trek up to the third floor.

Once upstairs, I unloaded the all the job applications and newspapers I had gathered on my venture outside onto my kitchen table and started a fresh pot of coffee. As I waited for it to brew, I dug a pen out of my purse and dropped my mail onto the table along with the rest of the papers.

I flipped through the stack of junk mail and bills while shaking my head, only stopping when something unusual caught my eye.

It was indeed my name and address, only it was hand-written on the envelope. I
never
got handwritten letters from anyone with the exception of Christmas cards, which was months ago. My frowned deepened when I noticed the lack of a return address, until I flipped over the envelope and noticed the two initials written over the seal.

BJ.

Brandon Jensen was the only person I knew with those initials. It had to be him.

Everything seemed to freeze all at once.

“
S
o are
you excited for prom?”

I grinned at my mom as she leaned over the kitchen counter and shot me a sly smile, already well aware of the answer to that. I was still technically grounded, but the punishment would soon be lifted so I could have a good time at my senior prom.

“Very,” I confirmed with a nod.

My mom chuckled. “You seem more excited for tomorrow than you are for your graduation next week.”

I shrugged a little and shifted my gaze to the glass of orange juice sitting on the counter in front of me.

“Yeah, I kind of am. Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy to be getting out of high school but... I guess I’m not sure if I’m ready to go out into the real world just yet.”

Brandon entered the kitchen and snorted. “Well,
I
can’t fucking wait.”

“Language!” my mom gasped, both Brandon and I snickering at her outrage.

“Well, of course
you’re
excited. You’re like a genius or something. You won’t have any problems finding a job or figuring out your place in the world,” I muttered, already starting to lose my focus as I thought about what I wanted to do with my life for the millionth time.

“Have you picked a college yet, Brandon?”

He shook his head. “I think I’m going to defer. Try my hand at launching a business on my own.”

Mom frowned. “That’s not an easy thing to do, dear. I heard on the news that most small businesses fail within a year or something like that. Your father would remember the statistics, I’m not good with that stuff.”

Brandon grinned. “Don’t worry about me, I have no plans of starting a small business. I’m thinking
big
.”

I didn’t even have the desire to roll my eyes as he walked to the fridge and poured himself a glass of juice. While some people might find his personal brand of cockiness annoying, I thought it suited him well. His intellect was the only area that he ever showed any amount of confidence in, although I had noticed that he had recently started wearing tighter clothes as he continued to work on his body. The t-shirt he was wearing today was definitely a size or two smaller than the baggy ones he used to wear and it clung nicely to his chest and abdomen.

Stop looking at your stepbrother’s body, Vanessa.

I shook my head to clear the sound of my mother’s voice as it echoed in my head, scolding me for being so inappropriate.

“You ready to go?”

I looked up at Brandon’s expectant stare and nodded. I quickly swallowed the rest of my orange juice before grabbing my bag and heading for the door, waving good-bye to my mom before we headed out to the car.

I was turning over the ignition when I said, “You know, you really should get your own car. Then you wouldn’t be forced to ride everywhere with me.”

“I like riding with you, I don’t mind. Besides, I hate driving.”

“Why?” I asked as I backed the car out of the driveway.

Brandon shrugged. “No idea really. It’s just not my thing.”

“Is it because you’re a massive control freak and being behind the wheel is a constant reminder of the fact that you can’t control other people’s driving?”

He turned to me with a perplexed look. “Sounds about right. It’s a lot easier to ignore as a passenger. Have you ever considered going into psychology? I think you’d be good at it.”

I shrugged and shook my head, not bothering to admit that I had only parroted what my grandfather told me when I asked why he didn’t drive.

The rest of the ride to school was silent, even though I could just look at him and sense his desire to say something. But when we pulled into the lot and he practically ran from the car, I realized that whatever it was probably wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.

L
ater that day
, I stalked over to the table in the cafeteria where all the jocks sat together and ate lunch. Even though I had started dating one of their own, I still hadn’t really been accepted into the clique. But when I got grounded, I became even less out of the loop considering I had promised my mom I’d spend my lunch breaks in the library.

