Stepbrother Romance 3 - Addicted: A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance (7 page)

That night the hours crawled by slower than rush hour traffic on I-75. The later it got, the worse Kent became. I couldn’t find a thermometer in the house anywhere, despite a frenzied search of every inch. But I did find some Motrin. And after hours and hours of my cajoling and pleading and demanding, Kent finally gave in and took some.

He fell asleep at just before eight. In the morning.

Exhausted from sitting by his bedside, bringing him water and blankets, I wriggled up beside him and closed my eyes for a few minutes. Those few minutes flew by, and when I opened them again, the clock said it was almost three in the afternoon.

Kent was still sleeping. Sometime while I’d been out, he’d curled up to me, one leg thrown over mine, and an arm resting across my stomach. It wasn’t going to be easy wriggling out from under him. But I had to. Some things just couldn’t be put off.

At least, I noticed as I gently plucked up his hand, he felt cooler. The fever was gone.

Cringing, I moved slowly. He needed rest. I didn’t want him waking for at least a few more hours. If it wasn’t for my rumbling stomach and spasming bladder, I would have been tempted to stay put and sleep a few more hours too.

His arm was easy to move. I set it on the mattress as I sat up. His leg was another story. It was heavy. And I was in an awkward position. Unlike his arm, it plopped down when I moved it.

Thick, sooty eyelashes fluttered.

“Where are you going?” His voice was gritty.

“To get you some water,” I told him.

“No. Stay here. “Please.” He flung his arm, knocking me down onto my back. Then he dragged me against him and draped his leg over my hips. He inhaled. “You smell so good.”

“You’re delirious. I reek. I need a shower.”

“I’m not delirious. And you definitely do
not
reek.”

I gently peeled his limbs off me. “I definitely do.” Free at last, I made a trip to the bathroom first then went to the kitchen to cook up a little breakfast to go along with the water I’d promised. When I returned, the bed was empty. The shower was running.

Did that man ever slow down?

I set the tray I’d prepared for him on the nightstand and went to my room to get cleaned up. Once I was clean and presentable, I headed back to the kitchen to make myself something to eat.

Kent was dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, in the kitchen, at the stove.

“What are you doing?” I asked, exasperated.

“Cooking you some breakfast.”

“You should be resting. You had a pretty high fever last night--”

“I’m fine.” As if to illustrate exactly how fine he was, he held up his arms and did a quick three-sixty.

He looked fine. Better than fine, actually.

Maybe I needed to back off.

Yes, that was a good idea. Because I had another battle to wage. This one was more important.

Last night, while I’d been sitting there, watching him shiver in misery, I’d had some time to think. I’d realized what fools we were being about everything. The bet was stupid and immature. Maybe a little fun, but still dumb. We were, after all, adults. Not teenagers.

I wanted to confront him about it. But was now the right time? If he was still feeling a little run down, it wasn’t fair to hit him with it this afternoon. But, I was feeling twitchy. I needed to get this off my chest.

I looked at him.

He grinned. “See? Fine.”

So he was fine.

I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and blurted, “This whole game we’re playing is silly, Kent.”

“Game?” Kent echoed, hand wrapped around a pancake flipper.

“I’m talking about our bet. Why should we have to win or lose a bet to get what we want? If you want to help me, then fine. You can help me. I’ll accept. So you win.” I lifted my hands in the air, a surrender. “But why should you be the only one to win? Why can’t both of us? Why shouldn’t we be able to be honest with each other? Why shouldn’t you be able to be honest with me? Haven’t I proven by now that I’m trustworthy?”

Kent shrugged and went back to cooking.

Evidently not.

The wall was back up, the invisible one that he liked to hide behind whenever things got uncomfortable. I despised that fucking wall. If only I could kick it down.

My blood pounded hot and hard through my body. If I didn’t believe this thing between us was worth all this hell, I would’ve called it quits a long time ago and moved on. But, I hadn’t. I held on to hope. Even when we were apart. Why? Because he was worth it. I wanted him to know that. To really appreciate the fact that he could keep pushing me away, but I wasn’t going to leave forever. I’d return and keep pushing back until he eventually gave up.

