Second Chance Stepbrother Read online

  Instead, he pulled away. We had one last dinner party, two months after that summer—two months during which I heard nothing from him. I tried to corner him, make small talk, but everything felt awkward and strained. Then, halfway through dinner, Susan broke the news. She’d gotten that new job she wanted. In Georgia.

  They were moving in a week.

  Josh didn’t even hug me goodbye. He waved at the door, shot me one sad smile as Dad and I piled into the car, and that was that. Susan and Dad stayed in touch, but we didn’t.

  Admittedly, I stalked him online for a while afterward. But I was never brave enough to take the leap again—be the one to message him on Facebook and ask what happened. He took the first jump off that bridge. Surely he should’ve been the one to follow up, if there was anything to follow up on.

  I guess what hurt the most was that kiss. I thought it meant something. Clearly he didn’t feel the same.

  But I can’t let that taint my memories of the cabin. Whatever happened next—even if we stopped talking and the only time I ever hear from him is when he posts a bland “Happy Birthday” on my wall once a year—that summer was still amazing. It remains one of my favorite memories. And maybe this year, who knows? I could find some new cutie in a nearby cabin to wash away the taste of those old memories.

  I try not to picture Josh’s perfect abs when he dove into the lake from the shore, or remember the way his eyes would catch mine, seeming to see straight through me, because he always looked at me so intensely…

  Damn.

  I reach over to switch the shower to cold for the last minute. Then, sufficiently clean and shivering, I head back to my dorm room.

  By the time I get there, Becca is up and dressed, tapping away at her computer.

  “What was that all about?” she asks as I wrap my hair in the towel and set to work finishing packing my last few possessions.

  “My dad is crazy.” I roll my eyes. “Went and married someone.”

  “Well, he’s been single for how long?” she points out. “He had to move on eventually.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m happy he’s moving on. Just… Does it have to be so sudden?”

  “He’s from a different generation than us, Paulina. At his age, it’s probably normal to marry if you meet someone you like. I mean, why wait around? He’s not getting any younger.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me.” I sigh. “You’re right, though. It just…” I shake my head. “She’s got a kid. I have a…” I can’t even say the words. They sound so alien, so strange. “A step-brother,” I force out. “Ugh.”

  Becca snorts. “What, don’t want to grow your family tree?”

  “Hell no! I’m an only child and loving it, thank you very much.” I flip my hair over my shoulder in a faux-dramatic move. “Besides, I bet he’ll be annoying as hell. I don’t want to deal with some rando guy stinking up the cabin.”

  Becca rolls her eyes. “Where’s your optimism, Paulina? Maybe he’ll be cute!” She winks at me from behind her computer screen.

  I throw a pillow at her head. “Gross. He’s related to me, Bec.”

  “Yeah, but like, not actually. I mean you didn’t even know he existed until today.”

  “So what? He’s still my sibling. Siblings are not hot, by definition. That’s just…” I pull a face.

  “Incest is best, put your sister to the test,” Becca sing-songs.

  I throw my laptop bag over my shoulder. “I hate you,” I announce. “I’m going to the dining hall, want anything?”

  “Oh, yes please. Bagel?”

  “Bagel with a side of inbreeding, got it.”

  “Hey, it worked for Cersei Lannister!” Becca shouts as I slam the dorm door between us.

  Jokes aside, I have no plans to make my already-awkward summer even worse by going after my own step-brother. I just hope that we get along well enough that it won’t be awkward as hell to share a cabin—and a set of parents—with a complete stranger.

  At least, if nothing else, I can wander off alone and lose myself in memories.

  Because that sounds like a fun and totally not-pathetic summer break. I roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness and head off to get some food. If nothing else, I’ll head into this lonely summer well fed.

