The Stepbrother 2: Noah

Creed-

Noah’s restless pacing outside in the snow was both distracting and worrying.

He’d just learned that the father he thought was dead was actually alive, right here in this house.

And instead of speaking to the man, Noah had just looked at him, said, “I’ll be back,”

and walked outside.

I don’t know if he’d expected to find his father here, but he definitely hadn’t prepared himself for it.

Noah had sent the bodyguards away, but in their absence, a massive husky from somewhere nearby had taken on the role of protector, standing watch over him as he walked in tight circles.

Inside, I turned to our now-host—what else could I call him? I needed answers.

“Why did you do it?”

I asked, my voice low but firm.

He sat across from me on a brown leather sofa while I curled up in his recliner, the fire crackling behind us.

He looked so much like Noah—just older, more worn, his frame lean beneath his sweater and jeans.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes heavy with regret.

“I did it because I was losing my mind,”

he said.

“The fame, the pressure, my parents...

every day I thought about closing my eyes and never waking up.

I’d been that way since my parents found out I could sing when I was eight.

We lived in the foothills of Kentucky, in a double-wide, and they saw me as their way out.

They took me to every audition they could find, trying to get me into every boy band.

I finally hit big at eighteen, first with modeling, then as a singer in my first band.

I felt obligated to do it for them, even though I wanted to be anything else.”

"But faking your death?”

I could hardly believe it.

Although I had heard my own father say some of the same things about the pressure of fame, this was on a whole other level.

He sighed.

“It was the only way I wouldn’t actually kill myself.”

I nodded, starting to understand.

“Alright, but...

did you know about Noah? Tiffany told him you didn’t, but she lies.”

He winced at her name, like I’d struck him.

“No.

I would’ve never left my child with her.

Tiffany was always more barracuda than woman.

When I met her, I was drinking every day, smoking every morning.

Living up to the whole ‘sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll’ stereotype.

She was a PR rep for my first label, and she liked to party.

She made me feel understood.

I thought she was ‘the one,’ but then I found out she was a plant—reporting everything I said back to the label to help them control me.

My own parents didn’t care; they just wanted the money I brought in.”

His jaw tightened as he continued.

“I finally broke free, started my own label after selling nearly everything I owned.

I had a few friends who trusted me enough to sign, and then more artists started coming.

I was making money again, going to AA and NA, getting clean.

Then the IRS showed up.

I’d been trusting my father to handle the taxes, but he’d left me deep in debt.

I had to cut ties with my parents, and I thought maybe Tiffany was different, maybe she actually cared about me.”

He scoffed.

“I was wrong.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I spent three years with her.

Built my company back up from nothing.

But the pressure, the money, the drinking, it all came back.

One day, I was standing on the beach, thinking about just walking into the ocean and letting it take me.

That’s when the idea hit me—maybe I didn’t have to die.

Maybe I could just...

disappear.”

I listened, my mind racing.

This man had faked his death to escape, leaving behind a son he didn’t even know existed.

It was surreal, like something out of a twisted family drama.

He continued.

“So I planned it.

Set up a company beach day, made sure everyone saw me acting out of character.

Then I made it look like an accident—a drowning. I walked into the ocean. No body to be found, but enough left behind to make it believable.”

I shook my head, still struggling to grasp it all.

“And you never looked back?”

“Not at first,”

he admitted.

“But after a few years, I got curious.

I looked up my old life and found out about Noah.

I hired an investigator and found out everything. I saw that he was living with Scarlett and Troy. Saw he was actually thriving.”

He reached into a drawer and handed me a file.

Inside were photos and documents, some going back more than a decade.

Pictures of me, Jason, Maine, even my parents.

He’d been watching us all from the shadows, knowing but never reaching out.

“I thought about coming back,”

he said softly.

“But by then, it felt like too much time had passed.

I thought I’d only make things worse.

So I kept my distance, watched him from afar.”

“So that was the excuse you used to just stay away?”

Neither of us had heard Noah come in, but he was standing in the doorway now, eyes stormy.

His father’s face went pale.

“Noah...

I’m sorry.

I thought I was protecting you.”

"No.

What you did was leave me alone with a conniving bit--," he started, but composed himself.

“You protected yourself," Noah countered.

"You chose a life of hiding over facing your problems. And in doing so, you left me to face mine alone."

The air in the room grew heavy.

"I'm sorry, Noah," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know that doesn't change the past, but I am.

I've spent every day since I found out about you regretting my decision.

I thought about going back every day, but then time slipped away too fast. So I lived in the shadows of your life, watching you grow and thrive.

“Did it hurt? Not being a part of it.

Watching from afar?”

Noah asked him.

His father's eyes were pools of sorrow.

"Every single fucking day," he answered, his voice cracking with emotion.

