The Stepbrother 2: Noah

Creed-

Daddy dealt with mental illness.

Noah dealt with mental illness.

Tiffany was crazy as fuck.

Why hadn't anybody thought to stop for a minute and ask themselves what was behind Maine's erratic behavior? Not even Jason, who was the ebony to her ivory, her shadow, had recognized the signs she was slipping.

We could have helped her if she had asked for help.

Had she asked for help, and we'd been silent to her cries?

In hindsight, Maine had always shown signs of being a little imbalanced—the promiscuous behavior, the mood swings.

We went to her house and found her mental health diagnosis.

She had pills she wasn't taking and missed appointments with her doctor.

I didn’t feel like anyone had the right reaction to finding out.

Everybody sort of nodded and said, "Oh, that makes sense," but no one thought deeper or felt accountable.

Why hadn't any of us at least reached out and asked if Maine was okay when her personality changed? Me included.

For five years, I'd isolated her because she didn't have my back a few times in our lifetime.

I got lost in my own grief and self-righteousness and shut her out.

Maybe if I had tried to be more empathetic instead of reactive, I wouldn’t have buried my sister so early.

She'd never get to meet her niece.

She wouldn’t see DJ grow up, graduate, or get married.

Thinking about it left a heavy, suffocating sorrow that seemed to have no end, sitting in the center of my chest.

Despite all that happened, Maine was my sister.

I never wanted anything bad to happen to her.

I just wanted to kick her ass a few times.

She had been a good sister most of my life.

When Mommy and Daddy were wrapped up in Troy and Scarlett's world, Maine was my distraction.

She made me never feel alone as a kid.

There were so many good things about her that far outweighed the bad.

I looked around, my eyes meeting relatives I hadn't spoken to in years, and Maine's friends, who she had drifted from.

Our grandparents were surrounded by people.

Grandmother was recovering well from her heart attack.

Jason and DJ were missing—Jason refused to participate, and we all thought DJ was too young to come.

Nobody seemed sad enough for me.

I saw relief in their eyes where I expected tears.

Maine had burned a lot of bridges, hurt a lot of people.

Except Daddy.

He was drowning on dry land.

Scarlett told us they thought he had a heart attack because he’d passed out at the scene of Maine's accident.

They thought he had a panic attack.

I think he was actually feeling his heart breaking.

Despite what any of us thought, Daddy loved us all hard and equally.

He just loved Momma differently, obsessively.

At the moment he was sitting in the corner of the room in a wheelchair, his hands and legs bandaged.

He had run into flames barefoot, trying to get to Maine, and he passed out from the pain and a panic attack.

He said he didn’t even notice there was fire.

He just had tunnel vision and wanted to get to Maine.

The man who helped him had run into the flames with him and also suffered a few burns.

Ironically, he had been homeless, a veteran.

He would never have to worry about money again.

I stared at Daddy until he looked over at me.

He tried to smile, but it turned into a frown halfway.

I wanted to make it all better for him, but didn’t know how or where to start.

Could I even? How do you unbreak someone's heart? How do you fix the unfixable, mend a shattered soul?

A parent should never have to bury a child.

It's against the natural order of things.

Witnessing him in this state was like watching a mountain fall.

Suddenly I felt the urge to sing.

There was this movie Daddy, Maine, and I watched – Funny Valentine.

That was Maine's and our favorite song.

Maine sang that song a lot, even though she was one of the only people in our family who couldn’t sing.

Mommy had asked me to sing it at the church or graveyard for her.

I didn’t feel like singing then.

I felt like singing now. I felt as if, if I didn’t, I’d scream.

Noah's hand wrapped around my arm when I stood.

So lost in my own head, I had forgotten he was there.

His eyes found mine.

He hadn’t shed a tear.

I don’t think he knew how to process his sadness, so the energy from it turned into servitude.

He had planned the entire funeral, had been taking care of everybody.

I was determined to be there for him when it all hit him square in the chest like it had done to us.

"Are you okay?" he asked me.

"Yes, I need to do something.

Stay here." I walked off before he could say more.

My feet felt heavy, as if I was walking in quick sand as I made my way cross the room.

Noah had been my rock, but I wanted my Mommy.

I needed her comfort.

This didn’t mean we didn’t have issues to work out or that I’d instantly forgive her.