  2

  We don’t get to the cabin until nearly midnight. It took way longer than I expected to pack Dad’s van, and then there were all the dramatic goodbyes—hugging Becca and swearing to text her every day. Bidding farewell to our wider circle of friends, setting up group chats so that we can annoy one another with memes all summer long. Planning our next party at the start of fall semester, because oh my god, it’s going to be our senior year, and we are going to live it up!

  For the first time in a while, I find myself not looking forward to summer. Not the way I was just a couple days ago, anyway, when I thought it would just be me and Dad. Back then I could daydream about finding some cute guy who lived in a nearby cabin and flirting with him all summer. Now, I have a whole bevy of new problems to worry about.

  What’s Dad’s new wife like? Is she a crazy person? She’d have to be kind of nuts to race into a marriage this fast, wouldn’t she?

  Is her son crazy too? Is he going to follow me around all summer driving me crazy? What if he’s a total weirdo, like obsessed with bugs or snake-collecting or something gross?

  Dad keeps asking me questions about school, but I’m distracted, half-asleep. By the time we get to the cabins, I only want to pass out. Well, first use the bathroom, then pass out.

  But when we pull up the drive, Dad clears his throat. “So, about the sleeping arrangements…”

  My eyes widen. I didn’t even think about this. There are two cabins, connected—the big one Dad and I shared last time, with a big master room and the couch Dad usually slept on. And the little one with two separate single bedrooms. But of course, Dad needs the master now. He’s married.

  “Wait. I’m sharing with this kid?”

  “It’ll be fine, Pau, trust me.”

  I glare at him. “You could’ve warned me,” I mutter as we pull up the driveway.

  Despite my mood, though, the sight of the cabin sets off all kinds of nostalgic fireworks inside. There’s the tire swing that Josh and I used to take turns pushing each other on. He’d spin me around, faster and faster, until I screamed for mercy. Then he’d relent, help me off—mostly I liked the part where he’d catch me in his arms to help me slide out of the tire—and we’d trade places.

  There’s the lake we dove in every day that summer. And the spot between the two big pine trees, the grassy hill above the lake, where we kissed that last night…

  My chest aches.

  I can’t tell if it’s nerves, heartburn, or just the old familiar nostalgic pain. Because I know where that kiss led—to a big fat nowhere.

  It’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll have a better time this summer. I’ll make new memories. Better ones.

  “Do you need help with your bags?” Dad asks as we park outside.

  In response, I grab the overnight bags I packed separately and slam the car door.

  “Don’t be mad!” he yells after me, but I’m already storming up the path toward the second cabin. The little cabin, the cabin I’ll be stuck in with some complete stranger.

  I shove open the door. It’s dark, quiet inside. Good. At least we got here first, so I can claim the best room.

  But first, priorities. I’ve had to use the bathroom pretty much since we got into Dad’s car three hours ago. I drop my bags in the little kitchenette/living room space, which is barely large enough to hold a single two-person loveseat and one table, and shove open the bathroom door.

  Then I freeze.

  It takes my brain a moment to catch up to what I’m seeing. A guy standing there with his back to me, half-naked, in the middle of taking a piss.

  “Sorry!” I gasp and slam the door between us before he can turn around.

  The image is still burned into my m
ind though. His dirty blond hair long in the back. Long enough to touch the nape of his bare neck, which led to a very toned, very appealing backside. Sharp shoulder muscles that plunged along his back, his shorts low on his hips, low enough that I could tell every inch of his body was just as muscular as his arms and shoulders.

  Fuck.

  My heart pounds and I lean my head against the wall, holding my breath.

  I can do the math, of course. That has to be him. The mysterious step-brother.

  Maybe Becca was right after all. Maybe he is hot. I mean, it’s hard to tell from the back, he could be a but-his-face, yet somehow, I have the feeling he’s just as good looking from the front angle as he is from the rear.

  I bang my head against the wall lightly. Not what I need right now. I do not need this annoying intruder in my life to be hot as well. I just need a summer away, a summer to de-stress. Not meet some new family member who will drive me insane.