"It was agony, knowing you were out there without me.

Even if it was unknowingly at first. Watching you from afar, seeing your life unfold without me... it was a constant reminder of the mistakes I made. What I was losing because I was a coward."

Noah nodded.

"Part of me wanted to hate you for all of this.

I spent so many years feeling like a burden to Troy and Scarlett.

To my mother, I was only a pawn. I might have had something closer to a normal life with you present."

Noah took a deep breath before continuing, "But I won’t dwell on what ifs.

I’m tired of being angry and sad.

I just lost a sister, but I also found a father.

I don't know if we can ever have a normal father-son relationship.

Too much has happened.

But maybe we can start over from this moment.

Because when I think about it, if I thought I could hurt my child or Creed in any way, I’d relegate myself to the shadows too."

Noah cocked his head to look at me.

“Besides, we already have a family trying to piece itself back together.

You came at the right time."

One tear after another trickled down Noah's father's cheek.

“That would be great, starting over."

I let out a breath.

I hadn’t expected this meeting to go so smoothly.

I had imagined a nine-millimeter being thrown on the coffee table and Noah forcing his dad to explain himself at gunpoint.

They stood for a while, just staring at each other, maybe trying to find themselves in each other’s faces.

Or maybe they just didn’t know what else to say.

I broke the awkward silence.

“I know you told me to call you Wolfgang, but my parents would have a fit.

Can I call you Daddy Wolf instead?”

He nodded.

I gushed, clapping my hands excitedly.

“My momma is Scarlett Rose, my daddy Troy the hothead bad boy of rock.

My god daddy was Lil Compton, and now my father-in-law is Wolfgang Engel.

Zella is going to make money hand over fist when she takes over Compton Ave."

Noah's eyes softened at the mention of his daughter.

“Zella, huh?”

“Yeah, you remember I told you we should name Zella something wild.

My name has to do with having principles.

Your name means peace.

Neither one of us matches our name. We’re Chaos and crazy. Give Zella a wild name and she’ll be the opposite.”

Noah shook his head.

“Not Zella, though.

What does it even mean?”

“Wolf, like your dad, Wolfgang.

We can be like, ‘Zella a.k.a.

Wolf, we’re going to see granddaddy Wolf.’”

Wolfgang, now known as Daddy Wolf, chuckled softly.

You could hear a trace of pain in his laugh.

"Zella, huh? That's quite a name.

But I don’t want her bullied on my behalf.

“No, Zella.

We’ll keep trying,”

Noah said.

I pretended to pout.

I wanted to cry about the entire situation, but I also wanted the tension between the two gone.

It sounded selfish of me, but I wanted to act normal about it.

I volunteered to cook and let them talk.

The rest of the night was spent getting acquainted.

Just before we were heading to the guest room for bed, Noah stopped us and turned to his dad, who was staring into the flames in the fireplace.

I wondered what he was thinking.

He wasn’t a talker, but a good listener.

Would he want to return to his old life now? Could he?

Noah spoke to him even though he didn't look our way.

“I didn’t want to bring up anything that might bother you, but when we leave here, I’m taking over your record company.

Your parents are running it into the ground.

I’m meeting with the board to buy it outright.

I don’t know what going back would entail, but it seems you might be tired of this life.

We can help you start over if you want,”

he said, then we walked away, leaving the man who had been reborn hours earlier with his thoughts.

Scarlett-

A surge of anger and disbelief twisted in my stomach, like something alive and venomous, as I drummed my studded, leather-booted toes against the worn carpet of the hotel hallway.

My knuckles throbbed from pounding on the door, but no one had answered yet.

The wait stretched thin, like my patience.

Tracking Jason down and finding out he was with Vince in a hotel in Jacksonville had taken just two days.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around him having an affair with Vincent.

But I’d seen pictures.

Vincent's husband thought he was in Atlanta working on a deal with Creed.

Imagine his surprise when I informed him that he wasn’t.

When the door clicked open, I shoved my way in without even getting a good look at who had opened it.

“Momma, what are you doing here?”

Jason asked, his eyes big as saucers.

I raised my hand to cover my nose from the smell of stale sex in the air.

“The better question is, what are you doing here with Vincent?”

I knew Jason had proclivities towards kink and was a open to both men and women, but this was too much.

My eyes were fixed on the messy bed.

The sheets were strewn all over it.

Vincent stepped into my view, his hands held up in surrender.

He and Jason were both only wearing boxers. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“This is too much.

You both are foul as hell for being here.”

I was warring like hell with the urge to slap the hell out of Vincent.

He had practically helped us raise Jason, and when he broke his hand fighting with one of his stupid exes, it was me who talked the record label into not replacing him.

I was the one who talked Troy out of getting rid of him when he couldn’t play the same.

