Three Brothers

by Nicole Williams

  “I want to,” he whispered, “but I can’t.”

  I pressed closer until I felt the warmth of his body colliding with mine. “You can.”

  His head shook.

  “It’s just a dance. Don’t make it more than what it is.”

  “It’s not just a dance,” he said as his arms wound around me, his hands coming together at the small of my back. “But if you can pretend that’s all it is, then I’ll try too.” His head settled beside mine so the stubble on his chin grazed my forehead.

  “I’m not pretending,” I whispered so quietly I knew he couldn’t hear.

  His grip around me tightened. “I’m not either.”

  I lowered my head to his chest, taking in his scent and feel of him from that proximity. I’d never been so close to Chance before, not when I’d been present enough to memorize the beat of his heart or how my head rose and fell with every breath he took. Now that I was, I wouldn’t let him go without a fight. If necessary, I’d fight for the rest of my life.

  Unlike the couples around us, we didn’t move in a slow circle, spinning around and around and around, covering the same ground. We stood still, our arms holding us tight to each other and our heartbeats syncing. For that one moment, for that one dance, we were in our own world, and none of the rules or ruins from outside could touch us. For that one moment, we were invincible.

  But by the time the chorus played for the third and last time, Chance’s hold loosened and his chest started to separate from mine.

  Cinderella had a whole night, and I got a dance.

  “What’s changed?” I asked, refusing to loosen my own hold. “This morning, everything was okay between us, but tonight, it’s like you’re afraid of me. Or afraid to be close to me.”

  His fingers drifting around my back curled into me. “I am.”

  “Why? I mean I know why, but why all of a sudden are you acting like I’m a porcelain doll hanging above a concrete slab? It’s not like the curse sprung up out of nowhere and made itself known yesterday at lunch. It’s been around for close to two hundred years, so why are you acting like it only just came into being?”

  Chance’s sigh mingled with the last few notes of the song. “Because admitting how I feel about you makes it real. Admitting it to you makes whatever triggers this godforsaken thing stand up and take notice. Admitting it triggers a whole series of events I don’t want to be responsible for triggering.”

  I nodded against him, trying so hard to understand where his deep-seated fear came from. “But you didn’t admit it. You didn’t admit anything.” I replayed the scene on the sidewalk, and those words and professions he was so paralyzed over had not been said.

  His mouth lowered so it was just by my ear. His warm breath tumbled down my face, but I felt it all the way in my toes. “But you know.”

  My fingers dug into his shirt as the band moved into another song. This one wasn’t slow. “Not until you say it.”

  His chest rose, my head rising with it before they both fell. “Saying it is the least sincere way a person can mean it, and you know it. Words are simple. Proving those words is not.”

  If what Chance was saying was true, then he’d been showing me how he felt about me for years. Far before I arrived at Red Mountain a week earlier.

  I bit my lip. “But Jenny didn’t die until after they were married, right? None of those women died until they were married and officially Armstrongs.”

  That was all I needed for Chance to realize where I was going. One of the advantages to falling for your best friend was they had plenty of experience reading your mind.

  “True.” Suddenly, his grip seemed to be the more urgent of the two of ours. “But one thing will lead to the next, which will lead to the next, which will end at promising forever in front of an altar. I know where this ends up if I take that first step, and there’s no way I could take one without the rest when it comes to you. So I’m not taking it.”

  If it wasn’t the most heartbreaking conversation of my life, it would have qualified as the most romantic. In so many words, Chance was admitting he wanted me in his life forever, but because of that, he had to say good-bye and stay away. How could I argue with that?

  “But—”

  Chance’s hand very gently covered my mouth. Instead of swiping it away, I kissed it. His shoulders tensed before more of his body pulled away from mine.

  “I’m not taking any chances either way,” he said. “I don’t want to be the one Armstrong to find out the hard way that the woman he cares about can die without exchanging vows first.”

  The couples around us were back to dancing and laughing and singing along with the band. Everyone was acting as if the world hadn’t just changed in front of their eyes . . . Or was that only my world? How could two people who cared about each other not be together unless some kind of evil really was at work? Whether that evil was a curse or misplaced belief or something else, I wouldn’t let it win. I didn’t know the face of my enemy, but I knew it was out there, just waiting for me to challenge it.

  I didn’t want to keep it waiting.

  Winding my arms as tightly around him as I could, I staked my claim. “I’m not letting you go.”

  Chance nodded. “I know.” He gripped my arms, slowly pulling me away from him. “That’s why I’ll have to let you go.”

  I’d been thrown from a horse once. I’d landed on my back so forcefully my lungs collapsed for a few breaths, making me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Hearing Chance say those words as he took a few steps back made me feel the exact same way. Either my lungs had collapsed again or the air had been vacuumed from the room. Just when I felt a moment away from gasping, someone rushed up toward us.

  It was one of the bartenders Chance had ordered our drinks from. Gauging by the look on his face as he leaned in and whispered something to Chance, the world was coming to an end.

  Chance nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know, Tipp.” As the bartender made his way back toward the bar, Chance rubbed his temples. A resolved look settled over his face.

