Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) Page 14

  In a daze, I dig my cell phone out of my backpack and type out a message with trembling fingers.

  Me: Are you near campus? I need you.

  By the time I’ve managed to pour myself onto the well-worn couch, I’ve received my reply.

  Danny: I’m near-ish. What’s going on? Is this a booty call? I thought Sexy Pants was taking care of all your needs these days.

  Me: I’m afraid Sexy Pants has flown the coop. Everything’s gone to shit, Danny.

  Danny: Where are you?

  Me: In my dorm. He just left.

  A long moment passes while Danny takes in my message. But finally, he replies.

  Danny: I’m coming. Just stay put.

  Me: Thank you, Danny.

  Danny: That’s what boy friends are for, right? For when actual boyfriends fuck up.

  A sound that’s part laugh, part sop rips out of my throat at Danny’s message. I curl up on the couch, waiting for my best friend to arrive. He may not be able to understand how I’ve let myself fall so hard, but I know he’ll offer me a hand as I right myself again…and a swift kick in the ass if I let myself mope too long.

  The perfect combination for a broken-hearted mess like me.

  ***

  The one precious week I got to spend at the lake house with Luke flew by in one sweeping rush. The following week, however, moves so slowly that I find myself wondering if time has simply stopped. With no classes, no work, no tasks to distract me, the ache of Luke’s absence is amplified tenfold. Danny does his best to keep me company, but I can tell that even his patience with my despondency is wearing thin. By the time the week has come and gone, he’s had it with my lovesickness.

  “If you're not gonna eat that burrito, I am,” he snaps at me across the table. We’ve hunkered down at Pequeño for a little pre-summer semester feast. Classes start up again tomorrow, and by rights I should be thrilled. But mustering up even an ounce of enthusiasm is proving to be impossible.

  “Have at,” I say to Danny, pushing my plate across the table, “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ve barely eaten anything all week,” he says, crossing his arms, “You wanna pass out on our first day of classes and embarrass yourself in front of everyone? You know we have guest artists coming in from New York City to teach us, right? Artists who have theater companies, and connections, and zero tolerance for mopey bullshit.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel worse about all this?” I ask him, taking a long swig of my margarita, “I haven’t heard a word from Luke since he ditched me here last week. I don’t know where he is, or what he’s doing. My sisters and I haven’t even had a chance to get on the same page about what to do with our mother—”

  “Babe,” Danny cuts me off, reaching across the table and taking my hands, “You’ve got a whole lot to say about Luke, and Anna, and Maddie. But you know who you should really be worried about right now? Sophie.”

  “Wh-what?” I stammer, “What do you mean?”

  “You have no way of controlling what Luke does next,” Danny says, brushing his thumb against my hand, “He’s going to make his own choices, and he’ll have to live with them. The only thing you have control over is what you do now. You can choose to self-destruct and waste this summer feeling sorry for yourself. Or you can choose to pull yourself the fuck together, kill it for those New York people, and keep on chasing the dreams you had long before Luke Hawthorne stuck it to you. So, what’s it gonna be Sophie? What’s your move?”

  I stare at Danny for a long, hard moment as his words hit home. With slow deliberation, I take my hands from his, reach across the table, and pull my plate back toward me. A smile blooms across my face as I pick up my gigantic, glorious burrito and take a monster-sized bite out of it.

  “That’s my girl,” Danny crows, thumping his fist on the table, “Sophie Porter rides again!”

  “You’d better believe it, buddy,” I reply, tucking into my meal.

  Deep down, I know that this new I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude is an act. My bruised heart still aches for Luke with every single beat. But maybe if I really commit to pretending like I’m OK, I’ll actually start to feel a little better. Maybe a little “method acting” is exactly what’s called for, here. That and another order of tortilla chips, that is.

  A couple hours later, I arrive back at my dorm room with a full belly, a nice buzz, and a newfound determination to make the most of this summer. With or, more likely, without Luke Hawthorne to share it. I flop down on my bed and go to set an early alarm on my cell phone—I want to have enough time in the morning for a nice long run before the first day of summer classes.