  I finally have my racing heart somewhat under control when the toilet flushes. I push myself upright, force on a smile. If nothing else, I can be polite.

  Then the door opens, and the floor drops out from beneath me. I’m on that bridge all over again, falling off, only this time, it’s not into a pleasant sensation.

  “Josh?”

  Because there’s no mistaking him from the front. No missing those stormy blue eyes, full of confusion right now, or those arched brows of his, now furrowed. He looks exactly the same, just older—six years older, to be precise. Those years have only made him even better-looking, unfortunately. He’s got razor-sharp cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, and dark stubble along it that could probably do the same. His hair has darkened a little, no longer summer-white blond, but a darker, dirty blond that suits his tan skin tone.

  And of course he has to be shirtless so I can see just how well the rest of him has improved too. He’s filled out, no longer the muscular but scrawny 16-year-old in my memories. He’s frankly drop-dead gorgeous, and it makes me furious and hot all at once.

  “Pau? What are you doing here?” His voice is the same, too. Deep, almost baritone, a sound that immediately catapults me back to that summer. All those late-night, soul-baring conversations we used to have.

  “What do you mean?” He frowns. His eyes search mine, and there’s something dawning in them. Something I don’t want to chase quite yet. “Wait…” he says, and that alone makes me want to disobey. Run while I still can.

  I hate the way he looks at me. The way he sees what no one else can.

  “Are you finished?” I point past him at the bathroom.

  “Yes, but—”

  I dart around him and slam the door between us. At least that will buy me time. A minute to collect my thoughts.

  I hear Dad now, somewhere outside, shouting. Car doors slam, the door to the cabin creaks open and shut, and I just sit on the toilet, head in my hands, trying to take deep breaths.

  It will be fine, I tell myself. This is all some kind of misunderstanding.

  I hear a woman’s voice too, and my stomach clenches. Sensing what I already know, deep down. But it can’t be right. It’s impossible. It would be insane.

  I finish washing my hands, delay as long as I can while drying them. Then I finally push open the door to face reality.

  I find all three of them outside, on the patio that connects the two cabins. Dad, looking dapper in the suit jacket he wore to pick me up. Josh, looking somehow even hotter now that he’s pulled on a T-shirt, because it’s a tight one, sticks to his muscles in all the right places, and reveals just enough that I want desperately to see what’s under it again.

  And right between them, in a light summer dress, smiling and happy, even if it makes my heart sink… Susan.

  “Hey guys,” I tell them, my voice shaky.

  “Pau.” Susan’s on her feet in a second, then hugging me, tight. I hug her back, automatic, because she’s always been sweet to me, always spoiled me whenever I hung out with Josh at her place during those family parties. She’s great, and I love her loads. That only makes this worse. “I told your father we should have warned you first.” Susan draws back, smiling sympathetically. “But you know him. He loves surprises.”

  “Dad.” I look past her. Narrow my eyes to stop them from tearing up. No, no, please don’t let this be right.

  “I told you you’d love your new step-mom, didn’t I?” Dad’s grinning, his smile so huge and bright that it kills me. I want him to be happy, I really do. I want Susan to be happy too. But did it have to be together?

  He couldn’t pick literally anyone else on the planet?

  Dad’s standing now too, joining the hug, and I’ve got my arms around both of them, trying to keep myself upright. “I… Congratulations, you guys. I’m… I didn’t…”

  “See this coming?” Dad finishes for me. He laughs a little. Draws back. “Neither did I, to be honest. Susan and I have been friends for so many years, I never thought…” They break off to smile at one another, and ugh, if they kiss right now I’m going to die. I side-step away from the hug-fest and cast another glance at Josh.

  It hurts almost physically to look at him right now. My step-brother. My first kiss. The guy I daydreamed about for years. The guy it took me ages to get over, the guy who still makes my chest ache because of the way he ran from me. The guy who has only, unfortunately, gotten ten times hotter with age.

