Page 33 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

And the intimacy… I blushed just thinking about it. Would it always be all of us together, entwined in passion, or would there be moments where it would be just one-on-one? Those nights in the cabin had been wild and electrifying, but what about the everyday moments?

Pausing for a moment, I walked over to my window, pushing it open a little to breathe in the crisp winter air. New York in December was a sight to behold. The streets below were lined with twinkling lights, lampposts adorned with wreaths. The laughter of children echoed up from the sidewalks, their faces painted with joy and anticipation.

Just a block away, right outside my favorite bodega, a giant illuminated Christmas tree stood tall, its lights reflecting off the snow-covered streets. It was as if the whole city was wrapped up in a warm, festive embrace. In this moment, surrounded by the magic of the city during Christmastime, my worries felt a little lighter.

A sigh escaped my lips. I didn't have the answers. But that's what Sunday was for, right? To sit down and discuss, navigate this complex web we'd somehow found ourselves in.

I shook off my musings and finished wrapping the last frame. As I wrote their names on each package, I allowed myself a small smile. Regardless of the challenges ahead, one thing was clear: I cared about them, deeply. And they cared about me. Whatever path we chose, we would carve it out together.

The shrill noise of my apartment buzzer cut through the air. I stood still for a moment, trying to remember if I had any packages coming – otherwise, I had no idea who could be here. Hesitantly, I stepped over to the intercom.

“Hello?” I took my finger off the button and listened.

“Yo, sis. It’s me.”

My breath caught in my throat. Mikey. But what the hell was he doing here? He was supposed to be in rehab.

“Come on up.”

It wasn’t long before a knock sounded at my apartment door, and I hurried over to open it.

My tall, once-vibrant brother now stood on my doorstep, and the evidence of his struggles was clear. He still possessed the chiseled jawline and striking blue eyes reminiscent of our dad, but those eyes had lost their mischievous sparkle. Dark circles shadowed beneath them, and the pale, gaunt skin made it evident that life's battles had worn him down. His once thick brown hair hung limply, a stark contrast to how he always meticulously styled it during our teenage years.

“Mikey?” I whispered, my voice filled with disbelief.

His eyes, which were scanning the floor, slowly lifted to meet mine. "Hey, Becks," he said softly, a hint of his old self peeking through his voice.

“What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in rehab until New Year's,” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and my emotions in check.

Mikey sighed deeply. "I talked to Mom," he began. "She wanted me home for Christmas. Even bought me a ticket.” He offered me a small, sad smile. "Said she thinks it'll do me some good to be surrounded by family."

A tinge of anger ran through me. It wasn’t her fault, though. Mom had no idea Mikey was in rehab. She thought she was doing something nice. No, my anger was aimed at my brother.

I leaned against the door frame. "I wasn't expecting this," I admitted. "But come in." I stepped aside, gesturing toward the living room.

Mikey hesitated for a second, probably noting the hesitation in my tone, then stepped inside, glancing around my apartment. We both knew our reunion wouldn't be easy, but for the moment, I just wanted to believe the brother I once knew was still somewhere inside the person standing in front of me. Anger bubbled up first, a fierce protector against the hurt I had so often felt because of his decisions.

The moment the door was shut I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep myself in check for long."I paid for you to stay in rehab, Mikey. To get clean and stay clean! And you just leave?" My voice trembled with the force of my feelings. My apartment suddenly felt too small, too confining, for the enormity of our situation.

He paused for a moment, his back to me. It was as if I’d let loose in just the way he’d been expecting. After a few beats of silence, he turned around and faced me.Mikey's eyes, already full of a quiet desperation, took on a more pleading look. "Becks, I'm clean, okay? I promise. I won't go near it again. I can't."

I let out a huff, my fingers nervously playing with a loose string on my sweater. "You've said that before. Over and over. And yet here we are."

His voice grew earnest, desperate to convince me. "This time isdifferent, alright? They tried different types of therapies, newer methods. I've got tools and strategies now." But even as he said it, there was a subtle shiftiness in his gaze, a slight hesitation in his voice that belied his words. It was the same dance, the same song. A familiar refrain that played every time he came back from rehab.

It was always “different.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, my mind racing. There was no easy solution here, no quick fix. But as frustrated as I was, I couldn't just send him away. He was my brother, and I loved him. Even if he made the same mistake again and again.

"When's your flight?"

He looked relieved at the change of topic. "It's at eleven. Yours?"

"Ten. Different flights, same place. We can go to the airport together then," I conceded.

Mikey nodded, looking down. "Thanks, Becks."

I paused, searching for the right words. "Just promise me something, Mikey," I said slowly. "When we're home, stay away from your old friends, okay? I know your addiction started in high school, and those same people are still there, waiting to pull you back in."

---