  Unbidden, the memory of racing through the woods with Luke as my guide rises in my mind’s eye. I see his tanned, broad shoulders moving rhythmically as his strong, balanced figure leads me forward. I see his wide grin, his sharp scruffy jaw, that sweep of chestnut hair backlit by the breaking day as we reach the summit. And of course, I see him lowering that perfect body to mine, feel the enormity of him parting me, filling me, making me whole…

  “No,” I mutter to myself in the dark, empty dorm room, “You can cut that shit out, right now.”

  Maybe just pretending like I’m over Luke isn’t going to be enough, here. Maybe I need to actually do something about it. It’s been a week since I’ve seen him, and I’ve had no word from him at all. I haven’t made any contact either, but I’m not the one who bailed. The ball has been in his court to open the lines of communication. But you know what? I think it’s about time I took that ball and headed on home.

  I set my jaw and open up a new message on my phone, entering Luke’s number. Without taking a spare moment to think, lest I lose my nerve, I write:

  Me: Hey Luke. Just wanted to let you know that everything is good here. My wrist is even healed. Thank you for all your help, and for getting me back here safely. I was upset to see you go, but I understand that it’s for the best. You’re right—carrying on any further is just asking for trouble. I won’t come chasing after you or anything crazy like that, I just want you to know that I loved getting to know and spend time with you, however short that time seemed. Take care of yourself.

  I let my phone fall onto the bed as I roll onto my side, hugging my knees to my chest. Where will Luke even be when he gets my message? Back at the lake house? Out on the road? Across the country? I haven’t the slightest idea. My head jerks up as I hear my phone ping softly, and see Luke’s name attached to a new text. I snatch up the phone, holding my breath as I take in his response.

  Luke: Good to know. Have a good summer.

  A rasping laugh escapes my throat as I read his text. Have a good summer? That’s the sort of thing an acquaintance would write in someone’s high school year book—and a passing acquaintance at that. He’s treating me just like he used to, back when he was nothing more than my sexy TA—with cool nonchalance. Amiable disinterest. Well, fine. Like Danny said, there’s nothing I can do to control his actions from here on out. If he’s going to treat me like a stranger, I just have to accept it.

  …But that still doesn’t keep the silent tears from streaming down my face as I sink into a numb, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Against all odds, I find myself settling into a new routine as summer classes commence. For nine hours a day, I attended workshops and one-on-one training sessions with an incredible group of teachers, including my beloved (if occasionally prickly) movement instructor, Gary, who’s running the show. There are only eight of us students who were selected to take part in these rigorous classes, and by the end of each day I’m too exhausted to dwell on my stalled love life, the impending sale of my childhood home, or anything else that’s going on beyond the walls of Sheridan. Sure, I’ll have to deal with all of those things someday. But for the next couple of weeks, I at least get to set my baggage down for a spell.

  At the end of the first two weeks of summer classes, all eight of us students are supposed to have a private meeting with Gary to disc
uss our progress so far. I head over to his office in the performing arts building at the end of the day on Friday, excited to talk about what I’m learning as a performer in this intensive atmosphere. Gary’s alone in his office when I arrive, his balding head bent over his desk. I rap my knuckles on the open door.

  “Hey Gare,” I smile brightly, “How’s tricks?”

  “Oh. Sophie. Good,” he says, having none of my sunny disposition, “Come on in and close the door, would you?”

  I do as he says, slightly put off by his less-than-enthusiastic tone. My teacher’s eyes follow me as I cross the room and settle into a chair before him. I thought these were going to be informal little check-ins, but I feel as though I’m on trial.

  “So…” I begin stiltedly, “What’s the diagnosis, Dr.?”

  Gary folds his hand over his slight paunch, leaning back in his chair and appraising me.

