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I’ve always been glad he has my eyes. Better mine than his mothers’. It would have killed me having to stare into her eyes all the time when I’m with my son.
He finally gets off me and once I’m on my feet, I notice his grandmother has moved closer. She’s staring at us with a soft smile. Isabella Steele in an elegant woman. Pin straight black glossy hair, caramel brown eyes, and brown skin. She’s in her forties but she looks younger. Much too young to already have a nine year old grandchild. She doesn’t though. Not really.
She’s my step mother, meaning she’s technically not related to Nate or I by blood. But she’s his grandmother because she stepped up to fill the role.
“Hey, Isa,” I greet.
“Hello, Xander. How was work?”
“It was alright. Is dad home?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s just us. He’s on a business trip to Virginia. Apparently, he won’t be back for a couple of days.”
That suits me perfectly. This house is much less stifling when my father isn’t here. It’s much easier to breathe. There’s a shadow in Isabella’s eyes that has me arching an eyebrow. There’s something she’s not telling me.
“Okay. I’ll go wash up and then we can have dinner.”
Nate pulls at my pants. “But dad, I wanted to show you something cool I made. It’s in my room.”
“I’m sure you have many amazing things to show your father, my love,” Isabella states. “But you’ll do all that after dinner, alright? Come on, we can go check on how the meal is coming in the kitchen.”
He pouts but nods, obediently moving to his grandmother’s side. I smile at him before leaving, heading up to my bedroom. The tie around my neck comes off before I step inside. When I walk through the doors though, I pause in my movements. Lying on the bed is my little sister. She’s spread eagled, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn’t so much as shift, or acknowledge my presence.
“Mikayla,” I start. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Big brother,” she says sweetly without looking at me.
I notice the bottle of wine next to the bed. “Isn’t it in poor taste to get drunk before 8pm?”
That makes her look at me. “Who says I’m drunk? I might have indulged in a few sips but I’m perfectly sober.”
The statement would have much more believable if it didn’t end with a small hiccup. I smile.
“What are you even doing in here, trouble?” I ask.
“I like your room,” she says with a sleepy smile.
Mikayla’s 25 years old, 5 foot 7 with eyes like her mother and a smart mouth. I call her trouble, because I’ve had to bail her out of so much shit over the years. Even jail on one occasion. She’s the epitome of living life on the fast lane. It can get a little worrying, but I think it’s her way of coping.
We all grew up in a high stress environment, Kayla just finds a way to release that stress. I just wish it didn’t entail stripping at parties, getting drunk or having poor taste in men.
“Nate says you got dumped.”
She sits up so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. I snicker.
“How does that little imp even know? I haven’t said a word!” she exclaims.
“He has a talent. So which guy is it? The biker one? Do you want me to send someone to rough him up a bit? Why did he break up with you?” I question. “Just to be clear though, I’m asking this out of concern for you, but I am glad the relationship ended.”
“Your honesty is appreciated,” she says sarcastically before reaching for the bottle of wine. I step forward and take it out of her hands.
“That’s enough.”
“You’re no fun,” she murmurs, running her hand through her curly dark hair.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, I’m going to go in there and change. When I come back out, you should be at least semi-sober, okay?”
She gives me a thumbs up before falling back into the bed and shutting her eyes.
