Stepbrother Confession Page 3

  Erik finally seemed to make a physical effort to calm down. He perched himself on the edge of the reception desk. Even under the threat of bad news, I couldn't help but admire the way his jeans clung to the muscles in his thighs, his broad shoulders currently slouched slightly with his hands bracing against the edges of the desk, making the muscles in his arms tighten, showing off the blue veins running down his forearms and along the backs of his strong hands.

  "It's about Richard." He said it with such finality, my heart leapt into my throat. Guilt washed over me, leaving me sick to my stomach. Oh no. Here I was, fantasizing about what it would be like to run my hands over Erik's chest and he's about to tell me that my fiance has been in a terrible accident!

  The guilt left a thick layer of desperation in its wake. So soon after my parents. I felt the room start to spin as the implications hit me with gale force. I was so overcome with the assumption that something terrible had happened to my fiance that I barely heard the rest of what Erik was telling me. The words started to penetrate the fog that had settled into my brain and I slowly started to understand that I had misinterpreted Erik's tone.

  It had been anger I'd seen when he walked in. Nothing terrible had happened to my fiance, something terrible was happening to me, "...just one, either. Kelse, he's got 'em everywhere. Everyone knows except you."

  I tried to focus on what he was saying. It didn't make any sense. Richard wasn't cheating on me. He'd been a virgin when we met. He had been nothing but devoted to me since our first date. Except for being a workaholic, Richard was every woman's ideal man. He certainly wasn't the philandering manwhore that Erik was describing to me now.

  "I had a feeling something was up when we went to the races a few weeks ago. There was a blonde there who kept hanging around us. He introduced her to me as a friend and said she worked for the track but I just had a bad feeling about her. I caught them sneaking off to one of the offices together, but I couldn't be 100% you know. I didn't really see them do anything. But then there was another woman at the golf course, and another woman who stopped by our table at lunch the other day. Kelse, I had him followed."

  I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Richard? My Richard?

  After Erik had left, I had a hard time dating. I just couldn't find any one else who measured up and every time I liked a boy I found myself terrified that he would leave. I had agreed to go out with Richard because he was nothing like Erik. He was all button down shirts and slacks and carefully combed hair, worrying about his image and planning his future career. He played safe. He was safe. I knew exactly what my life would be like with him. I could trust him.

  Then Erik came back into my life, reminding me of who I used to be, who I wanted to be. A stark contrast to the predictable professional politician's wife I was becoming. And now Erik was telling me that the man I'd trusted to have and to hold was sticking his dick in every tramp in a 130 mile radius.

  "Fuck you!" I spat the words out. They didn't match the feelings in my gut but they were the first words that my brain formed. And they were aimed at my brother. I was suddenly mad as hell but I was mad as hell at the man who'd abandoned me. The man who couldn't handle finding out that his stepsister had a little crush on him. The man who had been my best friend, my first love, my whole world and then just packed up and dis-a-fucking-peared because I got a little drunk and went too far one night.

  "SIX YEARS!" The hurt was spilling out, the tears threatened behind the anger, Erik recoiled as if I'd hit him and his face went white with shock. "Six fucking years and you couldn't even fucking send me an email? Mom and Dad didn't even talk about you, what did you tell them? What would make them think that they couldn't even mention you to me?"

  "You were my best friend, Erik! You just walked out! I am so fucking sorry! I was a kid. I was drinking. I got carried away. But you left. You never gave me a chance to say I was sorry. I'm all grown up now. I'm not some stupid little girl who has a crush on her own brother."

  The anger was getting choked out by sobs now, "For fuck's sake, Erik. I'm not even your real sister. It's not like I was some twisted pervert or anything. I can't believe you disappear for six years and then you waltz back into my life and announce that you're a gazillionaire now and talk about how fucking perfect everything is in your life and then you come in down here to ruin mine?"

  "Well fuck you." The sobs took over. I stood in front of him with the tears running down my cheeks, I could feel my face red from the pressure of trying to hold back the tears while I ranted. I managed to choke out my final thought on the matter, "I can't believe you hate me so much that you would make up something so horrible just to get revenge. I had no idea I screwed up your life so bad."

  Erik winced with every insult I hurled at him as though I was throwing tiny daggers into his flesh. When I finally broke down into tears and couldn't put any more words together I stared at him through the tears while I tried to catch my breath. I saw his expression soften and then he stood up and faced me. He worked his jaw a few times as though he were going to say something in reply but then he just closed his mouth and frowned at me.

  I sensed that I had genuinely hurt him. Part of me wanted to take it all back. I hated to see the pain in his eyes as he looked at me now. Deep down, I knew he wasn't lying about Richard. If I'd had any doubts about his sincerity they were washed away now by the look in his eyes that told me he had only told me because he loved me and didn't want to see me hurt. But another part of me was angry at him for all the reasons I'd just told him.

  I just wanted him to leave. To go back to his new life and let me go on with mine. It was too hard having him here.

  Erik closed the distance between us in 2 long strides. One more step and he'd managed to push me up against the wall behind me. There was suddenly no space between us at all. He pinned me against the wall with the length of his body pressing against mine, his hands planted firmly on either side of my head as his mouth descended onto mine.

