Read Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) for Free Online

farmhouse parties. They’re a Portland-based rock
band, and apparently have a pretty big local following. Their sound is in the
same vein as The Black Keys, Kings of Leon, The Raconteurs. But what does any
of that have to do with Finn Hawthorne? I click through to the band’s main
website to find out.
    The Few website looks pretty legit. This isn’t just some
garage band—they seem to be really established. There are west coast tour dates
listed, glossy PR materials, and even some merch for sale. A music video starts
playing automatically on the home page, and a pulsing, intoxicating guitar
introduction rings out through my room. I hurry to lower the volume, not
wanting to attract any attention, as a man’s face appears on my screen. It
isn’t Finn’s face that takes over my screen this time, though. This face
belongs to another guy, probably in his late twenties, with dark hair and
brooding eyes. His hair is shorn on the sides but long on top, the longer locks
gathered into a samurai bun on top of his head.
    “That explains the hipster haircut…” I mutter, resting my
chin in my palm as the video continues. I’m into the band’s sound, and find
myself nodding to the mounting beat. They’re really onto something, even if the
video is more a tribute to the front man than anything else. As he begins
singing in a dark, gravelly, strangely magnetic voice, the camera finally cuts
to a wide shot of the band, arrayed across the floor of an abandoned warehouse.
I scan the faces of the three other musicians and feel a pulse of excited
recognition rip through my core.
    There, standing just behind the long-haired front man, is
Finn Hawthorne. He’s got a classic electric guitar slung across his chest, his
feet planted firmly on the warehouse floor as he plays. The instrument is like
an extension of his body, his fingers moving effortlessly across the strings
and frets. He’s rocking black jeans and a charcoal tee shirt that strains
against his perfect pecs and biceps. His entire body seems charged with the
music he’s creating, not a single cell is inactive. His sleeves of tattoos
stand out in high contrast against his tanned skin, and his dark blonde hair is
shoved back from his sculpted face.
    Again, it’s his face that captivates me more than anything.
His set jaw and fiery eyes are simultaneously still and expressive. The nature
of his emotion is complex, shifting between anger, passion, pride, and pain.
The raw, intense presence that he so naturally exudes overpowers even the
preening, pouting performance of the front man. No wonder the lead singer tries
to keep the camera solely on himself—the second it pans to Finn, he totally
steals the show. Without even trying.
    I pause the video on Finn’s face just as his eyes flick up
toward the camera and pull up my candid photo of him in the forest, lining up
the two images on my screen. My eyes flit back and forth between the two
versions of this man I’ve barely met. How can this up-and-coming rock star be
the same rugged outdoorsman I came across in the woods yesterday? And why is it
so impossible to look away from him? In the music video, his gaze is full of
venom and adrenaline. In my photo, his eyes are inventive, cunning, and direct.
I was hoping to learn more about Finn Hawthorne by giving him the old
Google-stalking treatment, but I have more questions now than ever.
    “Who the hell are you?” I murmur, leaning in close to my
laptop.
    Without thinking, I reach toward the screen, tracing my
fingertips along the outline of his gorgeous face. There’s no use denying that
I find this man incredibly sexy. Sure, it’s weird that our parents know each
other, but I’ve learned not to let my mother’s dalliances run my life. If I
did, I’d never get anything done. She’s had plenty of lovers since my dad died,
and none of them lasted more than a few months. Even if she is getting it on
with John Hawthorne at the moment, that doesn’t mean it’s a serious