Fracture

3. Levi

CHAPTER 3

LEVI

My mother’s house is just as fucking ridiculous as I remember it being. The gravel crunches under the tires of the bike as I make my way up the long drive, the rose bushes outside in full bloom, the rococo style gold detailing on the balconies and doorways glinting in the harsh summer sun.

It’s so fucking ugly. I always hated this house.

I bring the bike to a stop and climb off, removing my helmet and placing it on the backseat. As I turn towards the front door, it flies open, and my mother bursts out, dressed in her signature blue skirt suit, hair pulled back into a blonde coiffe.

“My darling boy!” She flies at me, throwing her arms around me. “Oh my god, sweetheart.”

“Hi Mom.” I hug her back, trying to show some enthusiasm.

“Why am I only seeing you now?” She pulls back, and I’m surprised to see tears in her eyes. My mother has tear ducts, who knew? “I would have been there for your release, but I was out of town, I’m so sorry.” She looks me up and down, hands on my shoulders. “You look… so grown up. More tattoos.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Not a fan?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Your father had tattoos too, I can live with those.” She raises her eyes back to mine, the same shade of ice blue as mine. “Where are you staying?”

“With Stella.”

My mother’s face instantly drops. “With whom?”

“Mom, I came here to see you and I don’t want a fight.”

“Levi, you cannot mean that.” She grips my shoulders. “I want you to tell me that you’re joking.”

“I’m not, and I’m not discussing that. I can leave if you prefer.”

“No!” She seems to surprise herself with her outburst, quickly running a hand over her hair, smoothing the imaginary loose strands back into place. She clasps her hands together, and the paparazzi smile is in place. “Sweetheart, please, I’m just happy to see you. I just want us to spend time together. Please.” She gestures to the house with a move clearly rehearsed for a Vogue Living special.

I finally nod. “OK.” I follow her up the sandstone steps and into the marbled foyer. Everything still looks the same, smells the same. “So you sold the other place?”

“Stella did.” Her tone is clipped. “Harold hadn't changed his will, so that house unfort- I mean, that house landed in Stella’s hands.”

Good for her . I smirk at my reflection as we pass a floor to ceiling gilded mirror. “Oh that’s too bad.”

“I suppose you’ve seen the house she lives in now..” My mother clicks her tongue. “On that side of town, living with teachers and… and…” My mother struggles to think of some other low class of worker that could afford to live in the slum that is west Bellford Heights, and I suppress a laugh.

“Mom, you are a class A snob, you know that?”

She glares over her shoulder at me, before turning right into the conservatory. It’s cool in here, the glass walls mostly obscured by towering ferns and miniature palms. Bamboo blinds span the glass ceiling, and the air smells fresh. This is the only room in the house I could ever bear.

A lavish spread is laid out on a long wooden table, seafood and charcuterie boards, bowls of fruit overflowing on the table. The food my mother thinks rich people should eat. It’s almost cartoonish.

“Jesus, Mom, you really outdid yourself.” I take a seat, sprawling in the chair as my mother primly takes her place opposite me.

“Only the best for my son.” She gives me a warm smile.

“Well, thanks. Beats prison food, that's for sure.”

Her face instantly shifts with alarm, her eyebrows shooting up. “Was it very awful inside? Your grandfather tried to make sure you got the very best facility. If there were problems you should have told me.”

“No, Mom, it was fine. As good as prison can be.” I reach out and pluck a grape from a plate, popping it in my mouth, and meet my mother’s critical gaze. “What?”

“Why do you have an obscenity tattooed on your hand?”

I raise my right hand and smile at the word Fuck tattooed across my knuckles. “I thought it was funny.”

“That kind of language is not funny. How are you ever supposed to get a decent job looking like that?”

“Who says I want a decent job?” I can’t help but grin at the mix of outrage and disbelief on her face. “Come on, did you really think I was going to be the next president?”

“You could have been,” she mutters into a glass of sweet tea.

“No, Mom, I couldn’t have been, and you never saw that.”

She swallows her mouthful of tea and snorts. “Your father insisting on a name like Levi was probably the death knell of that dream anyway.”

I laugh out loud. “That’s what you get for disappointing Daddy and marrying a biker, I guess.”

My mother sighs, reaching out to stroke her manicured hand along the leaf of a palm beside her. “Yes, well we all make mistakes when we’re young and stupid.” Her eyes move back to me. “So what are you thinking of doing with your days? Since you don’t have aspirations of being president?”

I stretch out my legs, popping another grape in my mouth. “Dylan and I were thinking of opening a shop.”