“What’s it going to take, Kent? Why are you so sure I’m going to screw you over?”

“That’s not it,” he said to the frying pan.

I grabbed his arm and yanked. “At least face me when you’re speaking to me. Don’t be a fucking coward.”

He turned. His face was tight. His eyes were ice cold. “Go ahead.” He didn’t want to have this conversation. Too fucking bad. This was the best chance I had of clearing this up for once and for all. I wasn’t going to just walk away from it.

“What’s your problem? Why is it that every time I think we’re moving forward you take three steps back? Do you think I just want you for your money?”

“No.”

“Then what, Kent? What’s the deal? It can’t be those bitches you mentioned. Because if I an handle you I can handle them. So I’m asking you, begging you, to tell me the truth. Because this hot and cold thing is driving me freaking crazy.”

He flipped off the stove and set the pancake turner on the counter, giving me his full attention. “I’m afraid to love you, Shayne. That’s the bottom line.”

My insides twisted. Afraid? Kent? “Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?” I prodded.

“Because. That’s all.

That’s all? That’s all I was going to get from him? No! “You need to give me more than that, Kent. I deserve more than that.”

He studied me for several seconds. He nodded. “Yes, yes you do. But I can’t talk about it. And if that doesn’t tell you what you need to know, then I don’t know what will.” He twisted, taking a step around me.

He was leaving?

No.

How many times had he walked away from me when things got rough? Or how many times had I walked away from him? Instead of staying and talking things through? Several.

I was done being a doormat.

Kent Payne was not going to trample over my heart anymore, only to come back later, beg me to “talk about it,” and then skirt the real issue.

No. There was something serious going on with this man. Something he didn’t want to face, or didn’t know how to face. It had nothing to do with me being his stepsister. Or with how other people would treat me if they discovered we were in love.

Was I helping him by letting him keep running from it, whatever the
it
was? No.

If there was any hope for us at all, we had to face this. Head on. Together. Both of us.

“You are not doing this again,” I warned him as I jumped in front of him, heading off his escape. My hands trembled as they pressed against his chest. “You’re not skulking away, playing the wounded fucking asshole. We are either going to get this all out in the open right now or we are done.”

His gaze jerked away.

My heart pounded in my ears.

What would he do? Which would he choose? Love? Or loneliness? The terrifying prospect of letting someone know the truth, or continuing to run from it?

I hoped, I prayed, it would be the former. Losing Kent would be one agonizing loss I wasn’t sure I could handle. But I’d had to do it. I’d had to lay down the line. I couldn’t let him continue to torment me any longer. I had too much respect for myself to let it go on.

At last, I was ready to stand up for myself. Not in an unhealthy, selfish way. But in a way that would benefit both of us in the long term. If this thing with Kent ended now, today, at least I had that to be thankful for. Kent, with his issues, had taught me how to be strong. I would no longer be that weak tree, being flailed by the wind. I could bend. But I would not break.

“You were right,” he said as he curled his fists around my wrists. “I am sick.” Eyes avoiding mine, he nodded. “I’m going to make arrangements for our flight home. I think we both need to get back.”

The pain was almost unbearable, like a knife stabbed into my gut then twisted. Flesh tearing.

I blinked burning eyes. “I feel sorry for you, Kent, if that’s how you think you have to live your life. Always running away from love. It’s no way to live.”

I stomped past him.

Fuck him and his wounded guy act. I was done with him. Done.

When I fell in love the next time--and I
would
let myself fall in love again-- it would be with a man who deserved my love.

Not a jerk like Kent Payne.

Never again.

Never.

Two lines.

Two blue lines.

On a white stick.

Every girl knew what that meant.

Holy shit.

Tears collected in my eyes. The lines turned into blue blobs. I sniffled and blinked. Those tears plopped onto my thighs.

Two
baby
blue lines.

