My Stepbrother Wants Me

Julian’s POV 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The door clicked shut, the sound of the lock sliding into place. I stood in the center of the rug, my chest heaving, my mind a frantic blur of adrenaline and terror. Catherine was in the bathroom now and I was standing here in a room that smelled like a distillery and a sin.

I swept my gaze across the floor, spotting my discarded shirt. I yanked it on, fumbling with the buttons as I kicked the empty bourbon bottle under the edge of the bed. I barely had time to rake a hand through my hair before the knock came again.

"Julian?"

I didn’t have a choice. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to look like a man who was falling apart, which wasn’t exactly a lie. "Come in," I called out, my voice raspy.

The door creaked open, and Lisa stepped inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, her nose crinkled.

"Oh, Julian," she whispered, her eyes sweeping the room until they landed on the half-empty glass on my nightstand. "You’re drinking because of what happened earlier, aren’t you? Because of the things Richard said."

I let out a slow, heavy breath, leaning my elbows on my knees. It was the perfect cover. "It’s been a long day, Lisa."

She walked over to me, her footsteps soft. I used to hate her for being here but as she stood over me now, I didn’t see an intruder, maybe because she’s Catherine’s mom.

"I came to check on you," she said, her voice thick with a warmth that caught me off guard. "I couldn’t stay without checking on you knowing how he spoke to you. I... I wanted to apologize on his behalf, Julian. You have to know he didn’t mean those things. He was just so angry about the scandal, so stressed about the campaign. He loves you, he’s just... he has a terrible temper when he’s pushed."

I stared at the floor, while a bitter and hollow laugh threatened to let itself out of my mouth. A temper. She had no idea. She thought Richard was just a man who yelled too loud when he was stressed. She has no idea. She was married to a monster, and she was still trying to polish his image for his son.

"You don’t need to apologize for him, Lisa," I said, looking up at her. I realized then that I didn’t resent her anymore. I pitied her. She was kind, genuinely concerned for a boy who wasn’t hers. "You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve lived with his ’temper’ my whole life. I understand him better than anyone."

She reached out, her hand hovering before she tentatively placed it on my shoulder. It was a gentle, nurturing touch, something I hadn’t felt in this house since I was a child.

"You’re a good man, Julian," she whispered. "A better man than you give yourself credit for. I know I’m not your mother, and I would never try to take her place... but I do care about you. Very much. You’re like a son to me."

I froze. The word son felt heavy. I looked at her, seeing the genuine worry in her eyes, and the icy wall I’d built around myself for years cracked just a little more.

"Thank you, Lisa," I said, and for the first time, I meant it.

"Can I... can I have a hug?" she asked, her voice small, almost shy.

I hesitated. Every instinct I had was to recoil, to maintain the distance that kept me safe but the vulnerability in her face was too much to ignore. I stood up and let her wrap her arms around me. She was so much shorter than me, so fragile. She squeezed me tight, a motherly embrace.

When she finally pulled away, she looked a little stronger. "Try to drink more, okay? Else you might end up with a migraine."

She turned to leave, and as she reached the door, I found myself speaking before I could stop myself. "Lisa?"

She stopped, looking back. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

She gave me a bright, watery smile and nodded, finally closing the door behind her.

I stood there for a beat, staring at the door, feeling a strange mixture of warmth and absolute dread. Around that moment, the bathroom door pushed open.

Catherine stepped out, clutching her bundle of clothes. Her lips were spread into a wide smile, her eyes bright with relief and something that looked like pride.

"Wow," she said, walking toward me. "Look at you. Thank you for not being your usual ’cold and mean’ self to my mother. That was actually... really sweet, Julian."

I felt my face heat up, and I quickly turned to grab the bourbon bottle from under the bed to hide the flush. "It’s only because she’s your mother, Wildcat. Don’t get used to it."

Catherine let out a little snort, giving me an ’elderly woman’ look—the kind of knowing, patronizing expression that told me she didn’t believe a word of my "cold guy" act. "Sure, Julian. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

She started pulling her shirt back on, with quick and efficient moves. I watched her, the memory of her licking my lip and the heat of her body on the table rushing back with a hunger for more.

"Why are you putting those back on?" I asked, stepping toward her. I reached out, my hand grazing her waist. "Stay. She’s gone. We have the rest of the night."

Catherine stopped, her hand on the button of her shorts. She looked up at me, and for a second, I saw the same desire I felt. But then she shook her head, that playful but firm look returning to her face.

"Are you crazy? We almost got caught, Julian! My heart is still in my throat," she said, pointing a finger at me. "If she had walked into that bathroom, we’d be dead. Or worse."

"I could talk you out of leaving," I murmured, leaning in closer, my voice dropping into that low growl that I knew got to her. "I have a few ideas."

Catherine didn’t back down. She placed a hand on my chest, holding me at bay, though her fingers lingered on the fabric of my shirt.

"No. Not right now. I need to get back before she decides to check my room next."

She saw the disappointment on my face and softened. She reached up, tapping the tip of my nose with her index finger. "But... I promise you, we’ll find time tonight. Somewhere safer. Okay?"

I sighed, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Fine. Tonight."

"Good boy," she teased.

"You better be early or my little man might die from too much standing and no entry."

Realizing my word play, she looked at me with wide eyes filled with amusement and shook her head. "You are crazy."

"Thank you."

She let out a small laugh and walked to the door, pressing her ear against the door for a moment. Then, she cracked it open, peaking her head out to make sure the hallway was empty. Satisfied, she turned back, blew me a quick kiss, and slipped out.

I stood in the center of the room, the scent of her and the bourbon hanging in the air. I let out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking my head as I looked at the spot where she’d been standing.

I was in deep. I knew it. I felt like a man who finally had something worth fighting for.