My mother’s face darkens further at the mention of Dylan’s name. “I suppose he’s staying with Stella too?”

“He is.”

My mother clicks her tongue, delicately placing a croissant on her plate. I know damn well she won’t eat it.

“Are he and Stella still together?”

The question has my stomach in a knot. Of course they were together, long ago. Dylan had been down bad for Stella the second he’d met her. I’d been fine with it. Until… Until… I suddenly feel unsteady, and I can’t explain why. Remembering that night, when Dylan had come to me in furious tears, telling me what he and Stella had been about to do. How she’d frozen in fear, and he’d immediately known something was very wrong. And then he came to me, and told me what she’d told him…

“Sweetheart?” My mother’s voice draws me back into the moment.

“What was that?”

“This shop, what kind of shop is it?”

“Oh, uh, bikes.”

My mother rolls her eyes. “Of course, what else? Just like your father.”

“Hey, it’s all I was ever good at.” I shrug, pouring myself a glass of water. “That old fella downtown, Mario, he’s going to retire. I figured I’d buy his shop from him, keep it going. I’m sure I still have my inheritance kicking around.”

My mother’s lashes flutter for just a split second, betraying the only weakness she has. “Of course, sweetheart, no one else has touched your father’s money. That was there for you. He was… He was very clear on that.”

“Well, great, that’s my plan then.” I give her a grin. “Following in my daddy’s footsteps.”

My mother nods, her throat bobbing lightly. “Yes, that's wonderful. I’m sure Dylan will be grateful for the opportunity. Immigrant kids have it so hard.”

I can’t help but laugh at yet another display of my mother’s snobbery. “Mom, Dylan’s family is probably richer than yours.”

“They’re Polacks.” She stage whispers across the table, eyes darting around as though the FBI is hovering behind one of the palms. “Do you know how they make their money?”

“First of, they’re not Polacks , Mom, his dad was Polish and his mom was Mexican. And they make their money in microchips and motherboards, for fuck’s sake.”

“Please watch your language.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I’m not saying anything against his family, just that I think money-laundering is a thing that happens.”

“Mom, I swear to god.” I put my hands on the arms of the chair, making to rise to my feet.

“No! Please!” She reaches out, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just want you to be happy, and safe, and to not violate your parole.”

“I’m not going to violate my parole, and you need to start laying off of the people I care about.”

“I’m sorry, I just worry about you. Stella has, well, she’s caused so much pain for our family.”

I push out of the chair and get to my feet. “I’m done.”

She jumps out of her chair, eyes wide. “No, sweetheart, please-”

“ Enough. ” I raise a finger and point it in her direction. “I am sick of you trash-talking Stella. It’s disgusting. You should be ashamed.”

I stride across the conservatory, ignoring my mother’s protests and quick steps behind me. Her assistant, Valerie, appears from a side room as I head through the foyer, and raises a hand in greeting.

“Levi, good to see you!”

I ignore her, pushing through the double doors and out onto the steps. Within seconds I’m on my bike, roaring down the drive.

I always hated this house. And everyone who fucking lived in it.

When I get back to Stella’s house, her black Volvo is just pulling into the drive. Stella still hasn’t spoken a word to me since I gave her shit in the garage three nights ago, every time I try she just flips her hair over her shoulder and ignores me.

I can’t blame her.

I kill the engine as she climbs out of her car, iced coffee in hand, a Barnes and Noble bag dangling from her arm. She’s dressed in a pink jumpsuit that shows off her tan, and it sits tight around her ass. My chest tenses as I realize there’s no way she’s wearing panties.

Thoughts I should not be having about my stepsister.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I call out, and she ignores me. I climb off the bike as she walks up the steps, and I rush to catch up with her. The door slams in my face. Fuck she’s really mad . I push the door open, following her into the house. “Stella, come on, talk to me.”

She spins on her heel, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Fine, I’ll talk. You and Dylan have until the end of the week to get the fuck out of my house.”

I stop short, caught off guard by the fury in her eyes. “Stella, come on-”

“ You come on. You and Dylan made it very clear to me that you’re so much better than me, that you’re real men, and haven't sold out like me.” She narrows her eyes, dumping her bag on the bench in the foyer. “So that means you’re both more than capable of looking after yourselves.”

“Stella-” I take a step closer, and I’m met with a pointy manicured nail in my chest.

“ No. ”

I take her hand gently, wrapping it in both of mine. Her face doesn’t change, still regarding me with fury and deep, simmering hurt. “Baby girl, listen to me. I am so sorry for what I said.”

