Stepbrother Inked(27)

"If you're going to drive five miles out of the way just for that, why  not meet up there? It'd be safer that way." I hated that the last  sentence came out in a whisper. "Besides, my apartment's like seven  blocks from there. It'd just be easier for me."

"Is Addi home tonight?" Flor asked, and I nodded.

"Exactly. Max is booked solid tonight, so we'll have the place to  ourselves. Do you really want to talk about this at a table in a busy  bakery?" He was right, of course. Sweet Life was open until eleven, an  oddity for any café or bakery, so it was always packed at this time of  night. "I'll drive us and then bring you back here to pick up your car."

"I don't know, Flor," I began, but he was already reaching out, wrapping  his fingers around my wrist and pulling me towards his car. My heart  was skipping beats, leaving me two lungfuls short of enough breath to  protest. When he opened the passenger side door, against my better  judgment, I climbed in.



I clutched my coffee cup to my chest and watched my stepbrother bottle-feed a baby kitten.

It was  …  well, God. Let's just say the sight did nothing to extinguish  my desire for him. He sat there in an overstuffed armchair, his tattooed  hand cradling the bottle gently, the kitten's tiny orange paws resting  against his fingers. The piercings, the tattoos, the strong set of his  shoulders, all of that juxtaposed against the tiny sweetness of the  kitten? I felt my eyes swell with tears and had to look away. Damn you,  Florian.

"Never bottle-feed a baby kitten on its back," he told me as the cat  released the bottle and he checked the level of the formula. "They can  aspirate the milk. Best to feed 'em like mom would've." A dark look  crossed over his face as he replaced the baby in the padded laundry  basket by his feet. He curled his fingers gently around a black kitten,  putting it on his knees and starting the process all over again.                       
       
           



       

"Flor," I said, but the only words that wanted to come out of my mouth  were I love you. I stopped talking and sat back for a moment before  changing the direction of my thoughts. "I think I've got it. Use the  canned formula, mix it fresh with warm water, feed them on their  tummies, not their backs." I swallowed hard and glanced away, at the  paintings hanging on the dining room wall  –  all of them Flor's. Max was a  talented artist, too, but he rarely painted anything other than skin.  "I don't want you to go to jail though." I sounded like a little kid and  that made me frown. Crap. I took a sip of my coffee and kept staring at  the paintings on the wall. Each focused on a different woman in a  different setting, all of them fantastical, each of them with a  similarity I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Florian snorted at me.

"I didn't kill the guy, Abi." He paused and his voice grew dark. "Though  I wanted to." I swallowed hard and took another bite of my lemon bar.  "All I did was beat the crap out of him. He deserved it, too. Who the  fuck dumps kittens into a garbage can like they're trash?" I didn't  argue with him. In my opinion, he was right. But I still worried.  "Anyway, I don't think anyone'll be able to trace it back to me, but I  wanted you to know how to take care of these guys just in case." Flor  finished with the last of the three kittens and then leaned back in his  chair, his eyes now entirely focused on me. I made myself look back at  him, if only because it felt cowardly to look away and I'd been showing  far too much cowardice lately.

"So," I began as Flor rested his left elbow on the chair arm and curled his fingers under his chin. "Now what?"

"Why now?" he asked me as a horrible anxiety driven stomachache overtook  me. I put my drink and my dessert onto the coffee table, suddenly  uninterested in it.

"Why now what?" I asked, my voice hoarse and husky. It was always husky  though, like I was some sort of sex phone operator. I couldn't help  that, but I cringed at the roughness in it.

"Why wait until now to tell me that you love me?" I bit my lip, wishing  I'd sat a little further away from him. Our knees were only an inch or  so apart. "And when, when did you know?"

"I  …  " This is exactly what you wanted when you started all of this. Try  honesty and see what happens. Secrets and lies are what got you here in  the first place. "I  …  " My voice failed me, cracking on that single  syllable. Something shifted on Flor's face, something that looked an  awful lot like sympathy. That's what got me angry. I didn't need his  sympathy, didn't want it either. Even if this love was unrequited, or  doomed, it was still mine and I cherished it. "I've always loved you,  Flor. I can't think of a single moment when it started, maybe when I  …   first saw your eyes. I've been under your spell since I was five." I  choked up a little when I said that, memories assaulting me from every  angle. Why him? Why did Flor have to be my stepbrother? Why not Max? If  Flor had been a childhood friend or a classmate, we would've been free  to act on our feelings. When he said nothing, I continued, letting it  all fall out. "I decided to tell you now because I'm tired of living  with the shame and the secrecy. I'm tired of getting stomachaches when I  see you with other girls, tired of dreading family dinners because I  just know that one day, you're going to meet a girl and get married.  I'll have to watch you have kids with her, love her, hold her, and there  I'll be, standing in the background like I've always been."

I clenched my fists by my sides.

"You never saw me, Flor, even when that's all I wanted. I wanted you to  treasure me the same way I treasured you. But the second you matured?  You ran off and started collecting girls like trophies. Why couldn't you  see the hurt in my eyes? Why didn't you care?" He opened his mouth to  say something, but I cut him off. Whatever he was going to say, it  wouldn't matter. "I've been waiting since  …  since I was thirteen for you  to really notice me, to treat me like a girl. And then, that day, when I  was fifteen?" Flor cringed and it was his turn to look away. "Why did  you kiss me if it didn't mean anything to you? You broke my heart."

"Who ever said it didn't mean anything?" he snapped, spinning back to  face me, his fingers curling in the black fabric of the armchair.  "Abigail, you're my sister." He sat back suddenly and groaned low in his  throat, dragging his hands down his face. "What was I supposed to do?  Listen to yourself. You were young, you looked up to me, you followed me  around like I was your superhero. And you wanted me to what? Wait  around for you to grow up, like some kind of freak predator? Sneak into  your room on your sixteenth birthday and ravage you? For fuck's sake."                       
       
           



       

He looked away again and I reached up suddenly to find liquid on my  cheeks. Tears. More tears. Ouch. Why did what he have to say make so  much sense? And why did it have to hurt so much?

"Please don't cry," he said, this time more softly than before. I swiped  an arm across my eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop. As if the  floodgates had officially been opened, my emotions streamed down my  cheeks in two salty trails. It didn't help when Flor got up and came to  sit next to me, pressing the length of his thigh against mine.

"What exactly are you saying then?" I asked, sniffling, turning to look  at him with my stomach in my throat and my vision blurring with tears.  "That you don't like me? Or you do? You're not making any sense, Flor."

His hand reached down and curled around mine, mixing the plainness of my fingers with the color of his.

"Like I said, I've known about my feelings for you since I was sixteen."  Flor took a deep breath. "I've loved you for far longer than that."

"Then why?" I asked, trembling against him, feeling so small I thought I  might shrivel up and die. "Why wouldn't you let me tell you?"

"If you told me, then I knew it was real. It meant I had to admit to myself how I felt, admit that you felt the same way."

"So you don't just want to fuck me?" I snapped, remembering his cruel  comments in the restaurant. Florian squeezed my hand harder but didn't  respond at first.

"You're only eighteen, Abigail," he said and I almost howled in  frustration. It was like that day all over again  –  this time, it was  twenty-one year old Flor that knew everything and I was still the baby. I  tore my fingers away from his, certain that I wouldn't survive another  minute of his touch. "I'm not going to take advantage of you like  …  like   …  "