Ohmygod.

I placed my hands on my stomach. There was a little human being inside me. Growing. That little human being was half me and half Kent Payne.

Of course I was going to keep the baby. He or she deserved everything I could give him or her. Every bit of love, every sacrifice, every hug and kiss. I would do my damned best to give him or her the kind of happy childhood I’d had.

And I’d do it alone. Just like my mother had.

Kent was gone. Long gone. History. I hadn’t spoken to that jerk since the flight back from Alaska, almost a month ago.

But that was okay. I was ready to make any sacrifice for my child. Ready, but also terrified. I wasn’t even in a position of being able to take care of myself. And in less than nine months I would be responsible for another person’s health and well-being.

Ohmygod!

Mom was going to freak out.

And Ransom. She’d tell me I’m crazy for keeping the baby, after what she’d been through.

But I had to.

I hadn’t seen my child yet. It was probably smaller than a pea. But I loved him or her already. Loved him or her like I’d never loved another human being.

Even Kent.

Kent.

Crap.

I had to tell him. I didn’t want to. But it was the right thing to do.

I had to tell him first, before I told Mom and Ransom. He had a right to know. He had a right to decide how much of a part he wanted to play in our child’s life. I hoped, I prayed, he would want to be more active in his child’s life than my father had been in mine. But if he decided he couldn’t be, then I wouldn’t get angry. I wouldn’t threaten. I would hold my head high, just like my mother, and show my child what love was really all about.

I might not have the money that Kent Payne had. But I had something else. I had the ability to love freely, without fear. And love, I would.

I looked at the clock.

Seven o’clock. Friday night. As good a time as any.

If I told Kent today, I could tell Mom too. And then tomorrow, when I babysat little Claire, I could tell Ransom.

My hands trembled as I gathered all three positive pregnancy test strips and dropped them into my purse. I peered out the window. September weather in Michigan was wildly unpredictable. One day it could be bright, sunny, and as hot as a midsummer day, and the next chilly, windy, with gloomy gray skies dumping inches of rain on the ground. Today looked like latter kind. I grabbed a sweater off the hook by the door, and cramming my arm into the sleeve, I hurried out to my SUV and ducked in before getting soaked.

During the drive, the windshield wipers squeaked a regular rhythm as I rehearsed my
I’m-pregnant-and-you’re-the-father
speech. I felt sick. And a little dizzy. But I didn’t pull off and turn around. That would be easier. But not better. Better to get it over with. Fast. Like yanking off a bandage.

By the time I pulled into Kent’s driveway, I was feeling
really
sick. My nerves were stretched to their limits, like over-tightened guitar strings. No matter how much air I sucked into my lungs, it felt like it wasn’t enough.

What would he say? What would he do? Would he act like he didn’t give a damn? Would he tell me good luck and shove me out the front door?

I thought I knew him. But did I? Did I really know for certain how he will react?

Shit, I didn’t want to go through with this.

You have to. Do it. Get it over with. You’re doing it for your child.

I cut off my truck’s engine and dashed up the front walk, leaping over the deepest puddles. Once I made it onto the front porch, I took a moment to breathe and collect my racing, ping-ponging thoughts.

I poked the doorbell button and held my breath.

The door swung open.

There he was. The father of my child.

Looking as beautiful as ever.

He studied me for a moment. Then his dark brows drew together. “Shayne? What’s wrong?”

My heart was in my throat, blocking it. I didn’t know how I would talk. No air was making it past it. I swallowed hard once, twice.

“What is it, Shayne?” His handsome face grew taut with worry, his mouth a thin line. “I know I’ve been a real bastard. But if you need anything, anything at all, I will help you.” He cupped my cheeks and stared deeply into my eyes. “You know that, right? What’s wrong? Is it the house again?”

I knew, despite his struggle to face whatever problem had kept him from telling me he loved me, that he did, indeed care about me. Deeply. So I was confident he would not get angry when he found out why I’d come to talk to him.