“I don’t believe you,” she snaps, trying to yank her hand away, but I don’t let go. “And quit it with the baby girl all the time. I hate it.”

“Do you really?” I lean over here, and her eyes flicker wide for a split second.

“Y-yes. It reminds me of things that are gone, and dead.”

I take her hand and press it to my chest. “I’m not dead and gone, am I?”

Her amber eyes stay fixed on mine, the fury softening out of them ever so slightly. “Levi, don’t.”

“Stella, listen to me, just for a minute, please.” I attempt to pull her a little closer, and when she resists I take a step towards her. “I know we hurt you. I said things to you, and to Dylan, that you didn’t deserve. Not one little bit.”

She grits out a harsh little laugh. “So Dylan wasn’t just here for a piece of ass, huh?”

I smile down at her. “I mean, maybe the hope was there.” I laugh when she rolls her eyes. “No, come on, he loves you. He missed you. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nice of you to recognise that.” Her eyes drop from mine.

“Baby girl, I missed you too.” I move even closer, so we’re almost chest to chest. I raise one hand to her cheek, running the back of my finger down her soft golden skin. “I know words aren’t going to help. I fucked up, and I hurt you. And I’m sorry I ruined this, all of this. Coming home to you.”

“I was so happy to see you,” she says, and the veneer cracks just a little, her eyes shining as she gazes up at me. “I missed you too. I was dreaming of that moment. God, I was so stupid. In my room, trying to find the right dress to wear.”

“You looked beautiful, baby girl.” I notch my fingers under her chin. “You hear me, you looked gorgeous. Perfect.”

I can’t tell her what I really thought when I saw her. That I called her baby girl, the nickname I gave her when we were kids, to try and stem the desire that flared in every cell in my body just at the sight of her.

That I let my anger and desire get the better of me in the garage, saying hurtful things just to push away that sweet scent of vanilla and that pretty smooth skin.

It wasn’t just 10 years in prison - it was being back in the presence of the girl I’d been obsessed with since I was 16 years old, since I saw her holding those white flowers in her pretty pink dress at our parents’ wedding.

I can't tell her any of this. She sees me as her big brother. So I smile down at her, and plant a kiss on her forehead. She sighs a little, and softens against me.

“Thank you.” She leans against my chest, and lets me wrap my arms around her.

“I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, OK.” She pulls back and smiles up at me, rolling her eyes a little. “Good thing for you I’m a sucker for lost causes.”

“Yeah Miss Lawyer Lady, that’s kinda your forte, huh?”

“Hmmm. I guess I am.” She quirks her mouth, then pushes out of my arms. “OK, you can stay.”

“And Dylan?”

She turns and points a finger at me. “He can make his own case.”

I hold my hands up. “You’re right, he’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

“Damn straight.” She sweeps the Barnes and Noble bag up from the bench and heads into the kitchen. “So what did you do today?”

I follow her slowly, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I, uh, saw my mother.”

Stella freezes, a book hovering half in and half out of the bag. I swear her jaw starts trembling.

“You… You saw her, huh?”

“Yeah, she told me you’d sold the old house.” I shrug, leaning back against the wall. “I can’t blame you, not like we had a lot of positive memories in that old shack.”

“Did she… tell you anything?” She’s still frozen, almost trembling.

“Tell me what?” I frown, and she seems to come out of her trance, slowly putting the book down on the kitchen counter. “Did something happen?”

“It doesn't matter.” She shakes her hair out over her shoulder, and continues taking books from the bag. “But yes, I sold the house. Dad left it to me, and I didn't want it. I hated that place. Your mother was furious, but I didn’t really care. I told her she could buy me out, but that didn’t suit her either.”

I grunt out a laugh. “She just felt entitled, if she'd wanted to buy it she could have.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She stacks the books up on the counter. “Anyhow, I sold the place, and bought this house. Suits me way better than some soulless mansion.”

“You did good, kid.”

She meets my eyes with a soft smile. “Thanks. Hardly a kid anymore, though.”

Her words do not have the intended effect, and I hate myself for it. She's definitely not a kid. She’s a woman with pretty blonde hair and big amber eyes. She’s standing in front of me in a tight jumpsuit in no panties, and I shove myself off the wall before I do something stupid.

“I should go shower,” I call over my shoulder, leaving her and her books alone in the kitchen. I head straight to the bathroom, turning the cold up all the way and dousing myself in the stream, chasing away all the fantasies of the things I want to do with my little stepsister.

I’m sick. Depraved. This isn’t normal. Maybe I should have just let her kick me out after all. Because there’s no way this is going to end well.