  It happened so fast and without warning. I had no way of preparing for it or defending myself against it. My head was forced back to lift my face to his and my sobs were stifled by his tongue firmly insisting itself between my lips. I tasted the salt from my tears between us. His tongue moving into the privacy of my mouth and sliding against mine. He gave me no option to reply except by returning the kiss.

  My hands flew up and I braced myself against his chest. My first impulse was to push him away but at the first touch against his solidness I surrendered.

  We stood there against each other, locked in the kiss for what seemed an eternity. My anger melted away and my body came alive. I felt the electricity between us, coiling up in my gut and sparking at every point where our bodies met. My nipples hardened, heat rushed down my core and nestled between my thighs.

  I began to move my hands upward, over the swell of his pecs to the ripped shoulder muscles, into the little curls that were starting to escape the once perfectly razored line at the back of his hair. I felt his heart beat faster, I felt his hardness pressing into my groin.

  His hands moved up and caught mine, grasping my wrists, he firmly pulled my hands down and pressed them against my own chest as he broke the line of contact between our bodies and pulled away from our kiss.

  He was breathing heavily, his eyes still closed as he rested his forehead against mine for a moment, "I have always loved you." His voice rasped a little more than a whisper as he kissed me on my forehead and stood and turned away.

  Before I could respond, he had unlocked the door and was walking very fast toward the little BMW that he'd been driving since he arrived.

  He was gone.

  He said he loved me.

  But he'd left. Again.

  ***

  The next few days passed in a haze. I couldn't think about anything except that kiss and Erik's voice echoing his confession though my head...right before he walked out. Again.

  He'd vacated the house, his phone number was still connected but he'd turn
ed off the phone. Every call went straight to voicemail with no reply. For all I knew, he'd lobbed the phone into a lake.

  Why would he show up after all this time only to kiss me like that before walking out on me again?

  The questions consumed me while, at the same time, I realized I had to make decisions about Richard. With the wedding only a few weeks away it was too late to make many changes. Richard didn't seem to be acting any differently. He was still spending most of the week days at the capital. He was still loving and devoted when he was home with me. But I found myself distancing myself from him. I couldn't bear to let him touch me. I claimed stress from the wedding, from Erik's sudden disappearance again, from finally being hit with my parents' death. Richard was kind and understanding. He didn't put any pressure on me and gave me space.

  His compassion used to melt my heart. I used to think he was sweet and sympathetic, now I found myself wondering if it was because he really was sweet and compassionate or if was because he was keeping himself busy on the side.

  A few days after Erik left, I got my answer. A large envelope arrived for me at the office marked "PRIVATE" on the outside. I signed for it with shaking hands. The return address said "Alaska" and there was only one person I knew who would send me mail from Alaska.

  I locked myself into my office and began opening the envelope. I had a feeling the contents would change my life forever. But then, somewhere inside me I knew my life had already been changed forever, the contents of this envelope would only cinch the deal.

  Sure enough, I pulled out a stack of printed photos of Richard with various women. Most of them were just photos of him leaning in a little closer than necessary, smiling, laughing. Having lunch. Walking with his arm around them. Some of women hugging him. Just about all the photos were of situations he could explain his way out of easily enough.

  It wasn't the photos that were the most disturbing. It was the sheets of personal information for each woman pictured. Name, age, occupation, address. With the financial information for each address-- bank accounts for each woman showing deposits from the same account. Apartment leases, car leases, credit cards. All in the same name. All paid from the same account. And then the kicker-- the link between the name on all those accounts and Richard.

  Richard was supporting at least 3 women in apartments. He'd bought cars for 2 of them and 1 other woman. No less than 6 women had credit cards that were being paid for by my fiance.

  Thousands of dollars a month were being skimmed from a secret bank account to pay for what appeared to be several girlfriends scattered around the state.

  A handwritten note at the bottom of the stack read,

  "I just want to make sure you are safe. Take care of yourself. I never meant to hurt you but I can't be near you and not want you. Love Always, Erik."

  I had the last of the wedding arrangements canceled by the end of the day. I lost the deposits on nearly everything but it had been mostly Richard's money anyway.

  My lips twisted in a malicious little smirk as I thought about how he wouldn't blink at the financial loss-- all I'd really cost him was one more girlfriend for a year-- it was the publicity that was going to hurt him.

  I wondered what his parents would say when they found out how he was spending all that money he'd inherited from his grandparents?

  Oh well. I guess it's not my problem anymore. He can explain it to his parents, he can explain it to his girlfriends, and he can explain it the media, the voters and all his campaign contributors.

  I didn't even bother to go home. I left Richard a text message. I figured I'd let the reporters fill him in on the rest.

  I had a plane to catch.

  When I'd called the Thompson Airstrip in Alaska-- the return address on the envelope-- a pleasant male voice informed me that Mr. Nelson was "currently in the air" but that he was expected to be "back on the ground" by sunset and that he was also expected to be the following day.