I thought we were better than this, but I guess I was wrong.

But I hadn't come there to fight or fuss.

I had done enough of that for a lifetime.

Jason and I were meeting Creed, Noah, and Troy in Atlanta.

We needed to sit down face-to-face and talk about our issues.

"Jason, get dressed, get your stuff, and let's go.”

I waved Vincent off.

“Jason's not going anywhere,”

Vincent said, stepping into my line of sight, blocking my view of my son.

I chuckled, rolling my eyes at Vincent.

“He isn't?”

I could feel my blood pressure rising.

Vincent puffed his chest out and raised his chin.

“No, he isn’t.

Tell her, Jason.”

“I’m not, Momma,”

Jason said, sounding robotic, as if he’d rehearsed these lines.

“When Shawn and Vincent get divorced, he and I are getting married.

I’m going to be with him.”

My face got hot.

Why was I being tested? I tried to keep my voice calmer than I felt.

“Jason, you missed your sister's funeral.

Vincent is twenty-five years your senior and married. You aren’t in the right state to make decisions right now. You are not marrying him.”

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent held up his hand, silencing him.

Jason's eyes dropped to the ground.

I cocked my head.

There was no way he had just hushed my son.

And Jason's reaction had me really looking at him, noticing the few bruises that were visible.

“What is going on, Jason?”

He looked at me for a second, then turned his head away, a clear sign that he was hiding something.

Why were his eyes red? Was he high? I reached out and traced a purplish bruise on his arm.

Vincent pushed him behind him.

"Move," I said, shoving Vincent aside.

“Is he hitting you, Jason?”

There were rumors that Vincent was abusive and a little too rough with groupies, but he had to know better.

Jason’s eyes flicked to Vincent.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning for Jason.

“Jason,”

I called his name like I did when he was a child.

“Tell me the truth.”

Jason hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yes, Momma.

He's been hitting me... a lot.”

My heart sank at his admission.

I should have known something was going on with him when he missed his sister's funeral.

I was so shamed of myself for missing obvious signs again.

I pulled Jason into a tight hug, my anger at Vincent momentarily replaced by overwhelming concern for my child. Then something in me snapped. I pulled away from Jason and opened the door, calling out to one of my two guards stationed in the hallway.

“Demetrius, could you come here?”

Demetrius had been with me for six years.

He was huge, an ex-college football linebacker.

We called him Big Boom.

“Could you please take my son to the car, after you help him put on a robe?”

Jason looked defeated.

I wanted to cry.

Vincent’s defiance faltered when Demetrius walked in, towering over him.

Vincent’s eyes darted between me and Demetrius.

“Scarlett, you can’t just barge in here and—”

I cut him off.

“Shut up before I lose my temper.

Don’t say a word to me until my son is out of this room.”

Demetrius glared down at Vincent before walking Jason towards the bathroom.

The door was still open, but I needed Jason gone before I called for Clay Walker, an ex-biker and Troy's biggest fan, now retired from the Marines.

Less than two minutes passed before Demetrius emerged from the bathroom with Jason wrapped in a robe, his eyes avoiding mine.

Demetrius escorted him out, his large frame shielding him from Vincent’s angry glare.

“I’ll be right down, baby,”

I said to Jason before he was led away.

I waited a few seconds to hear the elevator ding before calling for Clay.

He came in, looking straight out of a 70s movie.

I closed the door behind him before addressing Vincent.

I took a deep breath to keep my rage from causing me to do something I’d regret.

Vincent, he was practically family. But he had crossed a line.

“Vincent, I don’t know why you chose Jason for...

this." I paused, unable to find the right words for my disgust.

I wanted to call Troy.

I wanted to get Jason somewhere safe. Expressing my anger to Vincent was pointless—I just wanted him hurt.

“Clay, I’ll give you ten grand to make sure Vincent regrets ever meeting my child.

Boot to chest, please.”

I wanted him to feel like he could barely breathe, like I was feeling in this moment.

Vincent's face contorted in disbelief.

“What? You can’t have him assault me!”

he yelled.

I nodded.

“Oh, but I can, and I will.

I've done it before—you’ve witnessed it.”

I smirked.

“Take what you deserve and live with it, or I’ll tell your husband everything I know.

I have pictures.

Losing fifty percent of your dwindling income doesn’t sound so great, does it?”

Clay grunted in agreement.

He wasn’t much of a talker unless he was drunk.

With one last glance at Vincent, I turned and strode towards the door.

My hand on the doorknob, I paused.

“You might want to gag him, Clay.

He screams like a bitch,”

I advised before walking out.

I heard my directions being followed just before the door closed.

The sound of steel-toed boots hitting flesh was sickening, but Vincent deserved every bit of it.

I cried in the elevator, then composed myself. Jason needed my strength.