  “What’s up?” I wondered what news a bartender at Wild Bill’s could relay to make Chance look like his night had just gone from bad to worse.

  Chance was scanning the room, looking for someone. “My brother is what’s up.”

  “Chase? Surprised he changed his mind and showed up.” I scanned the room with him, looking for a head towering over everyone else.

  “Not that brother.” Chance’s voice was tired, and his face matched.

  I groaned out loud. “Great.”

  What was the luck that Conn would end up at the exact same bar where Chance and I were? Especially since Conn had made it quite clear that Wild Bill’s was for hicks, pricks, and dicks and not his kind of place. I’d always thought he fit two of those demographics to a T.

  “Why did the bartender let you know?” I asked. “I mean, you’re his brother, not his babysitter.”

  Chance raised a brow at me. We both knew that he’d played more of a babysitter role in Conn’s life than that of an actual brother. “He came and got me because Conn has gone and gotten himself drunk and isn’t taking too well to being cut off. I know, quite the shocker, right?” Chance must have spotted him, because he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd.

  “Why don’t they kick him out or call the cops? He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need you to swoop in and save him every time he finds himself in hot water—every five hours,” I added under my breath.

  Chance continued to cut a path through the crowd. “They won’t kick him out because that didn’t go so well last time—two bartenders were left with black eyes and bruised egos—and they won’t call the cops because I’ve asked them to loop me in before making that call.”

  I caught sight of the ponytail girl, but when Chance noticed her coming our way, his path took a sharp detour. I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her because he didn’t want us to meet or because he just didn’t need another complication
tonight. Either way, I put on a sweet smile and waved at her as we passed. If she noticed, I couldn’t tell. She was too busy staring at Chance’s hand around mine.

  When Chance’s pace picked up, I guessed it was because Conn was close. A few steps later, a familiar back of a head appeared in my field of vision. Conn was sidled up against the bar, clutching an empty glass and tapping his foot a million beats a minute. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tense, and he had that look in his eyes that I’d long ago learned forecast a serious storm.

  Chance rested his hand on Conn’s shoulder. “What’s going on, Conn?”

  Conn’s tapping foot stopped, but he kept his gaze focused on his glass. “What’s up, Chance, is that these fuckers are telling me I’m cut off for the night.” Conn threw his hand at where a few bartenders were pretending they didn’t hear him. “They’re telling me no like they don’t know who I am.” Conn barked out a sharp laugh. “I’d like to see them tell you no without shitting themselves. This is my brother, ass-wipes.” Conn shoved off the bar and dropped his arm around Chance’s shoulders. “I think that entitles a man to more than a few weak pours.”

  I’d seen Conn drunk enough times to know this registered at the seven or eight out of ten scale. He wasn’t at his rip-roaring point, but he was a good ways into belligerent.

  “Conn, ease up.” Chance pulled him back a bit.

  That was when Conn noticed who was on the other side of his brother. His eyes jumped to where Chance’s hand still enveloped mine, and something flashed through his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were on a date, you know, since they’ve been so far and never in between.” Conn couldn’t seem to look away from our joined hands. “I wouldn’t have misbehaved and made the Gestapo go in search of everyone’s favorite hero if I’d known. But I know how to fix this.” Conn leaned over the counter, smacking it hard with his palm. “Bring us a bottle of your best stuff. My brother’s on his first date with the girl who had a thing for both of us but has clearly made up her mind to go with the better man.” Conn thumped the bar harder when the bartenders went on ignoring him. “Fuck, my brother might finally get himself laid. If that’s not occasion to get shitfaced, I don’t know what is.”

  “Enough, Conn.” Chance’s voice was as collected as it always was when he was dealing with drunk Conn.

  “Not enough. Nowhere close to enough.” Scooting farther over the bar, Conn reached over the side and snagged the first bottle his fingers grazed. It was a cheap bottle of whiskey, but he was past the point of being picky about his poison.

  Now that got the bartender’s attention. The same man who’d gotten Chance went lunging down the bar, trying to snag the bottle out of Conn’s hands, but he was too late—about one opened bottle and heavy swig too late. The bartender looked at Chance as though he was waiting for orders.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Chance assured him before holding out his hand toward Conn. “Give me the bottle.”

  Conn made a face at his brother and took another drink. “Fuck off.”

  “Come on, hand it over. You don’t need the cops getting called on you. Again.”

  When Chance reached for the bottle, Conn swung it out of his reach, nearly nailing me in the head.

  “Watch it!” With one hand, Chance pushed me aside, and with the other, he pushed Conn in the other direction. He obviously wanted as much distance between us as he could get in case Conn got a little swingy with his bottle again. Wouldn’t want me to die from blunt force trauma caused by a cheap bottle of whiskey . . .

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” Conn slapped Chance’s hand away from his chest. “I’m sick of you stepping in to try to save the fucking day every time someone comes running to you complaining about me. I can take care of myself and my problems, so just keep the fuck away.”