“Where’s Trey?” I asked the group when I realized he wasn’t among them.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Nathan, the quarterback of the team, said as he eyed me from head to toe. “I don’t know where Trey ran off to, but you’re more than welcome to take a seat here on my lap and wait for him.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’d rather not. You really don’t know where he is?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

I was well beyond irritated at that point. “Well which is it? I need to talk to him about prom.”

Nathan smiled as the rest of the people at the table lost interest in our conversation. He raised a crooked finger and beckoned me closer, raising all kinds of red flags in my head. Still, I leaned in a little closer to hear him.

“Be honest with me. Would I have had a chance with you if you hadn’t gotten with Trey?”

With a scoff, I backed away from him. I’d been at this school for four years and not once had Nathan shown even an ounce of interest in me. The guys here were all the same. They only wanted what they couldn’t have.

“Nathan, just tell me where he is.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “No idea.”

“You’re lying,” I hissed, leaning back down. “And no. You
don’t
have a chance with me. You never have.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a shrug, then looked down at his watch. “I’d say your boyfriend is probably the same place he always is around this time. Shop class.”

My eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Trey doesn’t have shop until fourth period.”

“I know.”

“So why—”

I cut myself off, eyes widening with realization. I looked down at Nathan’s grin and the sickening truth was written all over his face. I didn’t want to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes, so I hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder and went rushing out of the cafeteria.

Let it be bullshit. Let Nathan be lying.
Please
don’t tell me this is why everyone’s been snickering when I walk into rooms.

When I pushed open the doors to the shop class and listened for noises, I knew it was true. I didn’t even have to do it, but I still walked further into the room until I finally locked eyes on Trey with his pants around his ankles as Gina, one of the cheerleaders, took him in her mouth.

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

Trey’s head jolted up and he looked at me in fear. Before he could speak, I was already continuing.

“You chased after me for
months
. Then I finally agree to go out with you and I... I gave you my virginity! You
asshole!
”

“Vanessa—”

“Just don’t!” I shouted, backing away as Trey struggled to pull up his pants. “How long has this been going on?”

He sighed in resignation. “I don’t know. Maybe a month?”

“So the entire time we’ve been dating,” I confirmed with a nod, letting Gina run past me. “Why did you even bother to ask me out?”

He lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug and suddenly made sense.

“You just wanted to be the first, didn’t you?” I asked, shocked that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Then I remembered the girls in the locker room making bets on who would take Brandon’s virginity.

“Did you.... Was this all part of a bet?”

He looked guilty, which really said all I needed to know. But then he shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “It was more of a pool than a bet.”

“A
pool
?”

“Yeah, for how long it’d take for you to.... you know.”

I’m going to be sick.

I started backing away, ignoring the sound of Trey calling my name as I ran for the restroom. Both my lunch and my breakfast came up as I crouched down in front of the toilet, tears streaming down my face.

I had convinced myself that I was imagining all the snickers and looks of pity coming my way for the past few weeks, but now I realized they were real all along.

Trey had been cheating on me the entire time. Our entire relationship was nothing more than a game… and everyone but me had known it.

All I could think as I tugged my knees to my chest and sobbed was that Brandon would have
never
done something like this to me.

“
B
abe
, please. Just listen to me.”

“Leave me alone,” I muttered before ending the call and cutting him off mid-apology.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Trey was currently standing in his tuxedo trying to explain to his parents why his girlfriend wouldn’t take his calls on prom night.

One could only hope.

With a sigh, I flopped back onto my stomach and buried my face into the pillow so I wouldn’t have to look at the beautiful dress I’d never have a chance to wear. It was hanging on the open door of my closet, just waiting to be pulled on.

But I couldn’t show my face at prom. After my breakdown in the bathroom, word travelled fast that I found out about Trey’s cheating and the snickers became even more vicious. Like people thought it was funny that it took me so long to find out.

There was no way I was going to willingly walk into the firing squad and watch while Trey flirted with the girl who I caught giving him head. As much as he seemed to want to apologize, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that he was being genuine.

It was all a game. Every single part.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I loved him. Not in the slightest. If anything, the one guy I thought I could love was Brandon, but it was pretty clear that I would never be able to have him. Not without the risk of severely upsetting our parents. Not to mention the social stigma that would follow us wherever we went.

