Twisted Perfection

knew I was coming today. We’d just talked last week after I’d sold the house.
The guy nodded slowly and his stance relaxed. “You know him?”
    Not really. I had seen him all of two times since he’d walked out on my mom and me five years ago. I remembered the Dad who’d come to my soccer games and grilled burgers outside for the neighborhood block parties. The Dad I’d had until the day my twin sister Valerie was killed in a car accident. My father had been driving. He’d changed that day. The man that didn’t call me and make sure I was okay while I took care of my sick mother, I didn’t know him. Not at all.
    “I’m his daughter, Blaire.”
    The guy’s eyes went wide and he threw back his head and laughed. Why was this funny? I waited for him to explain when he held out his hand. “Come on Blaire, I have someone you need to meet. He’s gonna love this.”
    I stared down at his hand and reached for my purse.
    “Are you packing in your purse too? Should I warn everyone not to piss you off?” The teasing lilt to his voice kept me from saying something rude.
    “You opened my door without knocking. I was scared.”
“Your instant reaction to being scared is to pull out a gun on someone? Damn
    girl, where are you from? Most girls I know squeal or some shit like that.”
Most girls he knew hadn’t been forced to protect themselves for the past three
    years. I’d had my mother to take care of but no one to take care of me. “I’m from Alabama,” I replied ignoring his hand and stepping out of the truck myself.
    The sea breeze hit my face and the salty smell of the beach was unmistakable. I’d never seen the beach before. At least not in person. I’d seen pictures and movies. But the smell, it was exactly like I expected it to be.
    “So it’s true what they say about girls from Bama,” he replied and I turned my attention to him.
    “What do you mean?”
    His eyes scanned down my body and back up to my face. A grin stretched slowly across his face. “Tight jeans, tank tops, and a gun. Damn, I’ve been living in the wrong fucking state.”
    Rolling my eyes, I reached into the back of the truck. I had a suitcase and then several boxes that I needed to drop off at the Goodwill.
    “Here, let me get it.” He stepped around me then reached into the truck bed for the large piece of luggage my mom had kept tucked away in her closet for that “road trip” we never got to take. She always talked about how we’d drive across the country and then up the west coast one day. Then she’d gotten sick.
    Shaking off the memories, I focused on the present. “Thank you, uh… I don’t think I got your name.”
    The guy pulled the suitcase out then turned back to me.
    “What? You forgot to ask when you had the nine-millimeter pointed at my face?” he replied.
    I sighed. Okay, maybe I’d gone a little overboard with the gun but he’d scared me.
    “I’m Grant, a, uh, friend of Rush’s.”
    “Rush?” There was that name again. Who was Rush?
    Grant’s grin grew big once again. “You don’t know who Rush is?” He was extremely amused. “I’m so fucking glad I came tonight.”
    He nodded his head toward the house, “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
    I walked beside him as he led me to the house. The music inside got louder as we got closer. If my dad wasn’t here, then who was? I knew Georgiana was his new wife but that was all I knew. Was this a party her kids were having? How old were they? She did have kids, didn’t she? I couldn’t remember. Dad had been vague. He’d said I’d like my new family but he hadn’t said who that family was exactly.
    “So, does Rush live here?” I asked.
    “Yeah, he does, at least in the summer. He moves to his other houses according to the season.”
    “His other houses?”
    Grant chuckled, “You don’t know anything about this family your dad has married into, do you, Blaire?”
    He had no idea. I shook my head.
    “Quick mini lesson then before we walk inside the madness,” he replied stopping at the top of the stairs leading to the front door and looked at me. “Rush Finlay is your stepbrother. He’s the only child of the famous drummer for Slacker Demon, Dean Finlay. His parents never married. His mother, Georgianna, was a groupie back in the day. This is his house. His mother gets to live here because he allows it.” He stopped and looked back at the door, as it swung open. “These are all his friends.”
    A tall, willowy, strawberry