Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (2 page)

The minute I got off the phone with the Admiral, I booked a flight
home.

3

I don’t remember the first time I saw Ashton after my mother’s death,
but I know it was when the Admiral picked me up at the airport. For the record,
I also don’t remember the flight I was on, or the drive home. I was a wreck.
The first thing I do remember is seeing our little farmhouse in the distance
and starting to bawl like a baby, the first
real
good
sob I’d had since hearing the news. It was like a water balloon popping: all
the built-up grief and sadness just exploded out of me.

It was seeing the house and realizing she wasn’t in it. She would
never be in it again. She would never appear around a corner, never sing in the
kitchen, never stumble down the darkened hallways in the middle of the night
going to the bathroom. She wouldn’t plant anymore tomatoes in the vegetable
garden. She wouldn’t sit bare-footed on the couch.

She wouldn’t play the radio on the front porch while reading a book.
She wouldn’t slam the closet door when she was frustrated because she couldn’t
find her jacket. She wouldn’t ever ask me about the color of the new shower
curtain. She wouldn’t ever get the marble counters she always wanted to put in
the kitchen. She wouldn’t be there anymore. So whose home was it now, anyway?

I went straight to my room when we got to the house. I lay on my bed,
walked around and touched all the objects there, thinking about her, and trying
to remember her without breaking down. The Admiral asked me down to dinner but
I refused. I couldn’t imagine eating.

The next day we had the wake for her, and within a week it was all
over. The funeral, the phone calls, the relatives dropping by, the will. It was
amazing, to me, that so many years of life could be put to rest so quickly,
that in only a week all the technical details of my mother’s death were taken
care of. After that, it was just waiting around to feel better.

The first time I can concretely
remember
interacting with Ashton was at the wake. He had been home for a month or
two already, waiting to receive orders before continuing his move up the
military ladder. He was, if I had to pick a term to describe it, coolly polite.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he’d said, while holding a plate of cheese
and crackers. I remember focusing on that plate of cheese and crackers very
hard. I needed to keep all my attention on the plate, because he was blindingly
handsome, and I couldn’t deal with that at my mother’s wake. I hated myself for
even thinking it when he came up to me.

“Thank you,” I’d said. I was acting on auto-pilot, to tell the truth.
The only thought I’d had that didn’t seem to come from far down a long tunnel
was my initial reaction to seeing Ashton in the flesh after three years:
holy fuck he’s hot.

Which he was, to be fair. I mean, he’d always been hot, but he’d
really grown into himself in the three years since I’d last seen him. His sandy
blonde hair was cut short, and his green eyes were so much brighter in person
than pictures could tell. He had a strong, thin nose and a jawline like
concrete. In his suit, you couldn’t quite tell how ripped he was, but you could
definitely tell that all that time in the army had done wonders for his
physique.

I took this all in in the span of a few seconds, then immediately
started hating myself. It was my mother’s
wake.
I couldn’t actually be thinking about my hot step-brother at that time.
Hence my focus on the cheese and crackers he was holding.

Ashton shuffled on at that point, allowing the next person to come up and
offer my more unneeded and unwanted condolences. To be honest, I mostly just
wanted to be alone, to have these people out of my house. I wanted to go
upstairs and open my mother’s closet and stand among her clothes, absorbing her
fragrance. Really, what I wanted, was to have my mother back, and nothing
anyone could say or do would make that happen.

The rest of the week was as much of a blur as the plane ride had been.
I’m sure Ashton and I spoke again, but I can’t tell you anything about what we
talked about or how he was acting. I’m sure he was perfectly respectful at that
point. I’d already told the school I wouldn’t be returning until the following
semester. The school was fine with this: a star student like me had a lot of
leeway when it came to rescheduling things.

And I needed the time to be home, among my mother’s things and
surrounded by her memories. There was no way I could have gone back to school
and started working after the sudden death. That didn’t, however, mean that I
was expecting the Admiral’s plan for me to stay home the
whole year
so I could help him around the farm. He told me his plan
a week after the funeral, when I was at least sentient and present enough to
think clearly.
 

“Christy, it’s really not up to me…”

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? Just because Mom died, now you
need me around and I don’t get to have a future? I mean, I know, we’ve never
been best friends, Admiral, but do you really think that this is what she’d
want? For me to give up all my dreams so I can grow flowers on a farm in
Kansas?”

“I can’t do it on my own, Christy. It’s not forever, just a year. Your
mother took care of half of this farm…”

“Then have Ashton do it! Or hire someone! I mean, you don’t even
need
this farm, you have plenty of
money, it’s not like you’re going to go broke,” I protested.