  The 5 hour flight to Anchorage had been expensive but painless, sitting in the tiny, 5 passenger Cessna however was proving to be downright exhilarating. I had been informed that I was very fortunate to be able to charter the air taxi this far north at this time of year on such short notice. The scenery out the window was amazing. The time change meant I'd gained two hours of daylight and now we were soaring about 12,000 feet, close enough to see wild life on the ground as we wove between mountains instead of flying far above them.

  I understood why Erik had ended up here. It was the perfect place for him. Rugged and a little out of control with a eloquent fuck-you-ness to it that took pride in being what most people considered uninhabitable. It reminded me of the idealistic, long-haired rebel that I had fallen in love with out in the shop helping put that Honda back together.

  When my pilot, Laurel, got me safely on the ground at the Thompson Airstrip, I thanked her profusely as she helped me out of the plane and handed me my bag. Then I began hunting for Mr. Nelson.

  The whole operation was very small. The airstrip was pretty much exactly that. Laurel had explained that it was one of the more popular strips because it was paved. The idea of a dirt runway blew me away, but Laurel had laughed and said at least they were runways, a lot of places were only accessible with floats because the pilots had to land on water. This place was a long way from the suburban life I'd been living.

  The Thompson strip-- still bearing its founder's name-- consisted of one paved runway, two small hangars that were barely big enough to fit the little Cessna we'd flown in on, and a big, metal building that seemed to house mostly a giant mechanic shop with a tiny waiting room in the corner with a coffee counter that served cold sandwiches and hot soups according to the hand written sign on the counter. Which was currently closed.

  I found an older gentleman calling himself Jesse out in the garage, tinkering on something attached to a propeller but not a plane. When I asked about Erik, he gave me a long look from top to bottom and back again that made me feel like my grandfather deciding if my attire was appropriate for the fishing trip. He looked over his glasses at me and demanded to know what business I had with "the Boss."

  I hadn't finished my practiced explanation before he handed me a piece of paper with a hand drawn map on it. "You might as well turn that confounded cell thing off right now," he added, "even if you get a signal your navigation'll send you wrong." When I inquired about a rental car he laughed so hard he started choking. Then he reached into his pocket, handed me a set of keys and pointed toward an old Ford 4X4 to one side of the building.

  At first I thought he meant it was a rental and I wanted to know who to pay, but he looked at me and shook his head, muttering something about "city" under his breath before barking at me that there "weren't no" rentals there, it was his truck but he'd have his wife come get him so no hurry getting it back to him.

  That was certainly a shock. People back home don't ordinarily just hand you the keys to their cars without even getting your name first. Jesse promised me that people in Alaska didn't either, but he wasn't going to get in the way of a pretty girl looking to visit his boss. As I thanked him and turned toward the truck he added, "the Boss could use a visit from a pretty girl like you. Man ain't been right since he got home, y'know."

  I looked back to find Jesse with his head tilted back to study me. When he saw me looking back, he nodded like we shared a secret.

  The ancient Ford truck was like driving a World War 2 tank and stick shift to boot, but once I figured out the shift pattern and how to turn without cutting a corner I was out on the 2 lane road that Jesse had referred to as "the highway" headed west into the setting sun in search of Erik and what I hoped would be the reunion that would finally close the distance between our hearts as well as our addresses.

  I had replayed that kiss over and over in my head a thousand times, every time I remembered the ache behind his confession my heart broke and my resolve to find him strengthened. I needed to find him, to make him understand that it was OK to love each other. We wer
en't kids anymore. We didn't have to worry about what the family would think of us. We could be together if we wanted. We could work out the glitches and face any remaining opposition as a team.

  I watched the trees and the open spaces outside the windows of the truck as Jesse's ancient cassette tape player droned out a compilation of hit songs from 1978. I found the turn off to Erik's driveway just as the lilting tone of Barry Manilow's voice began belting out "Ready to Take a Chance Again."

  I laughed as I realized I was singing along. I shouldn't even know who Barry Manilow is, but Mom loved him. It warmed my heart that I could think of Mom now and smile instead of cry.

  The truck bounced down the mud and gravel road that was marked on the hand-drawn map as Erik's driveway. He sure as hell doesn't drive that little Z4 to this house, I thought as I stopped to shove the transfer case into 4 wheel drive.

  Erik's "driveway" was a full quarter mile of sheer Jeep trail hell, but eventually I rounded a curve and found myself looking at a wide clearing that revealed a scene that took my breath away. Like a scene from a painting, the cabin style house set at the edge of a large lake, complete with wooden dock with a canoe and a small plane on skis bobbing at the end of the long pier. Behind it all, the landscape stretched out in wide meadow before rising up to become the base of high, granite walls that tapered into mountains that already had a dusting of snow along the top ridges.

  Sitting just in front of a large shop building to the side of the house, a Honda Nighthawk motorcycle sat huddled against the outside wall next to an old Jeep Cherokee that looked like it had made several trips down the driveway in recent days.

  The house's big front door opened as I parked, a black lab broke into a wild run toward me with tail wagging enthusiastically as I climbed out of the truck. "Don't worry, she's friendly." A familiar voice called out from the direction of the house.