  “You’ve been getting glowing reviews from the other instructors,” he tells me point-blank, “They’ve been very impressed with your work so far, Sophie. Your acting teacher, Karen Krause, is particularly interested in you.”

  I sit up a little straighter in my chair. Karen Krause is one of our guest artists this summer. Back in New York, she’s the artistic director of one of the city’s most exciting experimental theatre companies. Being in her good graces is a huge deal.

  “This isn’t exactly public information,” Gary goes on, “But Karen isn’t just here as an instructor this summer. She’s scouting the eight of you Sheridan kids for a spot in her apprentice company this coming fall. If accepted, you’d be living in New York for at least a year. You could get school credit for taking part and meet your graduation requirements on the other side of the country. It would be an incredible opportunity. And Karen has told me that you, above all the other students, are the person she has in mind for the spot.”

  My jaw falls open as I struggle to comprehend what Gary is telling me. I can feel my mind rebelling against the information, because it seems far too good to be true. Living in New York City, working with a professional theatre company, all while finishing up my degree here at Sheridan? That would be absolutely perfect. Maybe Anna could even come live with me? God knows, New York is a dream for any photographer…

  My fanciful daydreaming grinds to a halt as I take in the look on Gary’s face. He’s practically grimacing at me.

  “Isn’t this…good news?” I ask him tentatively, “Why do you look like you want to drop kick me out of your office?”

  “I’m…concerned. About you,” Gary goes on measuredly, his fingers steepled against his lips.

  “Why?” I ask, cocking my head, “I’m doing fine, Gary. You just said, all the other instructors are happy with my work. What’s the problem?”

  “I did say that all the other instructors were happy with you,” Gary prods.

  “…But not you,” I reply, disappointed.

  “Not me,” Gary goes on, “Over the past three years, I’ve gotten to see you grow immensely as a performer. You came to me as an angry, closed off little girl with no interest in connecting to anyone. But you’ve worked like mad to open up, let other people in, be vulnerable. You’re far from perfect as a performer. You’re unpredictable at times, you’ve got some bad habits to shake, but what I love about you is that you’re honest. You’re raw, and messy, and real. At least, you were. Up until a few weeks ago.”

  “I…I don’t understand,” I murmur, looking down at my hands.

  “Something has changed in you, since you’ve been away,” Gary says with frank honesty, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a perfectly competent performer. The best in your class, even. You’ve shown great technical skill these past couple of weeks, everything by the book, on point. But you know something, Sophie? Perfect isn’t you. Safe isn’t you. And I worry that if people start rewarding you for the work you’re doing now, with apprenticeships and praise and whatever, you’ll stop growing. And if you stop growing, I’m afraid you’ll never become as great a performer as you have the potential to be.”

  “Are you just saying this because you want me to stay here in Montana?” I ask hopefully.

  “You know I’d never try to keep you here out of selfishness,” Gary says firmly, “I know this is all difficult to hear, but I need you to listen to me now. It’s not too late for you to course correct, here. You’ve thrown up the defenses around your heart again since you’ve been gone, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep them up forever. I don’t know what’s happening in your life, or what has you so scared, but you need to face it, Sophie. And soon.”

  Hot tears prick at my eyes as I look away from my teacher. He’s seen right through me, as usual. Why did I think I could hide anything from him?

  “What if…I’m not strong enough to face it?” I ask him softly, “I’ve only just barely started working through what’s already happened to me, to my family…I’m afraid that if I let myself get hurt again, I’ll be back to square one.”

  “What do we always say around here, Sophie?” Gary says, “Follow the fear…”

  “…If you want to find the truth,” I finish, blinking back my tears.

  He’s right, of course. I’ve been barreling along, refusing to deal with what’s happened between me and Luke. Refusing to deal with the loss of him, just like I refused to deal with losing my dad at first. It’s a different sort of loss, but no less real. And no less destructive, if left unchecked.