“Ashton has a career to worry about, in the military. He won’t be
around come summer. And he doesn’t know a damn thing about farming, anyway. And
next fall, when school starts up again, I will hire someone else. Just until
then, Christy, I promise,” the Admiral said. This was the closest to pleading
I’d ever seen him.

“Why don’t you just take a year off from the
farm?”

“This is your mother’s farm, Christy. I know you can’t understand, but
I loved your mother as much as you did. She would be devastated if I gave up
her pride and joy. She loved those flower fields; you know that. Think of this
as…as a memorial for her. You can honor her memory by helping me grow a new
crop of sunflowers. Please.”

I considered; I knew he was right. That would be a fitting memorial to
my mother, and she would be heartbroken if she knew that the fields were going
to lay barren for a year. But I had already put off school for a semester, and
a whole year seemed to be overdoing it.

And what was I going to do for a year at the farmhouse? It wasn’t like
I had any friends in town, and to be honest thinking about a whole year of
sitting around in my childhood bedroom seemed like some sort of torture, even
if I was doing it to keep my mother’s memory and dreams alive.

“Well, maybe I can take some online courses…” I finally said, far from
convinced but willing to play with options. A look of relief came over the
Admiral’s face. “I said
maybe,
Admiral,
not yes. I need to think about this. I mean, Jesus, it’s only been a week,
and…”

“Of course, Christy. Of course, you need time to think,” he said,
reaching out to take my hand. I flinched slightly at the contact. The Admiral
and I had only hugged a handful of times, probably; we typically just shook
hands. To feel him trying to be intimate, on a fatherly level, was weird, but I
resisted the urge to pull my hand away. After all, he’d just lost his wife. We
both needed each other, as much as I was
loathe
to
admit it. The Admiral was really all I had left of my family. That thought
brought new tears to my eyes.

“I’m going to town.” Ashton’s voice broke through the room like a whip
cracking; he was standing in the doorway, looking in on us with narrowed eyes.
I jumped and pulled my hand away. It wasn’t like the Admiral and I were doing
anything wrong, but something about the way Ashton was looking at us made me
feel
like I was doing something wrong.

“Okay,” the Admiral said, nodding. Ashton lingered for a moment
longer, looking at us both with a blank, cold expression on his face. I felt my
stomach tie into knots under that gaze. Then he turned and left, leaving only
the sound of a slamming door behind him. I looked at the Admiral, who was
staring at the doorway Ashton had just left.

“What was that?” I asked, my sadness chased away
by the strange moment.

“I don’t know. It was just Ashton. He has been having a hard time
recently…” the Admiral said, almost to himself. Shaking his head, he rose to
his feet. “Think about it, Christy, and let me know. I could really use you,
and I know you want to keep your mother’s memory alive.”

The Admiral left at that, trudging up the stairs. I listened to his
heavy footfalls as he walked to his bedroom and shut the door, then the
creaking as he sat down on the bed. The bed he’d shared with my mother for so
many years.

I didn’t want the Admiral to be sad, but it felt good to know I wasn’t
the only one still mourning, that I wasn’t the only one who was sure they’d
spend the rest of their days on this earth missing her. It made me feel less
alone.

4

Ms. Starling,

In response to your request for remote guidance
on your senior thesis, it would be my pleasure. I understand that situations
like these do arise, and with your history of dedication I see no problem with
maintaining an online presence as your advisor, providing you continue to
maintain the level of commitment required for such a project.

On a personal note, I was deeply saddened to hear
of your mother’s passing, and wish you any comfort during this time of grief. I
know the pain of losing someone close, and that during such times it is
necessary to separate oneself from institutions in order to properly grieve and
heal. I hope you find solace in your home and mind and return to us happy and
healthy.

Best wishes,

Professor R.
Kennenbaum.

Dear Ms.
Starling,

It has come to my attention that you have decided
to enroll part-time in online classes for the 2015 spring semester. I am aware
of your loss and would like you to know that the academic community supports
you during this time of strife. We here at Ohio State University are proud of
your work and academic achievements and will welcome you back with open arms
when you are ready to return to campus.

At that time, please feel free to make use of all
our counseling and student health opportunities. We will miss your presence
this spring but completely understand your taking this time to take care of
your home. We look forward to your return and hope you find solace over the
coming months.