  He’s watching me too. For once, I can’t read the expression in his stormy gaze. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he looks concerned, maybe sad.

  At least one person here knows how to react appropriately, then.

  “Wow, you look so wonderful. I can’t believe how long it’s been.” Susan is watching me too, patting my shoulders again as though making sure I’m real. “You’re a woman now, Pau. And gosh, doesn’t she look beautiful, Josh? Look how lovely she’s become.”

  Josh’s gaze never wavers. Never breaks from mine. “She looks great,” he says, voice low and full of an energy I can’t read.

  My cheeks burn, red-hot. It worked for Cersei Lannister, I think, unbidden. Shut up, inner Becca, I scold myself immediately after.

  This is not happening. This cannot happen.

  “Well.” Dad claps his hands. “Now that the awkward part is over with—” I resist a horrible urge to laugh out loud at that, “—should we do a bonfire on the beach tonight?”

  “I’ll go buy some firewood,” I volunteer at once. “The corner store still sells those bundles right?”

  “Last I checked,” Dad says.

  “I’ll go with you.” Josh catches my eye again, and my stomach sinks. That was exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid.

  But I can’t exactly turn him down, not with Dad and Susan standing right here, so much hope in their eyes. They want this to work. They want us to be friends.

  We’ll have to learn to be more than friends, if we’ve just become family.

  So I nod, and swallow the mix of fear and, admittedly, a small dash of excitement in my throat.

  “You remember the way?” Dad asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. Josh and I walk off the porch without bothering to dignify that with a response—of course we know the way. We walked to this store almost every single day the summer we all stayed here. Mr. Johnson used to give us free sample-sized slurpees from the ice machines and let us read the magazines without paying as long as we didn’t fold the pages.

  Josh and I fall into step on the dark road. There aren’t any street lights out here, so we navigate by the porch lights of the other cabins, most of which are occupied at this time of year. It’s the start of summer, so everyone is excited to get away from the city, head out to their cabins for this first breath of warm air.

  We walk in silence for the first few hundred yards. Every time I glance over at him, I catch Josh staring at me from the corner of his eye. But every time I open my mouth to say something, break the tension between us, which is so thick you could probably cut it and serve it for dess
ert, he turns away again.

  My throat feels tight from nerves, every muscle in my body on high alert. Whenever he looks away, I can’t help letting my eyes drift over his body. I can’t get over how different he looks now—he’s not the scrawny boy I remember in my distant daydreams. He’s a man now. And what a man.

  But at the same time, I can still see the old Josh in there. Mostly in the cant of his head, the way his long, narrow hands tap out a pattern against his jean pockets as we walk, a habit he had back then too. He walks the same way, almost a strut, like he owns the whole place, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  He probably doesn’t. I mean, look at him. How many girls does he have falling all over him on a daily basis at home?

  Where does he live now? I can’t remember. After a year of way too frequent Facebook stalking, I blocked his posts from my feed in an effort to forget about him. It worked, until now. I don’t know where he went to college—he’s a year ahead of me, so he probably just graduated. I don’t know what he’s doing with his life, what his plans are. All I remember is what 16-year-old Josh told me years ago. Back then, he daydreamed about becoming an architect. I don’t know if he’s still on that track or if he has some new dream now, if he changed his mind. I know I changed mine—I used to want to be a painter. Now I’m studying for a hospitality degree so I can try working abroad when I graduate. It seemed like the thing to do. Pick a practical career.

  “How are the hospitality studies going?” he asks, as if reading my mind.

  Dad must have told him.

  I swallow hard. “Fine.”

  “Far cry from painting,” he points out.

  I cast him a sideways glare. “How’s the architecture degree working out?”

  “One year left,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes widen.

  “You’re actually going for it?”

  He laughs. It sounds a little bitter. “I always knew what I wanted to do. It’s a five-year masters degree though, and a lot more work than I expected.” He shakes his head, turns to look at the road ahead again.