The New Stepfather

POV Eden

Relentless streams of sweat cascade down my spine, soaking into the fabric of my worn t-shirt and making my skin slick. The harsh afternoon heat radiates from the pavement, baking the air around me as I hoist another heavy cardboard box into my arms. Every single muscle in my legs and shoulders screams in protest with each step I take from our ground-floor flat out to the waiting moving truck parked at the curb. The physical toll is brutal, but the dull ache in my biceps is nothing compared to the deep-seated irritation boiling in my chest.

Being uprooted yet again is a bitter pill to swallow. This marks our third move in a mere three years.

"Why are we moving again?" I grumble aloud, shifting the heavy box in my grip before shoving it onto the metal bed of the moving truck. I wipe my slick forehead with the back of my forearm, turning a glare toward my mother.

"I know you're tired of moving, honey," Mom says, hovering near the bumper with a nervous energy she tries desperately to mask with a soothing tone. "But this time it will be different. I promise. No more moving after this."

As she gestures with her hands, a massive new diamond resting heavy on her left ring finger catches the harsh sunlight. The blinding glint flashes in my eyes, serving as a constant, glaring reminder of her impulsive choices.

"What is this guy's name again?" I demand, resting my aching hands on my hips. I train my irritated gaze on her, refusing to let her off the hook. "And why have I never laid eyes on him?"

"His name is Garrett. We haven't been together very long, honey," she says with a light shrug. Her face splits into a bright, ear-to-ear grin. "But he is the one, baby girl. When you know, you just know. You will really like him, I promise. Plus, he has kids that are right around your age."

I stare at her, my jaw tight. "That's great, Mom. But what was the rush? Why couldn't you two have dated for a while instead of running off to get hitched at the very first chance you got?"

The frustration is raw and genuine. I didn't even know she was serious about anyone. She had packed a small bag for a long weekend getaway, telling me she needed a break. Then she returned home, completely surprising me with a wedding ring on her finger and a brand-new last name. She married a man I have never met. If the roles were reversed and I had run off to do something that reckless, she would have grounded me for the rest of my natural life.

"I don't expect you to understand yet," she says softly, her eyes shining with an irritating amount of happiness. "You're still young. One day, you will meet a man who sweeps you off your feet, and you won't want to wait another moment to start your lives together."

I am glad she is happy. That is all I have ever wanted for her. But the shock of the situation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I have had exactly twelve hours to process the fact that I now have a stepfather. The absolute worst part is that I somehow have to adjust to living with his four kids, who are supposedly my age. Four strangers. Four new step-siblings whose territory I am invading.

I look around the empty yard, then back at the half-filled truck. "And where exactly are this new husband of yours and his four kids? Why aren't they here to help us haul these heavy boxes into his place?"

Mom lets out a soft sigh, reaching out to grasp my wrist. "Honey, don't be like that. Garrett couldn't get off work today to help us, and his kids are at school."

"Typical," I grunt, ripping my arm away and rolling my eyes.

I spin on my heel and march back into the flat to grab the remaining items. Mom follows a few paces behind. I grab the final box, my fingers biting into the tough cardboard, and take one last look around the empty space we called home for the past year. There is nothing left but dust outlines where our furniture used to sit.

"Must you be so negative about this?" Mom asks as we carry the last of our lives out the door.

"I am not really seeing a bright side at the moment," I mutter. I haul the final box into the truck, lock the latch, and head for the passenger side of our car.

Minutes later, we pile into the car. Mom shifts into gear and drives us away from the life I knew. I rest my head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching my friends' houses slowly pass by. The familiar streets of Monument slide past my vision, replaced by gas stations and strip malls I have memorized over the last year. Leaving is always hard, but leaving with zero warning feels like a betrayal.

"Where are we even going?" I finally demand, breaking the tense silence filling the car.

Mom glances in my direction. Her bright smile slips, and she turns her attention back to the road. Her knuckles turn a stark, anxious white on the steering wheel. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, before she nervously rushes the words out.

"We are moving to Ridgewood." She cringes, her shoulders hunching. "Please, don't be mad."

"What?" I screech in absolute horror.

Cold dread fills my veins, freezing the remaining sweat on my skin. I whip my head around to stare at her profile. Ridgewood is two hours away. Two hours. I thought we were moving across town, maybe to a neighboring suburb. I watch in silent misery as the familiar city limits of Monument fade away in the rearview mirror, replaced by the open expanse of the highway leading to a town two hours distant.