Sincerely,

Dr. Desanto
Executive Dean and Vice Provost
Ohio State University, College of Arts and Sciences

Dear Ms.
Starling,

I am writing
on behalf of the College Democrats of America, Ohio State University chapter…

Dear Ms. Starling,

On behalf of
the Ohio State University LGBT initiative…

Dear Ms. Starling,

Condolences on
your loss from the Ohio State University Women’s Advancement League…

The e-mails kept coming. From professors, from clubs, from academic
organizations. If they hadn’t heard of my mother’s passing, they’d definitely
heard about my decision to take a full year off. I was still going to be
working on my senior thesis, and I was still going to be enrolled in two online
courses in the spring, but for the first time in a long time my life was going
to revolve around something other than school.

The decision hadn’t been an easy one, but I recognized that throwing
myself back into school at full-speed could have ended in a remarkable crash
and burn. My heart still hurt all day long. It was getting better, though. For
example, I no longer spent hours in front of the mirror trying to find which
parts of my face looked most similar to my mother’s. I no longer cried in the
shower. I no longer felt compelled to spend entire days in bed or, worse,
staring out the window at the clothesline, which my mother would never use
again.

The Admiral was, predictably, thrilled. And, since we were twenty
minutes from town, we ended up spending a lot of time together. At least, more
time than we ever used to. We had dinner together most nights, and would even
watch TV afterward. We were, probably, the only two people on earth who missed
my mother as much as we did, so being around each other had its own strange
comfort.

We could talk about her, tell each other stories, laugh about her
little habits and the things that used to drive us crazy. Sometimes, his eyes
would water. I gained new respect for him: he’d never been very affectionate
with her, at least not in public or when anyone could be watching, but he
really had loved her. Of course, even then, now that I look back it, there were
things I could have noticed…but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s hard
enough trying to summarize that time after my mother’s passing, all that
happened. I need to take it slow.

Ashton was like a ghost in the house. I would catch sight of him
sometimes slipping into his bedroom or in the kitchen, but we rarely spoke and
barely even made eye contact most times. He had this cold, frozen energy around
him that chilled me to the bone whenever we were within a few feet of each
other.

Mostly, the only way I really knew Ashton was even living at home was
because he didn’t sleep. Or, at least, he didn’t ever seem to sleep. I’d hear
him walking around at all hours of the night, could often hear music playing
from his room at 3am while I stumbled to and from the bathroom. In that first
month or so of being home, I never saw the light from under his door turn off.

I also knew he was around because our trash was always full of empty
cans of beer and cigarette ashes. My mother would never have allowed anyone to
smoke in our house, but I assumed she made an exception when Ashton came home.
Either that, or he figured that now she was gone so no one would mind. And I
didn’t mind, really; I mean, it’s not like I could smell it from my room. But I
didn’t like the idea of someone smoking in my mother’s house all the same. It
just didn’t seem right.

The Admiral and I would occasionally talk about Ashton. Not “talk”
talk, but he would come up in conversation. The Admiral said that it was just
who Ashton was, that he had always been very private and not very social. I
wasn’t so sure about that. I mean, we’d spent a lot of time together all those
years ago, and he’d been a completely different person.

And the pictures of Ashton that were around the house showed a
smiling, happy-looking boy at parties, mountain biking with friends, and scuba
diving on vacation. He looked normal and vibrant in the pictures, nothing like
the pale, secretive man who I came to think of as lurking around the house. He
still looked good, don’t make that mistake. He must have been working out in
his room, because he was fit as could be, with biceps that just begged to be
held.

Eventually, after a month of living in the house, I decided to try and
approach him. After all, we didn’t need to be strangers, and I was lonely. I
didn’t have any friends in town, and I was kind of dying to have someone my age
to talk to. I figured he must feel at least a little bit of the same. Why not
make the best of the weird situation and try to be friends? We’d been friends
once before, and I was sure we could be, again.

So, one morning, when the Admiral was in town and I was downstairs
getting a glass of milk, I was happy to run into Ashton in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Morning,” he grumbled back. He had been sitting at the table eating
toast, but now rose to clear his plate.

“It’s a nice day,” I said, willing to use any and every “pleasant
conversation” starter I could think of. He grunted.

“So, do you know when they’ll be sending you to your next base? Or
where it’ll be?” It seemed an inoffensive question, though once I’d asked it I
worried that he might misconstrue it as me wondering when he was going to get
the hell out of the house.

“Nope,” was his only response as he stood at the sink, letting water
run over the crumbs from his plate. I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk,
racking my brain for the next logical thing to say. I decided to just jump in
with both feet.