  “You can do this, Sophie,” Gary goes on, “You owe it to yourself to chase down the truth. That’s the only way you’re ever really going to be happy.”

  I know whose lead to follow, if I want to find my truth. The problem is, I have no idea where to find him.

  I offer Gary a murmured goodbye and hurry out of the office. My cheeks are flushed with embarrassment at being called out by my favorite teacher. I’ve disappointed him, and disappointed myself. I thought I was doing such a good job at moving on from Luke, but all I’ve really been doing is shutting out any passing thought of him. I’ve been holding my need of him at bay, denying how much his departure really hurt me. And it’s only now that I realize how exhausted I’ve become with the effort.

  Bursting out of the performing arts building, I gulp down huge swallows of fresh air, trying to keep my tears at bay. But it’s no use. I stumble forward, steadying myself against a park bench overlooking the grassy Sheridan lawns as I give into my sadness at last. My shoulders shake as I sink down onto the bench, burying my face in my hands. Warm July sunlight kisses my bare shoulders, but I only feel a numb chill. I have to face the facts—I’ve completely messed up any chance at being with Luke. Why didn’t I just tell him the truth, when he left me here that night? Why didn’t I say that I wanted him to stay, no matter what? For someone so allergic to bullshit, I’ve sure been doling out my fair share of it lately.

  I jump as my cell starts to chime in my purse. Sniffling morosely, I dig the device out and check the caller ID. It’s Maddie. I let out a huge sigh, sinking back against the bench. Maddie only ever calls me for two reasons—in case of family emergency, or to complain about Mom. And to be honest, I’m hardly in the mood for either just now. But then again, this is the first time I’ve had an actual call from either of my sisters in weeks. The most I’ve gotten are vague, perfunctory texts. I can’t ignore this.

  “H-hey Maddie,” I say, picking up the call, “What’s up?”

  “Hey Sophie…Are you OK?” my big sister replies over the line, “You sound like you’re coming down with something.”

  “No, no,” I say quickly, my voice thickening. The one surefire way to get me crying is to give me an opening by asking what’s wrong. I try and outrun the next wave of tears, but it’s no use.

  “Soph, what’s the matter?” Maddie asks softly, as I try and stifle my sobs, “What’s going on?”

  “It’s st-stupid,” I blubber, thanking my lucky stars that the campus is nearly empty. I’d be quite the sight to come upon right now. “Don’t worr
y about it.”

  “I can’t not worry,” Maddie tells me, “You’re my little sister. Did something happen at school? Is it a guy? Is it a family thing?”

  A little bit of all three, I think sullenly.

  “Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, right?” Maddie presses on, “I know we haven’t always been super close, but this has been such a crazy couple of weeks. And I… I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world who can understand what we’re going through right now except each other. We Porter women have to stick together at times like this.”

  I bite my lip, leaving my sister hanging on the line. With the way everything imploded at the lake house, I almost forgot that Luke and I were getting ready to let our secret slip to our siblings. It would be such a relief to tell Maddie about what’s been going on. And now that Luke has ghosted out of my life, what’s the point in keeping our secret for another second?

  “Sophie? Are you still there?” Maddie asks.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I was just…It’s kind of a long story,” I tell her, shoving a hand through my hair.

  “It’s OK. I’m listening,” she assures me.

  “Well…” I begin as my heart jackhammers in my chest, “I guess you could say that I’m having a spot of guy trouble. And not just any guy, either. I… Christ, this is going to sound insane—”

  “Sophie,” Maddie cuts in gently, “Is the guy Luke?”

  My jaw falls into my lap at my sister’s words.

  “I—What—How did you—?” I sputter.

  “Holy crap,” she breathes, “Cash was right!”

  “Cash? What does Cash have to do with anything?” I demand, leaping to my feet, “And how did you know about—?”

  “Cash was totally onto you guys by the time we left the lake house. And I have to say, I had my suspicions too,” Maddie tells me, “You could barely look at him without blushing. So, what’s the real story Soph?”