I just knew now I wouldn’t stay mad at her forever. If she gave me time, we’d be alright.

I found her at the tables of food we had set up.

Dressed in black silk, she looked beautiful but totally defeated.

Her hands held mine when I attached myself to her back and wrapped my arms around her waist.

“My Funny Valentine,”

I started singing.

She started rocking.

As the words left my lips, memories of Maine singing off-key flooded me.

"Sweet comic Valentine.

You make me smile with my heart."

As I sang, I hoped Maine was somewhere listening to my apology.

I was so sorry I didn’t ask, just once, if she was okay.

By the end of the song, I opened my eyes.

Mommy's tears were silent, her grief quiet.

Daddy was next to me now, his tears flowing freely.

I ignored the stares of everybody and searched the room for Noah. He was standing by the door that led to the dining room, talking to one of the guards. He briefly glanced back at me and gestured that he’d be back. There was so much tension in his shoulders. I wondered what was going on. I excused myself and followed him.

I walked into the kitchen to find him and Tiffany in a face-off.

"You shouldn’t have come here, Tiffany."

"Maine was my daughter.

Why wouldn’t I come?" she rebutted.

It was déjà vu over and over again with Tiffany.

She used her children as an excuse for her bad behavior.

Noah looked like he was about to explode.

His entire face was red.

"You know—"

I beat him to combustion.

My grief turned to anger.

"Because you're part of why she's dead!" I yelled.

"You manipulative, conniving bitch." I advanced on them. "You never cared about her, just what she could do for you! Her entire existence came about because you wanted a meal ticket.”

I shoved Noah out of the way.

I was so close to Tiffany now, our faces inches apart.

"What are you doing, Creed? Put the knife down."

My hand trembled, and I looked at it.

I didn’t even remember picking a knife.

But here it was, cold and heavy in my hand, the blade pressed against Tiffany's throat.

It felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Noah's words barely registered as I stared into Tiffany's cold eyes.

"I've barely said a hundred words to you in twenty-five years, but I hate you so much," I confessed.

"I could put everybody and you out of our misery if I just applied five or six pounds of pressure to your jugular." Tiffany's eyes were wide with fear but showed no regret or remorse.

My hand trembled as I pressed the blade just a little deeper, feeling the resistance of her skin.

"I want to stab you so badly that the thought of not doing it is making me angrier.

Because why do you deserve to live when Maine's dead?" I taunted, but she remained silent, a deer caught in the headlights.

"I want you gone, Tiffany.

I'm not my mother.

I won't spend thirty years fighting back and forth with you.

I'm telling you right now, if I see you again—" I let the rest of the threat hang in the air.

Noah came up behind me.

"It's not worth it, Creed.

Think about our daughter.

You don’t want to watch her grow up from prison," he said softly. He was right. As much as I despised Tiffany, my actions now would affect the future of my daughter. But I needed her to understand I wasn't playing.

"That's the thing.

It would be worth it.

But you and I both know it—I could gut her right here and call Tempest, and she'd have it cleaned up for me within the hour.

Nobody would ever know what I did, but me and you, and we ain’t talking," I said. But I relaxed my grip, I eased the blade away from her throat. I stepped back, forcing myself to breathe, to feel the ground under my feet. I let Noah take the knife from my hand. Tiffany practically ran out of the door.

I turned back to Noah.

He was staring at me in disbelief.

I grabbed his hand, placing it on my belly.

"Feel. She would start moving while something violent is happening." It was the first time I felt my daughter move. A little bit of my grief dissipated.

Noah-

Everyone was gone.

Creed and her parents were sleeping.

I waited patiently until the staff had finished cleaning and left for the night, before making my way to the backyard.

The cool night air enveloped me.

I loosened my tie so I could breathe a bit more easily, leaving it, along with my jacket, on a pool chair.

Then I picked up one of the pillows.

Tears streamed down my face, and I hated myself for it.

Passing the pool and the guest house, I walked to the edge of the property.

Once I stepped onto the grass, I kicked off my shoes.

At the very edge, I stopped and raised the pillow I’d taken, pressing it over my mouth to let out the scream that had been trapped in my chest for a week—since the night they called and told me my sister was dead.

I felt so much guilt because I should have noticed the signs that she wasn’t doing alright.

This outpouring of anguish allowed me to breathe more freely.

Tears streamed down my face, unrestrained.

