Stepbrother Dearest(61)

I had no motivation to get dressed and go downstairs. I lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply and walked over to the French doors that led to a balcony overlooking the backyard. The sky was overcast.

Looking down was a colossal mistake.

My fists tightened in a fighting response to the fact that my heart was beating so rapidly.

I wasn’t supposed to ever see her again like this. A part of me that died was coming back to life when it shouldn’t have. I didn’t know how to handle it.

Greta’s back was turned. She was staring out into the garden and must have just found out I was here. She was probably trying to plan her escape so she didn’t have to face me, or maybe she was just as angry at this predicament as I was. The fact that she was standing all alone out there told me that my being here was affecting her.

“Greta,” I whispered to myself.

It was like she heard me because she turned around. Suddenly, a tidal wave of emotions that I’d tried to bury since that night in New York came flooding out. I wasn’t prepared to see her face looking up at me.

I took another long drag.

I also wasn’t prepared for how angry this moment would make me. With one look into her eyes, I was starting to feel everything: the realization of Randy’s death, the painful reminder of my unresolved feelings for her, the jealousy and crushing disappointment of that night in New York, the twitch of my traitorous cock.

The level of rage building inside of me was an unpleasant surprise.

I was so confused.

I never wanted to see you again, Greta.

It’s so f*cking good to see you again, Greta.

I felt like she could see right through me in that moment, and I didn’t like it. We just stayed looking at each other for probably an entire minute. Her previously dumbfounded expression darkened as soon as I felt Chelsea’s hands wrap around me.

I instinctively turned around and moved back, pushing Chelsea away from the window. I think I was trying to protect Greta’s feelings in that moment but didn’t know why I bothered. What the f*ck did she expect me to do, sit around and pine for her alone while she married Mr. Wonderful? Still, I knew seeing Chelsea appear out of nowhere like that must have been a shock.

“Are you okay?” Chelsea asked. She hadn’t seen Greta.

“Yeah,” I said dismissively.

Needing to be alone, I walked to the bathroom and shut the door to gear up before I had to face the music.



***



She was sitting at the far corner of the dining room table when we got downstairs. She wouldn’t look at me.

I hate when you do that, Greta.

Sarah got up and hugged me. I gave her some brief greeting, told her I was sorry about Randy, but the entire time I was thinking about what the f*ck I was going to say to Greta. I glanced over at her, and now, she was looking at me. I stood back as Chelsea hugged Sarah and gave her condolences.

I needed to bite the bullet.

I walked over to her and barely got her name out. “Greta.”

She hopped up nervously like my saying her name had lit a fire under her ass. She stuttered a little. “I…I’m so sorry…about Randy.”

Her lips trembled. She was discombobulated—a mess, I told myself. I didn’t want to admit that she was even more beautiful than I remembered, that new highlights in her hair brought out the gold in the hazel tone of her eyes, that I’d missed the three small freckles on her nose, that the way her black dress hugged her breasts reminded me of things I needed to forget now.

I couldn’t move, just stood there taking her in. The familiar scent of her hair was intoxicating.

My body flinched when she reached out to hug me. I had really tried not to feel anything, but here in her arms was the epicenter of it all. Her heart was beating against my chest, and mine immediately responded by matching the rhythm. Our hearts were communicating in a way that our egos wouldn’t allow with words. The heartbeat is the purest form of honesty.

I put my hand on her back and could feel the strap of her bra. Before I could even process what that did to me, Chelsea’s voice snapped me out of it as Greta ripped herself away from me. The space between us felt infinitely vast.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening: my past colliding with my present. The one that got away was face to face with the one who got me over it.

Greta’s left hand was bare; there was no diamond. Where was her fiancé or husband? Where the f*ck was he?

Engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t even hear what they were saying to each other.

Clara saved the day when she walked in with food, and Greta went to help her.

Greta reentered the dining room and started placing the silverware down around us. She was so tense, and pieces kept slipping and clinking around as she fumbled with them. I wanted to joke and ask her when she started practicing playing percussion with spoons. I didn’t.

When she finally sat down, Greg asked, “So, how did you kids meet?”

Greta looked up from her plate for the first time as Chelsea explained how we met at the youth center. When Chelsea leaned in to kiss me, I felt Greta watching it, and the mood became very uncomfortable.

The subject changed to my mother, and Greta was back to pretending she was engrossed in her plate.

My body stiffened again when Chelsea asked her a question. “Where do you live, Greta?”

“I live in New York City, actually. I just came into town a couple of days ago.”