Knowing what I did about him, I suspected he would feel compelled to do “the right thing”. What I didn’t want was him trying to force me into something I wasn’t ready for. Even if he proposed marriage, I could not accept. Not even if his first marriage was legally over, which I didn’t know.

Not until he could tell me he loved me.

He gathered my hands into his and tugged me inside. “You’re pregnant,” he guessed as he shut the door behind me. “Is that it?”

My vision blurred as tears gathered. I nodded.

His gaze dropped to my flat stomach. He inhaled, exhaled. “My divorce was final last week. So we can get married. We will be married, of course, so my child can—“

“No,” I said.

“No?” His fingers loosened and my hand fell from his grip. He rammed his fingers through his hair. “No? Why not? I just said my divorce has been finalized.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I can show you the papers. They’re in my office.”

Just as I’d expected. He’d proposed marriage. But his proposal was absolutely worthless to me. “I don’t care about your divorce. I won’t marry you, Kent.”

He looked completely dumbstruck. “But you
have
to.”

I crossed my arms and stood my ground. “No, I don’t. Nobody
has
to marry anybody.”

“But the child—“

“Will be fine,” I cut him off. “I’ll raise him or her. You may be shocked to hear this, but I didn’t come here to solicit a marriage proposal. I came to tell you because you have a right to know. And my child has a right to know his or her father. If you want to be a part of his or her life, that is your choice.” Having said what I’d come to say, I turned and grabbed the doorknob.

Kent reached around me and slammed a hand against the door.

“Shayne, no Payne child has ever been raised a bastard.”

I stared. I glared. I sent him death rays from my eyes. “That’s not a convincing argument for marriage, Kent. You know what I’m waiting for. You know what I need to hear. I won’t marry anyone who doesn’t love me.”

“But I can’t give you that. Not yet.”

“When Kent? When might you love me? When our child is born? Or maybe when he’s celebrating his second birthday? Or perhaps his tenth? Or eighteenth? I won’t marry you until then. I can’t.”

“You are the most stubborn, irrational, irritating woman I know,” he blustered, face turning redder than a stop sign.

“Which is why you love me.”

Teeth gritted, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, Shayne.”

“I have standards, Kent. And I won’t bend them just because you’re too damn scared to face something you’ve been avoiding for years. If you want to raise our child with me, as a family, then you are going to have to come to terms with whatever that issue is. You’re going to have to earn that right. Because being a sperm donor doesn’t earn you anything but a ‘thank you’ from me.”

“It isn’t so easy. I’ve tried before. Nothing works.”

“Ever heard the expression, you can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results?”

He scowled. “Once or twice.”

I smiled and shrugged. “Try something different. My final answer is still no. I will not marry you.”

His lips clamped shut. His jaw muscles twitched.

He wasn’t happy with my decision. But that was too fucking bad. I was through with silly games and childish bets. Fun time was over. This was serious. There was another human being to think about now. And that little person deserved two parents who knew how to act like responsible, mature adults. Who could teach him or her about love, respect, and, most importantly, trust. Kent didn’t trust anyone, not even himself.

Once again, I grabbed the doorknob. “My doctor’s appointment is next Friday. I’ll let you know when all my doctor’s appointments are, in case you’d like to come.”

He snarled, “Of course I would. I’ll be there. What time?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty.”

Pick me up? No. I didn’t want to be in a car with him. “That isn’t—“

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty,” he repeated, tone clipped.

I turned to face him. And for just a fraction of a second, I let a little regret creep into me. How I wished things could have been different. But they weren’t. And so I had to make the best of things. For my child’s sake.

He or she would know no different. Because he or she would be loved by at least one parent. And loved fiercely.

Whether or not Kent would be an absent father, my baby would be loved. And my baby would be happy.

“Next week,” I confirmed. “Nine-thirty.”

The worst was over.

He knew.

Whatever happened from there, I’d done the right thing. I’d given him a choice.

Now it was up to him. Even if he couldn’t love me, I hoped he could love our child.