In front of everyone, I needed to be the one holding it together, to share my strength with others.

Nobody had asked me to, but I knew I was strong enough.

I just needed a second.

The pain was too real, too deep.

If I took just these few minutes to be weak, I knew I could live the rest of my life strong.

Creed needed me, and my makeshift family needed me.

I didn’t hear her approach, but I didn’t startle when she wrapped her arms around me, covering me with something warm—the comforter from our bed.

She lowered herself to the ground, pulling me down with her, and we sank into the cool grass.

I felt myself fall apart all over again.

Creed didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it or offer empty words, she just held me, humming softly until I stopped sobbing.

“Nobody would think any less of you if you cried for our sister in front of them, Noah.

But I understand why you don’t want to,”

she said softly.

In that moment as she held me in silence, I realized that Creed had become my anchor.

In the face of everything—my family’s loss, my guilt, and my grief—I knew we would make it.

No matter what life threw at us.

To my beautiful daughter Creed,

You know I've always found solace in written words, where thoughts can find clarity that spoken words sometimes lack.

And as you’ve witnessed, my words never come out right when I say them, so I decided to write you an old-fashioned letter.

I want to start off by saying I’m sorry.

I’m profoundly sorry, Creed, for the words I left unspoken, the hugs I didn't wrap you in, and the praise that should have been yours but wasn’t given.

It took a hard talk with my therapist and what happened to Maine for me to finally sit back and do some real self-reflection.

I know that after what Maine did, some people might expect me to disown her or talk down about her.

But I won’t.

I loved that little girl for so long that I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

I grew up feeling unwanted at times, and once she was in my care, I didn’t want that feeling for her.

So, I overcompensated.

I was very aware of what I was doing but didn’t think it mattered.

Jason didn’t mind how much time I spent with Maine because he didn’t want the attention from me, he and your father were close.

And yes, I treated you differently.

Now, I wish I had been there for you more.

I would have been, if I’d known my absence would make you think I loved you less.

I just thought you needed me less.

If anyone didn’t need coddling, it was you.

You were your father's and my love child.

The first who had nine worry-free months to grow.

You came out of the womb swinging and running your mouth—such a fierce little thing.

You were strong and resilient from day one.

But I knew, with your father's and my careers, and you being the youngest, you wouldn’t get the amount of attention you might have needed to thrive.

That’s why you’re the only one with a godparent.

The day Compton saw you for the first time, he was enamored, and he stayed that way until the end.

Now, I understand some of his criticisms about how we raised you and why he spent so much time with you.

He saw you, really saw you, in ways I now wish I had.

So yes, I thought you’d be okay.

And I’m sorry for not being emotionally intelligent enough to know that one kind of love doesn’t replace another.

I’m sorry for not knowing how to express that love.

So, I’m turning a new leaf.

From this day forward, I swear to love you like the most loving person I know—none other than your father.

And here’s where the letter goes south, because to your father, love is action, it’s forceful.

He tells you what he’s going to do to love you better, and then he does it, whether you want it or not (smile).

So here is my version of a Troy love declaration.

I’m sorry I hurt you, but we can’t keep going on like this.

I miss you.

I need your energy in my life.

I have a grandbaby on the way, and she won’t grow up with me in the shadows of her life.

I will be at the hospital when you give birth.

I’ll pay to have someone sneak me in if I have to—and you know I have money, influence, and I can talk people into anything.

I will show up at birthday parties, the first day of kindergarten, and graduations.

God Himself won’t be able to keep me away.

And every time you see me, I’ll beg your forgiveness until we’re back to the point where we tell each other our secrets and buy matching sneakers for our birthdays.

I know you’re hurting right now.

And I want to be there for you, but I know you need time.

So, I’m giving you space, because I know Noah will move heaven and earth to make sure you’re alright.

But not too much time.

I will call you tomorrow to start my apology tour.

Then I’ll be seeing you in a few months, Creed.

I love you!

Love you!!

After reading the letter my mother sent me, all I could do was sit for a moment and cry.

She didn’t realize that these were exactly the words I needed to hear.

I’d been worrying whether I could be a good mother, but now I was almost certain I could be.

Mom was learning from her mistakes, and in her own way, she was teaching me, too.

So, as I wiped away my tears, I made a decision.

I would let her in.

It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but I owed it to both of us to try.