Page 34 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

He didn't respond immediately, but when he did, there was a sincerity in his eyes I hadn't seen in years. "I promise. I promise."

The weight of Mikey's words settled heavily between us. His eyes held a desperation I'd seen countless times before, but there also seemed to be an underlying determination. "I swear, Becks, I'll stay home. I won't go anywhere unless it's with you or Mom. I've changed."

A lump formed in my throat. God, how I wanted to believe him. But time and again, he had made similar vows only to shatter them - and my heart - shortly after. "You still have some clothes in the spare room from when you stayed here last," I managed to say, my voice steady.

His eyes misted over. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"And your extra suitcase, it's in the hall closet," I added, pointing toward the corridor.

Before he turned to head to the spare room, Mikey drew me into a tight embrace, his chin resting on top of my head. I felt the warmth of his body, the slow rhythmic beat of his heart. It was comforting, familiar. But the ghost of our past hung over us like a specter, casting a shadow over the moment.

"Thank you, Becca," he murmured into my hair.

Breaking the hug, he rushed down the hall, leaving me standing in the living room. I leaned against the doorway, taking a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of calm. Every time he came back into my life, he brought chaos with him. I had told him before that I wouldn't keep rescuing him, that I wouldn't let him stay with me anymore. I had to draw a line somewhere. But staring at the hall he’d just vanished down, my resolve wavered. He was my brother. My flesh and blood.

A memory flashed before my eyes: us as children, laughing, playing in the backyard, the world so much simpler then. But those days were long gone, replaced by a reality filled with rehab visits, sleepless nights, and tearful confrontations.

A thought crossed my mind - was this the surprise my mom had been hinting at? She'd been cryptic on the phone, dropping veiled hints about a Christmas miracle. At the time, I thought she meant some sort of gift. But now, I wondered if she meant Mikey's return.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe, against all odds, Mikey had finally turned a corner. The mere possibility of it brought a fragile sense of hope to my heart. But I also knew I had to protect myself, to guard myself against potential heartbreak. And that delicate balance between hope and self-preservation would be my tightrope walk in the days to come.

Chapter 22

Becca

The morning sun was peeking through my blinds, painting the room with strokes of gold. It always amazed me how the New York morning could look so peaceful when I knew outside, the streets were already teeming with life. I took a seat by the window, cradling my coffee mug, enjoying the contrast of the warm drink and the cool morning air.

A familiar shuffle of feet disrupted my reverie. Mikey, with his tousled hair and yesterday's clothes, looked like he’d been through the wringer. Sometimes I felt like I didn't recognize this version of him.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice raspy. His gaze skittered around the kitchen before landing on the neatly wrapped gifts sitting on the table. A hopeful gleam appeared in his eyes. "Hey, is one of those for me?"

I took a long sip, the taste of my freshly brewed coffee bittersweet on my tongue. "Your gift was rehab," I replied. My tone had a bite, but damn, he needed a reality check.

He scowled, dark circles underlining his eyes. "You ratted me out to Mom, didn’t you?"

"No," I exhaled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. "But pull another stunt like this, and I will. In a heartbeat."

Mikey's mouth twisted into a grimace. "I'm telling you, it’s different now. Can’t you just... I dunno, trust me?"

I almost laughed. "Trust you? Mikey, every time I've trusted you, it's like setting myself up for disappointment. The song’s the same, and frankly, I'm tired of the dance."

He slouched against the counter, looking so much younger than his years. "Look, Bec... I'm trying. Really trying. Okay?"

I hesitated. A part of me wanted to believe him – that desperate, little sister part of me. But the other, the one that had cleaned up his messes and seen the toll his addiction took, remained skeptical.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension. Outside, a siren wailed, a dog barked, and the distant sounds of New York in the morning filled the silence between us.

Finally, he sighed, a sound heavy with regret. "Gonna finish packing. Flight won't wait for my sorry ass."

I watched him trudge out, his shoulders slouched. It was moments like these when I missed the old Mikey. The one who'd sneak into my room just to steal my candy stash or who'd make up ridiculous bedtime stories just to hear me giggle.

I ordered an Uber and it showed up thirty minutes later, its headlights piercing through the gray morning.

“Come on,” I said when it arrived. “Time to go.”

Without a word, we made our way out of the apartment and into the chilly air. I focused on the cherry Christmas décor all around us, letting the happiness of the season keep my feelings about Mikey at bay.

My brother kept his eyes fixed on the passing streets, and I could tell from his clenched jaw he was stewing in his own thoughts. I, too, found myself slipping into a deep well of worry that always seemed to revolve around him.

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