It might not being illegal to date your stepsibling, but it
was
pretty weird. Especially since Brandon and I had been steps since we were thirteen.

There was a gentle knock at my door and I panicked, not having thought of a good excuse to tell my mom about why I had suddenly decided to stay home from prom.

The knock sounded again and I hurriedly dried the remaining tears from my eyes and yelled, “Just a minute!”

I nearly growled when the doorknob turned and the person outside pushed their way in until I realized it was Brandon. My anger deflated and I plopped back onto the bed, looking up at him tiredly.

He was dressed in a suit that was obviously his father’s considering its loose fit and he was holding something in his hand. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a corsage box. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place and I was simultaneously touched and annoyed.

“I’m not going there,” I said stubbornly.

“We’re not going to prom,” he said as he pushed the box my way. “Just put on your dress and get ready or we’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?” I asked, my annoyance forgotten in favor of curiosity.

“You’ll see. Get dressed.”

With that, he spun on his heel and left the room. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I could admit that I
really
wanted to find out.

“
A
limo
?” I asked with raised eyebrows after we exited the house. “But you said—”

“We’re not going to prom, I swear,” he said. “But you know I hate driving and I couldn’t ask you to drive without ruining the surprise.”

He opened the door for me and I slid in, looking around with wonder at the decedent interior. It was the first time I’d ever been in a limousine and it definitely exceeded the few expectations I had. Brandon dropped into the seat beside me and I felt myself blush when our thighs rubbed together. I inched down the leather seat to put a more appropriate amount of distance between us. Brandon noticed, but didn’t call me out on it.

Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “Champagne?”

“We’re not old enough to drink,” I said with a sly smile.

“True, but I have my ways,” he said as he reached into the fridge and pulled out the chilled bottle. “Dad bought one bottle for us. Don’t tell your mom.”

I accepted the glass and took a sip, welcoming the way the alcohol and the bubbles tickled my throat. I drank the first glass rather quickly, hoping it would settle my nerves, then asked for a refill.

Luckily, the bottle wasn’t large enough to get us both drunk. I was just barely buzzed when the limousine rolled to a stop and Brandon offered me his hand to assist me out of the car.

When we stepped outside, I realized we were at a local restaurant known for its decadence, somewhere I’d never been able to afford to eat before. Brandon and I strolled inside together and were then led through the restaurant and out of the main dining area.

Once we were left alone with assurance that a waiter would be by shortly, I turned to him with a dropped jaw.

“You got us a private table? How in the hell did you manage to swing this?” I asked incredulously.

Brandon shrugged. “I’m a saver, not a spender. You could’ve afforded this as well if you hadn’t spent every dime you got the moment it hit your palm.”

I rolled my eyes and playfully slapped his chest before moving to take a seat at our table.

“This was really nice of you.”

He ducked his head and smiled down at the floor. “Honestly, I would have liked to take you to the ballet or something, but we don’t have anything like that around here. So I figured this would be the next best place to take you where you could wear the dress.”

I looked down at my dress and sighed happily, grateful that he had given me an occasion to wear it. I looked back up to his nervous eyes and smiled, unsure of how I could ever repay him for such a nice gesture.

You could do what Gina was doing to Trey. That’d be a good start.

Mortified by where my thoughts had taken me, a crimson blush rose to my cheeks. The small smile faded from Brandon’s face and he opened his mouth to likely ask what was wrong, but abruptly closed it when a waiter entered the room.

After the interruption, most of our time was spent either with neutral small talk or in silence as we sampled a variety of meals and desserts. By the time Brandon was paying our check, I was totally full and happier than I’d been in a long time.

O
n our ride
back to the house, I didn’t say a word when Brandon inched slightly closer to me. I was enjoying his company far too much to feel like pushing him away, even though the logical part of my brain was practically demanding it.

“Thanks again for tonight. It was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. I know it wasn’t prom or anything, but I thought it’d be nice.”

I sat back in the seat and sighed. “I’d be willing to bet that this was a lot more fun than prom.”

There was a thick silence before Brandon broke it. “Did he take Gina?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I assumed he would, but he was still calling me earlier so who knows?”

