Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Novella by Stephanie Brother Page A

have that drug slipped
into their drink by a stranger.  I may have had a pretty terrifying experience
but it could have been a lot worse.  Brandon goes and stands against the wall,
about as far away from the bed I’m in as he can get, holding his head in his
hands.
    “Bran,”
I call out when the doctor has left.  I’m well enough to leave but Brandon
seems paralyzed.  “Can we get out of here now?”
    “It’s
all my fault,” he says, rubbing his hand across his face then balling his hands
into fists at his side.  He turns away from me as though he doesn’t want me to
see his reactions and I slip off the side of the bed, gown flapping as I walk
towards him.
    I
put my hand on his tense shoulder and tell him that I’m okay, that I’m safe and
that he did that.  He found me and got me out of there.  And now I want him to
take me home.  Bran looks at me as though he’s buried somewhere in his guilt
and can’t quite hear me.
    .
    “Take
me home,” I say again. He’s lost in his own guilt and I know it’ll be up to me
to get us out of here.
    “Okay,”
he says, reaching out to stroke over my hair. 
    I
go to the chair where my clothes have been placed and begin to take off my
gown. Bran gasps a little when I stand in my underwear.  He’s watching me but
when I look over he turns his back.  “Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath and I
smile a little at his bashfulness even in these pretty awful circumstances.
    I
pull on my skirt and blouse, but leave the jacket off.  I feel ridiculous in my
high heels but it’s all I have to wear.
     
“I’m ready,” I say and Brandon turns around, looking relieved that he doesn’t
have to deal with me half naked.
    “Come
on then,” he says, making me sit in the wheelchair so he can push me outside.
     
    We
get into his truck and drive the half hour back to my apartment in near silence
with only the ‘oldies’ station that he’s tuned into for background noise.
    In
the lot he dashes around to open my door and help me out.  He keeps a hand on
my elbow the whole way into my apartment as though I’m some kind of invalid. 
It’s cute and what I expected from Brandon, despite his rugged outward
appearance.  He always was a very caring person, gentle and empathetic. 
    He
tells me I need to go and rest while he makes me something to drink.  I take a
quick shower, desperate to wash away the horror of the day.  In the shower I
allow myself to cry.  Although I don’t remember much before Brandon came into
the room to rescue me, all the fear I felt during our escape is there.  I
shudder as I process what could have happened if he hadn’t been successful in
getting me out of there.  I’ve never been that close to death before and I
never want to be again. I dry myself, wiping away my tears and blowing my nose,
vowing to remain calm when I step into the den.  Brandon feels guilty enough
for everything that’s happened.  He doesn’t need me wallowing and wailing about
it all.  I’m a warrior, I tell myself.  Fuck them if they think they can make
me weak.  Fuck them.  I put on some grey yoga pants
    ,
a camisole and a brave face and go to find Brandon sitting in the den.  He’s
just staring into space, hands resting on his knees and a grim look on his
face.  I wish I knew what he’s thinking and feeling.  I’m so raw, from the
day’s events and the feelings that are bubbling inside me for my stepbrother. 
It’s so hard to look at him without getting crazy with love and longing for the
way we once were.  And it’s all mixed with a craving that should feel wrong but
feels too strong and good to be anything I can be ashamed about.  And then
there’s the utter gratefulness.  I’m safe because he came for me.  He risked
himself for me. 
    . 
    “You
need to get into bed,” he says when he catches me leaning against the door
frame watching him. 
    “I
will,” I say.  “Go take a shower, Bran.  You look beat.  I’ve got a t-shirt