Falling For My Hockey Stepbrother

I was the flower girl.

Again.

At twenty-one, apparently I was still being trusted with a basket of flowers and the important responsibility of making sure I didn't trip in front of everyone.

What a f*ck*ng honor that was.

I wanted to laugh, but I was standing in front of a crowd, and if I did, people would look at me like I was crazy. I didn't want to give them more reason to look at me. I could already feel a few eyes glancing at me. And, as always, the voices.

"Did she look at herself in the mirror before she left the house?" a young girl sitting by the second row whispered–or at least pretended like she was. She was too young to have such trashy behavior, and a voice that made me grit my teeth.

"I doubt she did," her companion whispered back–again, pretending to. "Or I'm sure she wouldn't have left the house like that!"

And the backhanded comments followed.

"I'm so jealous of her confidence!"

"Yeah, me too! Look at her standing all tall and round!"

They giggled like they just shared a funny joke.

A younger me, the girl the world has damaged, would have acted like she heard nothing. She would have tried to make herself smaller and invisible. But this me? This armor of bitchiness I was putting on? Yeah, she doesn't know how to do that sh*t anymore.

I turned to the girls with the sweetest smile ever, my voice low, but not low enough for them not to hear.

I said, "Would you like me to lend you a bit of my overflowing confidence? Seeing as your faces are overshadowed with makeup, I'll say you need it."

Their faces burned red.

I turned back to the couples getting married, my chest puffed out with pride.

I saw my father give me a side-eye with a warning written all over it: I ignored him.

Today was his big day–his fourth big day in five years–he should take that stick out of his *ss for just a bit.

Finally–oh, finally–it was time to move to the reception. You know, where there was alcohol, and I didn't have to stand in front of a crowd that stared at me like I was put on display.

But then…

"Siri!"

I fought back a groan as I turned to my new stepmother with a wild smile. "Hello, Lillian. What can I do for you?"

She looked… down. Sweet Lilian with a soft smile, and scents of roses. My father didn't deserve this sweet woman. In a year, or a few months, she will lose this shine. They always do…

"How are you?" she asked me softly, smiling so sweetly that my fake smile couldn't help but turn real.

"I should be asking you that." I never let myself get attached to my father's wives. Why? Because they always leave. They leave with curses and hatred for me. Why again? Because I was the daughter of a con man. "Are you okay, Lilian?"

She stared at me for a while, and then looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. She was fighting tears. Sh*t, I wasn't good with emotions. What… What should I do? Rub her back? Give her a f*ck*ng candy?

"I thought he would be here," she choked out. "My son. I thought he… he would…"

She couldn't complete her words and just turned, walking away with hurried steps. I saw my father staring at his new wife, his eyes narrowed, before he turned to me. Then he started walking toward me.

Nope.

I turned away and headed towards where the real joy was: the alcohol.

My love for them had no limit. I would need lots of it if I wanted to survive this night with this d*mn crowd and the stares. And my old man…

I would need lots of it.

Being drunk was the only time I could smile without it being fake. Younger Siri will pass out if she sees what I've become, but oh well. That's what the world does to ya, and one way or the other, you have to find a way to survive.

I staggered out of the reception hall and away from the music, somewhere I could be alone in my solitude without someone ruining the mood by dropping a comment I didn't ask for.

"F*ck*ng people," I snarled as I staggered away. "Who do they think they are? 'Siri, don't wear that! Siri, wear this!'" I turned back to the hall, raising my two middle fingers in the air, and screaming, "F*ck you!"

Maybe one day, when I've made an example of someone, they will learn to keep their opinions to themselves.

"What if I broke someone's arm?" I giggled. Then I shook my head. "Or twist those lips that spat rubbish? Yes, that will teach them. They'll learn to keep their b*llsh*t to themselves!"

"Unfortunately, darling, people will never learn to keep their b*llsh*t to themselves whether we break their arms or twist their lips," a cool voice said, and I paused, squinting my eyes to see who was standing so close to me.

His scent hit me all at once, like it was waiting for me to notice the stranger in front of me. He smelled expensive, like leather, spice, and addiction.

Hmm… now where did that thought come from? And why was he calling me darling? I was no one's darling.

"Why are you standing so close to me?" I asked, my voice slurred, still squinting my eyes because alcohol made my vision a mess. And yet, I still love it.

He scoffed, uncrossing his arms. He pushed away from the tree he was leaning against, coming closer to me, and that scent hit even harder.

"You were the one who almost walked into me."

"Oh. Then, my apologies, sir. Carry on with your evening."

I moved to walk away, but he stopped me.

"You're Siri."

"Yeah, no sh*t," I snapped, already feeling my booze being ruined.

"I'm Jackson," he said, ignoring my attitude.

I wish he didn't.

"Good for you, Jackson."

I moved again, and he stopped me. Again!

"Your father is a piece of sh*t."

I scoffed. Now he had my attention. "Well, we can both agree on that."

That was when I really paused, and then looked at this stranger, squinting my eyes until they were almost closed.

He was tall, like really, really tall. He towered over me, making me feel small, which is something I've felt all my life, but as I stared up at him, craning my neck to keep looking into his grey eyes, I… I didn't hate it.

I squinted my eyes even more so I could see his face clearly.

He had a face you didn't always see around here. Like a model's face. Or an actor. A strong jaw that looked like it could cut diamonds. A straight, really attractive nose that people will pay millions to get. Thick, well-shaped brows that hung over grey, intense eyes.

Intense eyes… intense eyes that I expected to trail down my body like they always did, but they didn't. They stayed fixed on my face.

Everything about this Jackson was intense. Everything about him screamed that he was out of my league. But… with a brain filled with alcohol, you begin to forget all the reasons why you should stay away from men like him. You begin to think… You could pull off a guy like that even when you know he will never be interested in a girl like you.

But you were drunk and feeling good, so you leaned in and whispered, "Jackson," your voice dropping. He noticed. He stiffened. But he didn't pull away.

I took a slow step closer to him. "Tell me more about my father being a piece of sh*t, Jackson."

Jackson stared down at me, his intense eyes growing even more intense. And then he sighed through his nose, looking away from me like I was a… nuisance.

Well, ouch.

"You're drunk," he said, taking a step back, and I could tell he was about to leave. "I'm not having this conversation with a drunk person."

Just as he was about to turn, I lunged forward, slamming my hands on the tree behind him, caging him between my body and the tree. His eyes widened, his nostrils flaring.

I tilted my head, my eyes narrowed. "Are you running away, Jackson?"

He looked around us before he could finally meet my eyes again, repeating slowly, "You are drunk."

"When you're done stating the obvious, answer the d*mn question. Are you running away from a little girl?"

He scoffed harshly.

Finally, the moment I've been waiting for so I could determine what kind of b*st*rd he was: his eyes finally trailed down my body.

Please don't be a right b*st*rd. Please,