Page 66 of The Stepbrother 2: Noah

"I'll be right back," he spoke over his shoulder to me.

Just before Noah sat down on one of the swings, he whispered something to Jason.

Jason's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he nodded. There was a subtle shift in his demeanor. Noah's words, whatever they were, seemed to reach him in a way mine hadn't. Jason began pushing Noah on the swings as they talked. I couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't care, as long as it helped Jason.

I watched them, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the ache in my heart. Then everything went sideways. I watched Noah stand up, turn around, and punch Jason square in the face. Jason retaliated with a right hook to Noah's jaw. Noah slammed Jason to the ground, and they wrestled. I was too stunned to process what was happening quickly enough for me to do anything, and when I did finally react, they were already walking back in my direction, talking as if nothing ever happened.

Are they serious right now?I thought.

Sweaty, faces red, covered in grass and dirt, they stood in front of me looking like they hadn't just gone full MMA on each other in front of my eyes.

I stared at them both like they were crazy.

Jason was the first to speak. "I'm sorry for lying, Creed, and for stealing from you. It won't happen again." Jason didn’t play contrite well. His apology was awkward. He wasn't used to having to say sorry. None of Troy and Scarlett's children were. We were spoiled almost rotten.

Noah shoved his shoulder into Jason's ribs. "Ok, fuck. Stop hitting me before we end up fighting for real." Jason barked at Noah before turning to me again. "I really am sorry and will be working with Noah at his father's label until I pay back every cent."

I blinked hard. "Y’all just pummeled each other, and that’s that? Is everybody in our family crazy? Sheridan ain't gonna be okay."

Noah cocked his head. "Who is Sheridan?"

I sucked my teeth. "Our daughter."

"No, I'm not naming my child Sheridan," Noah protested.

"But—"

"No, Creed," he reached for my hand. "It's getting cold, let's go in."

I shook my head. "I want to swing first." I declared, feeling childish. They didn’t let me play with them when I was younger. "You push me, and Jason can stand in front of me and catch me if need be."

They did as I said, both taking turns pushing me. We played tag. I waddled after them. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jason laughed, and just the sound of it made me feel as if everything would be okay.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, I knocked on Jason's door and asked him what Noah had whispered to him. Jason shook his head. "He told me I need to apologize to you or it was on sight until I did. I told him to give me a few days, and his crazy ass hit me." Jason laughed like he was back to normal. Maybe he needed some sense knocked into him. "Then he told me I deserved the ass-whooping Vincent gave me for allowing his geriatric ass to hit me without breaking his jaw."

I went straight to my room where Noah was lying in bed, shirtless.

"Why would you tell Jason he deserved what Vincent did to him?"

Noah sighed. "Because he did. Because he allowed it. He was using Vincent to punish himself for what happened to Mainewhen he should have been trying to help the family patch itself back together. Everybody needs to start being confronted with the truth and held accountable for their own sins. Pretending they don't exist or sugarcoating them doesn't make us better."

All I could do was shake my head. He was somewhat right, but also wrong. But I understood the tough-love approach.

He added, "You need to do the same thing with your mother. Tell her how you feel, uncensored, without yelling or anger, before everything between you two festers further."

Creed-

I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t believe Noah had told the therapist everything that ever happened between us, and I meaneverything. The incident in the back of Maine's van, the nights I snuck into his room, the damn near forced wedding—if I could die for just an hour and come back to life, I would.

This is not what I thought therapy would be like. I was glad I had my first session with Noah before I had one with my mother. I had a feelingthatwould be exhausting, and I wouldn’t want to do another for a while.

I also had a session scheduled with my dad and Jason. I didn’t think Jason and I needed one. He needed to focus on himself. We’d just dropped him off at rehab. Turns out, he had been indulging in all types of drugs and risky sex and kinks.

Even through the laptop screen, I could sense Ms. Avery’s discomfort after what she’d heard, but she stayed professional.

“Though I don’t agree with a lot of things you two have participated in, you both find them acceptable. So, my role here isn’t to judge but to help you navigate through these waters together.” She paused, letting her words sink in.

“Today, I’d like to talk to you both about the five love languages,” she continued, holding each of our gazes. “It's how we express and receive love, which can be different for everyone. You both have unique ways of expressing and experiencing love, and sometimes, those ways don’t naturally align.” She raised her hand. That’s okay. It’s about finding common ground and learning to speak each other’s love languages fluently. I’d like to start with the mister. For Noah, it seems that physical touch andwords of affirmation are his primary ways of feeling loved and secure. Am I right, Noah?” She gave him a moment to answer, and he nodded.

---