Step Brother 2://:Tyler Scheid

18_Midnight City

"Do you know a Jacob?" I ask Marshal, looking over at him and wiping the tears from my eyes.

Marshal's quiet after I ask, looking back at Delta and Andrew. "I did," he answers.

"'Did'?" I look at him, an eyebrow arching up.

Marshal sighs before looking over at me. "He's my brother. He disappeared when he was nineteen after a friend of his killed herself. We don't know what happened. We don't know who the last to see him was. He just went to her funeral, then disappeared." He says it quietly, returns his attention to the road.

It's quiet until we get home. Dad and Clarissa race from the house, both in their pajamas, worry composes their expressions. "Tyler!" Clarissa wraps her arms around me. Then Dad does. "Where's Andrew?" She asks.

"Here." I hear Marshal grunt and I turn around to find him carrying Andrew's sleeping body toward us. I quickly walk to him, holding my arms out and taking Andrew from him. She leans into me and smiles.

"Thank you, Marshal." I smile at him. He nods before going around the car again. I turn around with Andrew draped gracefully in my arms, bridal style. Clarissa runs to us but I shake my head. "She's sleeping. I'm taking her to her room. She deserves the rest." I whisper before walking to the open door. I look over at the couch, pizza is still on the floor, table, smeared across the cushions. Saw is still playing.

I trudge up the stairs with Andrew in my arms.

When I lay her on her bed, she rolls onto the sheets, immediately curling up with a pillow. I pull a blanket at the end of the bed over her and then brush her hair back with my hand, laying a kiss on her forehead before standing up and walking back to the door. I turn my head and watch her for a moment.

Cheyanne slept in this room when we first started being friends. She loved the color of the walls, spearmint green. She loved when Dad had the room decorated for her; she cried and thanked him for what seemed like forever. She loved the window. The closet. The bookshelves. The bed.

I finally leave, turning the light off and shutting the door. I walk back to my room. I start to dig through my desk because I know it's here. I know I left it. Just one picture. Just one visual memory.

I pull it out, trying desperately not to bend any corners. I sit on my desk chair and stare at it. Her cheeks are so rosy, her eyes squinted with a wide smile formed from her laugh. She was wearing a Nightmare Before Christmas beanie and my black hoodie, no gloves, a pair of black Muck boots, dark blue skinny jeans.

In the picture you can see the snow on the dark clothing. You can see her laughing, pointing over at me. In the picture, I'm laughing too; my face is scrunched up, covered in snow. I remember she had just hit me dead on with a snowball. "Aha, my fair sire! For I have returned your shot!" She had yelled.

I laugh at the memory. And then I remember: our first kiss was that day. She had tripped and fallen into the snow. I had helped her up, brushed the snow off of her face. She had giggled that freaking giggle, had put her hands on my forearms. And I remember looking into her eyes, looking into the dark grey that shone through. She had looked away and my heart had sunk. When she looked back, I had leaned down; pressed my lips against hers. She was startled at first, but then started moving her lips in sync with mine.

Her lips were soft and always tasted of cotton candy, courtesy of Lip Smacker. Her glasses never got in the way, but I took them off anyway. I put them in my pocket, got the more authentic Cheyanne. I had pushed her back against a tree, our lips literally couldn't pull away. She put her arms around my neck and I had leaned down and wrapped my hands as best I could around the back of her thighs, then I hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around my waist.