“He was calling you?”

“Yeah, but I turned my phone off. Can we just not talk about him right now? I’d like to enjoy my night.”

Brandon smiled and nodded. “That sounds good.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few miles until I felt Brandon’s arm draping over my shoulder. I looked up at him curiously and nearly chuckled at the terrified look on his face.

“Is this okay?” he asked nervously.

Brandon was so painfully nervous around women—myself included—and I couldn’t deny that I found it completely endearing. He was terrified of making the wrong move even though he clearly wanted to go forward. I couldn’t help but feel compelled to help ease his nerves, so I accepted his touch.

“It’s fine,” I assured him, snuggling a little closer to his warm body.

He inhaled and tensed up before he let himself relax on the exhale. His touch became surer and he rested his large palm on my bare shoulder, rubbing gently circles over my skin. Goosebumps started prickling my flesh and I shivered just slightly, then looked up to his face.

He was looking down at me with desire, his eyes pinpointed to my chest. I glanced down and saw my stiff nipples through the thin fabric of my dress and I almost wished I had worn a bra. But ultimately, the heated look on his face was worth the slight bit of embarrassment I felt.

“Vanessa,” he said thickly, swallowing hard and clearing his throat before he finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him it would only lead to heartache because nothing could ever really happen between us. I wanted to say I was on the rebound. But for every argument my head made, my heart and my body disagreed.

My lack of response was enough make him move forward, but he kept our faces inches apart. It wouldn’t be our first kiss—we had stolen a number of those over the past few months—but it somehow still felt like it was. I was shaking slightly in my seat as I waited for him to close the distance.

But he didn’t.

Brandon had an endless amount of patience, not to mention respect. He was waiting for my signal, for a sign that he was allowed to continue. The slight buzz from the champagne was nothing compared to how drunk I was just from the intoxication of his proximity.

With that thought in mind, I leaned forward to close the gap between us. I pressed my lips softly to his and moaned when he immediately moved to deepen the kiss, totally at ease with taking charge once my consent was given. His groan of pleasure was like music to my ears and I twisted my body to give him better access.

I parted my lips and softly moaned when I felt his tongue slip past them. We kept on like that for a long moment, until we both had to break apart for air. I watched his dilated pupils as they slid back and forth between my eyes and my heaving chest. But when I leaned forward in hopes that he’d kiss me again, he held up his hand to stop me.

“We’re home,” he said sadly, like he knew that the instant the words left his mouth, the spell would be broken and I would revert back into my usual cold self.

Which was exactly what happened. Guilt twisted in my stomach as I moved away from him, waiting until the car completely stopped moving and for Brandon to get out before I let out a long, shaky breath. He cleared his throat outside and offered me his hand, which I took only for the briefest moment before I let go.

“Brandon—”

I stopped the moment I saw the look in his eyes as they focused on the house. With a frown, I turned towards whatever he was looking at and nearly gasped when I saw Trey sitting on our front porch.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Brandon demanded to know. “I thought you weren’t taking his calls.”

“You were with me the entire evening. I
haven’t
been taking his calls,” I said dryly. “I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m going to find out.”

Without another word or even a glance in Brandon’s direction, I marched up to the steps. Trey noticed me approaching and stood up, finally revealing just how terrible he looked. He was wearing his suit for the prom, but I’d wager from the looks of it that he never made it there.

“What do you want?” I demanded, trying not to let his obvious sadness lessen my anger. I could feel Brandon’s presence lingering somewhere behind me, but still far enough away to not be crowding me.

I dropped my voice to a low, stern whisper. “Trey, you need to go.”

“Babe, no. Please hear me out,” he begged miserably, running his fingers into his hair and shaking his head back and forth. “Look, maybe my intentions were fucked up at the start, but I really like you, Vanessa. More than I ever expected to.”

He sounded sincere and it was making me incredibly uncomfortable. I was still acutely aware of Brandon a few yards behind me, waiting in silence for me to get rid of Trey.

The reminder of him made my heart hurt. My thoughts went back to the kiss—to
all
the kisses that we had ever shared even though we knew we shouldn’t—then to painful separation after them and the subsequent yearning for
more
.

