Stepbrother Billionaire(27)
Author: Colleen Masters

He stares at me, his blue eyes frozen over. But as the first tear rolls down my cheek, I watch the ice crack. The fight goes out of him, making way for the despair he’s been trying to cover up with aggression.

“Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms to me.

I rush to him, throwing myself into his embrace. He enfolds me in a fierce hug as the tears come hard and fast. He kisses the top of my head, pulling me tightly against him.

“You can’t disappear on me like that,” I cry, burying my face in the front of his suit. “I can’t get through this without you, Emerson.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rasping. “This is just…It’s so hard, Abby. What am I supposed to do without you in my life? The way I want you to be, I mean…?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I say miserably.

We hold each other, each unwilling to be the first to break the embrace. As the sky begins to lighten, we finally trudge upstairs, entirely spent. I walk ahead of Emerson, my body tired and aching. The prospect of sleeping alone tonight is too much to bear. It’s hard to believe that it was just last night that I fell asleep next to Emerson, my cheek resting against his bare chest. It feels like years ago that our bodies met, collided, moved as one. It was, without question, the best night of my life. And would you look at that? It’s being followed up by the worst.

Emerson and I reach the top of the stairs and pause, each glancing at our bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. Turning away from each other now seems like the final step, the last nail in the coffin sealing up our barely-formed relationship. After the wrenching, brutal escapade that was our parents’ wedding ceremony this afternoon, I don’t know if I can take it.

“You know,” I say softly. “Today was sort of like a nightmare.”

“That’s for fucking sure,” he murmurs, glancing my way.

“And after a nightmare…isn’t is usually OK for a little sister to crawl into her big brother’s bed?” I ask tearfully.

A slow, sad smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Nice justification, weirdo,” he teases softly, offering me his hand.

I lace my fingers through his. Silently, we walk down the hallway toward his room. We don’t even have the energy to change out of our clothes. With vodka-clouded heads and heavy hearts, we collapse onto his bed. Emerson wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. There’s no question of things going any further between us now, but this simple comforting embrace is a balm for my battered soul. In an instant we’ve fallen into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.

I’m jerked out of slumber the next morning by the sound of screaming voices. Prying open my eyes, I notice two things straightaway. First, I am massively hungover, having eaten next to nothing yesterday and had half a bottle of vodka to drink. Second, I’m still lying beside the sleeping Emerson, despite the fact that it’s Monday morning and school is set to start in a mere twenty minutes.

But before I can worry about my attendance record, the crash of shattering glass catches my ear from downstairs. Two hysterical voices rage at each other as other objects go hurtling around the ground floor. Emerson’s eyes fly open at the sound of the unfolding chaos, and we turn to look at each other, at a loss. I recognize Dad and Deb’s voices at once, but I’ve never heard either of them so irate.

“Funneling my money to that lowlife junkie!” my dad bellows, as something heavy topples over.

“Your money?” Deb cries shrilly, “You mean your parents’ money, don’t you?”

“Don’t start with that class warfare bullshit—”

“I don’t have to! They already did. You think I didn’t see how they looked at me yesterday? You’d think I was wearing a g-string and pasties—”

“Well, you weren’t wearing much else!”

Something else smashes into a thousand pieces, and I grab for Emerson’s hand, panicked.

“Don’t try and change the goddamn subject,” my dad snarls. “You’ve been stealing from me for your scumbag ex and your loser drug baby!”

Emerson’s fingers tighten around mine, his body rippling with fury.

“My son is not a loser!” Deb weeps, charging up the stairs, “And he’s not staying here in this house for another second!”

The entire world grinds to a standstill as Emerson’s bedroom door flies open. Deb appears in the doorway, thick rivulets of mascara coursing down her cheeks. Emerson and I stare up at her, entwined in his bed, as my red-faced father appears on the top of the stairs. The four of us are frozen in a surreal tableau, and for a second I hope against all hope that this is just another terrible dream

But in the next moment, reality floods back in.

“What the fuck is this?” Deb shrieks, falling back against the door in horror.

“We were just—We—” I stammer, looking helplessly at Emerson.

“Get away of my daughter, you piece of shit!” my dad roars, charging into the bedroom. He grabs me by my arm and wrenches me brutally out of bed.

“Dad, you’re hurting me,” I gasp, trying and failing to break free from his grip.

“Don’t touch her,” Emerson shouts, leaping to his feet and shoving my father away from me. He shields me from my dad’s wrath with his solid body, but my dad lunges for me all the same. The smell of booze seeping off of him turns my stomach.

“Are you drunk?” I gasp, staring at my father.

But his swaying stance and bloodshot eyes answer my question. I whip around toward Deb and see that she, too, is standing unsteadily, unable to focus on a single point for more than a second. It’s not even nine o’clock, and they’re both wasted.

“Jesus Christ, Mom,” Emerson growls, staring at his mother in disbelief. “Again?”

“Don’t you judge me,” Deb snaps, shaking her mess of wilted curls. “If you knew the sort of night I had…This man is a monster.”

“I’m a monster?” my dad returns, whirling unsteadily toward her, “You’re the lying, thieving whore—”

“Emerson, no!” I screech, as he cocks back his fist and slams it against my father’s jaw.

Dad goes reeling through the open doorway, and Emerson leaps after him. Deb collapses into a teary puddle as Emerson and Dad brawl on the landing. I rush toward them, ready to throw myself into the fray. But a loose punch from Dad hits me square in the stomach, knocking me back against the wall. Emerson snaps his face toward me, too worried about my wellbeing to focus on my dad. But in the moment of his distraction, Dad strikes back—sending a cracking blow railing against Emerson’s high cheekbone. A sickening crunch rings out through the house.