“You know, the Admiral and I were thinking that we could all eat
together one of these nights,” I said, pouring out the milk and trying not to
sound too eager.

“Maybe,” Ashton said. I put the milk back in the fridge, desperately
trying to figure out something to say that would warrant more than a one-word
response.

“You know, I really hated him when I was younger, but he’s not so
bad,” I said, hoping I could appeal to Ashton’s history with the Admiral. I
mean, doesn’t everyone kind of hate their dad when they’re young, then get over
it when they’re older? I figured this was as good a way as any to crack
Ashton’s cold demeanor.

“Oh yeah, I know, I’ve seen you spending all your time with him,”
Ashton said. I looked at him; his eyes were cloudy and dark. I looked away
again, unsettled by those eyes.

“Um, yeah, well, you know, we’re both just trying to come to terms
with my mother’s passing, and…”

“And the best way to do that is to cozy up to her
widower?”

I was shocked, and I think I might have actually snapped my neck
turning to him. What the hell was he saying? Was he actually implying…

“Excuse me? I think you have the entirely wrong
idea about…”

“Do you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know about you? You’re Miss.
Green Party, he’s what you’d call ‘capitalist scum’, and now you’re suddenly
best friends? That doesn’t happen unless…”

“Woah, woah, woah. I never called your dad that, and so what? Just
because we have different politics doesn’t mean I’ve ever really hated him.
Your dad is going through something tough, and so am I, and it just so happens
that…”

“That you’re taking ‘comfort’ in each other. Yeah, I can see that,”
Ashton said, an evil sneer on his face. I was literally shocked into silence. I
couldn’t believe I was actually being accused of trying to seduce the Admiral.
I mean, first off, I’d literally never seduced anyone, ever. Second off, the
Admiral?
Really?

“Uh, listen, you have it all wrong…”

“Oh, I do? Is that why you always bounce around
here half-naked?”

I looked down. I was wearing denim shorts and a tank top. Half-naked,
maybe, compared to SWAT gear, but definitely fully clothed by all other
standards. And “bounce”? The closest I ever came to “bouncing” anywhere was
accidentally missing the last step on the stairs. When I looked back up,
Ashton’s eyes were roaming up and down my body. Suddenly, I
felt
half-naked.

I wish I could say that I felt my flesh crawl under his gaze, but I
didn’t. If anything, I felt…glowing. I was pissed at him, very pissed at him,
for his outrageous claims, but there was also something titillating about the
way he was looking at me. Almost as though…

But no. I pushed the thought away. It didn’t feel at all like his
hands were running over my body. Nope. No way. And if it did feel that way, I
thought, it was because he was a mega-creep and I should get as far away from
him as possible as soon as possible.

“I’m not trying to fuck your dad,” I finally blurted out, aware of the
deep blush on my cheeks. He snorted and turned away. I was both relieved and
disappointed to be free of his eyes.

“Whatever. Just do whatever, Christy. You’re both
adults. Just keep me out of it.”

“I’m NOT doing ANYTHING! My mother just died! Jesus Christ, can’t you
understand that? You think my mom dies so I go and decide to lose my virginity
to her fucking husband? What the hell kind of person do you think I am?” I’d
totally lost it; I hadn’t meant to bring my virginity into the discussion, but
there it was. I was so blinded by anger and confusion and hurt over his
accusations I was speaking without thinking.

“You? A virgin? Cute, but adding more lies isn’t going to help your
case,” Ashton said, his voice snide and rough. My hands balled into fists.

“Fuck you,” I sputtered. I was shaking. I’d never
been so angry in all my life.

“Fuck me? Isn’t my dad enough for you,
little sister
?” Ashton said, giving me a look like he was shooting
fire from his eyes before abruptly turning and leaving out the back door,
letting the screen swing shut behind him. I rushed after him, barefoot, feeling
the grass under my feet but not really being aware of anything.

I need to say this now: I am not and have never been a violent person.
It’s not in my nature. In fact, it’s particularly
opposite
to my nature. I’m a steadfast believer in passive
resistance, in taking the high road, and in nonviolent protest. But you try
keeping your temper when your mother dies and your stepbrother accuses you of
sleeping with your stepfather!

So I’m not exactly proud of chasing Ashton outside, leaping onto his
back, and dragging him to the ground. But I also don’t really remember doing
any of it. One moment I was staring at his broad back, his tight shirt
enveloping his strong muscles, and the next minute I was on top of him, swatting
at his back, my lack of arm strength probably making my blows feel like flies
landing on his shirt.