Trey had fucked up and I couldn’t bring myself to trust him, but I also couldn’t allow my heart to get any more involved with Brandon. Doing so would only lead to bad things. I turned my head back and tried to harden my resolve.

“Brandon, can you give us some privacy?”

He looked taken aback and I fought the urge to turn away, this feeling eerily similar to the last time we stood on this lawn and I told him I was ditching him for Trey. He seemed to feel the same way—his eyes torn between betrayal and resignation. It was just so familiar.

“Vanessa, just tell him to go,” he pleaded, more with his eyes than his tone.

I locked down my heart and shook my head, keeping the movement slow so the tears wouldn’t fall.

“Go inside, Brandon.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to argue with me. But he seemed to change his mind, straightening his spine and clenching his jaw tightly before he said, “This is it. I’ll go inside, but you better be right behind me. Otherwise, I’m done. Just... done. With
all
of this.”

His gesture was around the entire yard, but I knew what he was really referring to was whatever was going on between the two of us. Trey watched with a confused frown as Brandon pushed past him, slamming his shoulder into his and earning a surprised grunt for his effort. My heart screamed for me to follow, but by sheer force of will, I kept my feet glued to the ground.

He twisted the doorknob and pushed it open, waiting for a split second before he turned over his shoulder and regarded me with finality.

“Have it your way.”

Brandon stepped inside and slammed the door. I felt like breaking down, somehow instinctively knowing that he wasn’t bluffing. This was is.

Whatever this thing between us was, or whatever it could have been, was over. Completely.

I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. I was only vaguely aware of Trey’s hand patting my back lightly after I covered my face with my hands and cried.

T
he letter was making
a fool out of me. It wasn’t actually
doing
anything besides lying atop the pile of my other mail, but it was still making me insane.

I was afraid to open it. My fear warred with my desperation but soon enough, I found myself searching through my old desk for the letter opener I knew I kept somewhere. I didn’t want to risk damaging the envelope or whatever was inside by just tearing it open. After going through three drawers, I finally found it and took it back to the table.

I gently worked the flap of the envelope open and felt my breath catch when I saw the folded paper inside. The ink from his pen had bled through just enough to be visible. A hand-written letter. In a daze, I eased the paper out and unfolded it. A piece of paper hidden inside fell to the table, but my eyes were already busy seeking out his name at the bottom of the letter.

The signature was all-too familiar and obviously genuine. This wasn’t a hoax.

Brandon had finally contacted me.

V
anessa
,

I’ve thrown away at least six drafts of this letter to you, too uncertain of how to even begin. Should I be greeting you fondly? Would you welcome it if I did? Our last meeting didn’t exactly end on good terms, but I truly hope this letter finds you well. Or at least as well as you can be given the circumstances.

Since I pretty much gave myself away with that last line, I might as well jump right to the point. I’ve been informed that you recently became unemployed. Strangely, I assumed you had been laid off or perhaps even fired only to find out that you quit. Did you not enjoy nursing like you thought you would? I don’t presume to have an answer to that, although I do hope it’s untrue. I’m contacting you because other than just being aware of your unemployment, I’m also aware of your financial distress. I hope that you carefully consider my offer.

I’ll be undergoing a mildly serious surgery soon and it’s been recommended by my surgeon that I have a live-in nurse for the six weeks following it. He assures me that I’ll be well enough to return to my normal schedule after only two, but I’ll need to be monitored for signs of infection, amongst other things. While I do have a doctor I trust to perform the surgery, I don’t have a nurse lined up and I’m not fond of the idea of letting a stranger live in my home.

I wouldn’t ask this of you if the circumstances weren’t so extreme. Believe me—I’d rather ask
anyone
else. But my options are incredibly limited. I assure you that you’ll be well compensated for the six weeks of your assistance. I’ve already spoken to your landlord and paid the next two months of your rent. That way you know your apartment will be left untouched and ready for your return. Even if you choose not to help me, consider it my thanks for even considering this.

I’ve included a plane ticket with this letter, dated to bring you here three days before my surgery. That way you’ll have a chance to converse with the doctor about what you’ll need to do post-op and a little time to settle in. I’ve also arranged a car to pick you up from the airport.