By the time we finally pull into the driveway of the new house, my bad mood has solidified into a permanent scowl. The house is massive. It is a sprawling, multi-story estate that makes our old flat look like a shoebox.

The unloading process is just as miserable as the packing. By the time I haul the final, heavy box up the long, winding staircase, my muscles are burning. My legs feel like dead weight.

"I need a shower," I announce to the empty hallway, dropping the box onto the floor of what I assume is my new bedroom.

Desperate for hot water to wash away the cloying stench of sweat and the grime of the long day, I step back out into the hall. The upstairs layout is completely unfamiliar, a maze of closed doors and wide corridors. I navigate the space blindly, twisting doorknobs until I stumble upon a bathroom.

I strip off my damp, sticky clothes and step under the spray. I turn the dial until the water is scalding hot, letting the pressure beat against my sore shoulders and aching back. It does little to wash away the irritation of the move, but it soothes the physical burn in my muscles.

After washing up, I step out of the shower and wrap a fluffy towel securely around my body, tucking the end between my breasts. I dry my hair with a smaller towel, letting it fall in damp waves down my back. As I turn to leave, I notice an adjoining door on the opposite side of the bathroom.

My overwhelming curiosity gets the better of me. My new step-siblings are a complete mystery, and the temptation to figure out who I am about to live with is too strong to ignore.

I cautiously reach out, wrap my fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob, and push the door open.

I step barefoot into one of my new stepbrothers' bedrooms. The space is relatively tidy for a teenage guy. The bed is hastily made, and a few stray items of clothing spill from a laundry hamper in the corner. The second I cross the threshold, an intoxicating, rich cologne assaults my senses. It is a deep, masculine scent, a mix of cedar and something sharp and clean that lingers heavily in the air.

I walk further into the room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The walls are decorated with glossy sports posters. A tall bookshelf sits against the far wall, its shelves lined with gleaming trophies. A signed football rests prominently on a display stand next to a pristine helmet. I reach out, letting my fingertips brush lightly over the textured leather of the football, trying to piece together a mental image of the guy who sleeps in this room.

I pull my hand back and turn my attention to the nightstand beside the bed. My eyes catch a framed photo resting near a digital alarm clock.

I step closer, pick up the frame, and sink down onto the edge of the mattress. I carefully study the face of the stunning, dark-haired girl smiling brightly back at the camera. Her dark eyes twinkle with life, and her full mouth curls into a wide, perfect smile showcasing straight white teeth. Her light, unblemished skin creates a stark contrast against her dark features, making her look striking and radiant. Is she his girlfriend? A friend? A sister?

Before my mind can spin any more theories, a sudden noise echoes from downstairs. The deep thud of a door shutting makes my heart jump into my throat.

Panic spikes in my chest. I scramble off the bed, setting the frame back in its exact place on the nightstand. I pause for one split second, taking one last, deep breath of the room's captivating scent, before I quickly retreat to the bathroom. I pull the adjoining door shut with a soft click and lean back against the wood, waiting for my racing pulse to settle.

I finish getting ready in my own room. Half an hour later, dressed in clean clothes and with my composure firmly back in place, I step out into the hallway.

I follow the sound of deep voices echoing up the stairwell. I descend the steps, letting the sounds guide me through the sprawling ground floor. The voices lead me toward the back of the house, where I step into a massive, beautifully designed kitchen. The countertops are sleek marble, the appliances stainless steel—an absolute dream kitchen that I know Mom will be in heaven cooking in.

A man stands near the kitchen island, deep in conversation with Mom. I study him from the doorway. He is tall, with broad shoulders and a touch of gray near his temples. I can only assume this is Garrett.

"They will be home later," Garrett tells her, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. He reaches out, wrapping a casual arm around her waist to pull her closer. "They have games and various after-school activities going on right now. You'll meet them all tonight."

Before I can announce my presence, Garrett leans down. Mom tilts her chin up, and he captures her lips in a kiss.

Thoroughly grossed out by the sudden display of affection, I throw my hands dramatically over my eyes. I want absolutely no part in watching my newlywed parents make out.

"Children in the room!" I squeal loudly, announcing my presence to the entire kitchen.