Page 1 of Stepbrother Mine
Chapter One
ROME
THREE YEARS AGO
“Fucking bastards,” I snarl as I wipe the dirt and grime from my brother’s fair skin.
“It’s fine,” he says, then winces as I brush the washcloth over a cut on his full bottom lip.
“Like hell it’s fine,” I say, scowling. He blinks at me with those big green eyes. “You certainly don’t make it easy on yourself, though.” I dab at another cut above his eyebrow.
He huffs. “So this is my fault?”
“Of course not,” I say, my voice rising in anger. He flinches and I sigh. “I’m not upset with you, little brother. I’m pissed as hell at the assholes who did this to you.” His gaze softens again but then his eyes narrow when I say, “I’m just saying that if you don’t want to be a target, maybe you could change some things, just while you’re at school, even. It wouldn’t hurt to ditch the nail polish, wear more masculine clothes?” I look at him dressed in a pink and black skater skirt and a black cropped sweater. Pink fishnet tights cover his slender legs and he has black platform boots on his feet that probably weigh as much as he does. His blond hair is in a partial updo and the rest falls to just below his shoulders in waves. His short fingernails that he never stops biting are covered in a bright pink polish and he has multi-colored bangle bracelets decorating both wrists. His full lips are so pink it always looks like he’s wearing make-up even though he isn’t.
Honestly, I think he looks great in everything he wears, but apparently the bullies have a different opinion. As far as they are concerned it’s not okay to be gay or fem, and Sebastian is both. And while I know it’s not him that needs to change at all, it’s everyone else, I can’t do anything about other people and their closed minds and cruelty, and I hate seeing him get hurt.
“Who wouldn’t it hurt?” he retorts. “The assholes who think I’m a punching bag because I’m gay and like pretty things? Because it would definitely hurt me, even more than anything they’ll ever say or do. Besides, you really think changing my clothes is going to make them hate me less? Then they’ll just be bullying me for trying to fit in. I’m not hiding who I am or changing who I am to fit in or make other people more comfortable.” He crosses his arms over his small chest, his green eyes narrowed and his voice full of determination. “Even if it means being targeted. I have a right to exist as myself, exactly the way I am.”
“I know you do,” I say, looking him in the eyes. “You’ve got grit, I’ll give you that.” I can’t help the smile that forms on my face when he grins at me. He’s all of five foot four but he’s got the most spirit I’ve ever seen and I admire the hell out of him for it. “And for the record, I like who you are and I don’t want you to change. I just hate seeing you get hurt. Did you use the defensive moves I taught you?”
“Of course I did. But there were three of them.” I clench my teeth and snarl again.
He winces once again as I apply antiseptic ointment to his cuts. He says they aren’t direct blows, that they happened when he hit the ground face first after being shoved, but either way it was a dick move, leaving scratches and scrapes all over his face and abdomen. There’s one on each cheek, a bigger one over his eyebrow, and a smaller one on his bottom lip. Somehow though, they don’t detract from his beauty. I might be straight but I’m not blind, and my stepbrother is drop dead gorgeous with his high cheekbones, big green eyes, luxurious hair, pouty lips and the natural sway to his hips.
“Well,” I say, putting a bandaid over the cut above his eye before packing everything away, “at least we don’t have to hide this from our parents. They won’t be back for a few days.”
Sebastian and I became stepbrothers about six months ago when my dad, Martin Mckenna, married his mom, Gwen Montgomery, and both our parents have jobs that keep them away from home quite a bit so it’s just us more often than not. His mom is a flight attendant and Dad is an investment banker, who travels a lot for work.
And while I wasn’t thrilled about Dad remarrying and foisting a little brother on me, we’ve actually grown really close in the short time we’ve known each other. I had gotten used to being alone, especially with Dad traveling for work so much, and was not interested in making a friend or sharing my space with someone else. Because of that I was a little standoffish at first, but Sebastian wore me down with his snoopiness, sass, and give no shits attitude, and we’ve bonded over our shared love of music, horror movies, and our hatred of bigoted morons and bullshit.
Ever since I saw him get shoved around the first time I’ve seen myself as his protector. The fact that I’m decently tall at five foot ten and relatively well built, with a bit of a broody personality, means the bullies tend to steer clear when I’m around. I’m not overly muscular like some jock but I’m in shape, and I know how to handle myself in a fight. I can’t be his constant shadow though, and then shit like this happens and I get pissed.
It’s been several weeks since he’s been a target, and I went fucking feral when I saw him after school, standing up and wiping the dirt from his clothes, his tights torn and bruises and blood on his face and bare stomach. I had a perfect “who did this to you” moment and he just scoffed at me.
“Slow down with the protective big brother vibes, Jason Bourne,” he told me. “I can take care of myself. And I’m not a snitch.”
He’s a stubborn little asshole but at least he’s letting me clean him up. “Still not going to tell me who it was, huh?” I ask, frowning, and he shakes his head.
“Pizza then?” I say with a sigh, and he smiles and nods. Pizza is a go to for us when our parents are away. That and Chinese food.
I order the pizza, cheese and pepperoni for me and Hawaiian for Sebastian, while he changes out of his torn and dirty clothes and into sweatpants and a pink t-shirt with a rainbow and unicorn on the front and the words, “Born to stand out” underneath. On his feet are his fluffy white bunny slippers.
The pizza arrives and we sit in the living room in front of the coffee table watching tv while we eat. Our house is fairly large as Dad has always made a decent living. It’s two stories, with a living room and family room on the lower level along with an updated modern kitchen and a half bath. The master bedroom is downstairs too and has a ridiculously huge attached bath. Sebastian and I have rooms upstairs across the hall from each other and down the hall from us is another bathroom and a guest room that never gets used.
We live in a more rural area in California, tucked back off the road a ways with a winding dirt driveway leading up to our house, and we’re surrounded by trees on all sides.
Sebastian laughs at the episode of Schitt’s Creek and I chuckle. He’s seen every single episode a million times but he still laughs out loud like it’s his very first time.
An hour later we’ve moved to the sofa and he’s curled up against me with a blanket draped over us, his blond hair tickling my chin. I don’t fucking cuddle with anyone, but for some reason with Sebastian it’s different. I can’t help but want to protect him and keep him close, no matter how resilient he is. No matter how many times he tells me he can take care of himself. I want to wrap him up in a bubble and never let the world touch him.
I press a kiss to his hair and he hums. Another thing I don’t do is show physical affection, but Sebastian has made me break all of my rules. I’ve become a fucking softy when it comes to him.
“Sleepy,” he murmurs. I smile.
“Want me to carry you to bed?” I ask, and he nods. I toss the blanket aside and scoop him up. He rests his head against my chest as I carry him up the stairs and to his room, placing him gently in his bed. I pull the blankets up around him and brush the hair away from his face.
“Night, big brother,” he says sleepily.