  Chance rolled his head to one side then the other. Cracking his neck was his way of blowing off steam when most people would just punch a hole through the drywall. “That word really loses its oomph when you throw it around every other word.”

  Conn leaned Chance’s direction, getting in his face. “Fuck you. How’s that for oomph?”

  From behind me, someone grabbed my hand. Before I could take a guess at whose clammy hand it was, I was being spun around. Super. Redneck Maximum Strength, round two, and twice as drunk from the reek of his breath.

  “Your man is just picking fights right and left tonight, isn’t he?” When I tried to pull my hand out of his, his grip tightened. “Not so tough without Mr. Big Shot, are you?”

  My hand curled into a fist at my side. “You’re about to find out just how tough I am.”

  He laughed, throwing his head back and shaking it like he found my courage amusing. “Come on, darling. I want to dance.” He lifted his chin toward Chance and Conn while pulling me toward the dance floor. “It looks like your dancing partner’s busy, so he shouldn’t have any problem with me borrowing you for a turn or two.”

  “Let me go,” I warned, pulling against him. All I did was slow him down, not stop him.

  The man glanced back, giving me a once-over that made me feel like I needed a shower. “You think he’d mind if I borrowed you in a few other areas too? Maybe the areas involving you—”

  Out of nowhere, a fist connected with the man’s jaw, managing to both silence him and throw him to the floor. The crowd scattered, leaving a wide circle around the man and the person who’d hit him. He was shaking the hand he’d just nailed the redneck with, but his other hand still clutched the bottle of whiskey.

  “That’s what you get for putting your hands on Scout,” Conn shouted, standing above the man and pointing back at me.

  Braking to a stop beside me, Chance inspected the scene with wide eyes. They landed on me. “Are you—?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, lifting my hand. “Really.”

  The man on the floor scooted back a few feet. “What the fuck’s a scout?” He spit again, but this time, it was blood instead of saliva.

  Conn shook his head, laughing his maniacal laugh. “‘What the fuck’s a scout’?” His laughter came to an abrupt halt. His finger thrust in my direction, the vein in his forehead popping to the surface. “That’s what the fuck a Scout is, you motherfucker, and if you ever put your hands on her again, I will not hesitate to chop them off at the wrists.” Conn crept closer to the man and kicked him in the side.

  I lurched forward to stop it, but Chance grabbed me and pulled me back.

  When the man’s groan came to an end, he looked at Conn and spit some more blood. “I’m going to fuck you up good, boy. That’s what you get for messing with—”

  Conn kicked the man again, this time hard enough that his groans did not quickly come to an end. I kept fighting against Chance’s arms, but his hold was impossible to break, no matter how hard I fought.

  “Look at me,” Conn said, holding out his arms and doing a slow spin for all the bar to see. “There’s nothing you or anyone could do to me to fuck me up more than I already am. So save that one for your dreams. Boy.” This time, it was Conn who spit.

  If the man noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was too busy writhing in pain on the floor.

  The same bartender from before rushed up to Chance. “I just saw a couple of this guys’ friends on the phone. I’d say you’ve got ten minutes before the cops show up looking for your brother. Better get that bottle away from him and get him out of here.” The bartender winced at the scene on the floor, but if he’d worked there for any duration, he knew bar fights were just part of the appeal at Wild Bill’s. They were as regular as Garth Brooks songs, and the police knew most of the staff by name. “You know the back way out.”

  Chance issued a quick thanks before letting go of my shoulders to grab my hand and rush toward Conn. “Cops are on the way, brother. The night’s over.”

  “The night’s just getting started.” Conn waved the bottle around the room. “You came to have a good time. You and Scout wanted to enjoy each other’s company . . .” He motio
ned at our once-again joined hands. “Don’t let me ruin it. You guys stay. I’ll stay. When the cops show up, I’ll leave in cuffs a few shots drunker. Happy night for us all.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a few shots’ worth in one drink.

  “Conn—”

  “Do me a favor, Chance, and never say my name in that tone again, okay? The first five thousand times was enough.”

  Conn was getting drunker, our time for getting out of here was getting smaller, and my patience had run out. “Conn, cut the shit.” I raised an unimpressed brow at him. I’d seen his act so many times it wasn’t even interesting anymore. “You’re leaving this bar. Either you can do so on your own two feet or I’ll inject you with another dose of animal tranquilizer and drag you out myself, but you’re leaving. Now.”

  Conn’s dark eyes dropped to my small purse. “You’re bluffing.”

  I reached down, unzipping it. “You know, I was hoping that was the option you’d go with. This way, I get to drag you down some stairs and a few streets. Might ‘accidently’ run your head into a street lamp or something. See if that manages to uncross your wires.”

  Conn chuckled then moved in our direction. “Lead the way. The cops will have to catch me a different night.”

  I looked at Chance. He was the one who apparently knew the back way out because I’d never had to take it. He didn’t waste a moment before pulling me through the clustered crowd. I glanced back to make sure Conn was coming. Though he might have had a surly expression and staggered more than hurried, he was following. Just to the left of the bar was a heavy metal door with the words Emergency Exit stamped onto it. That was the door we were heading toward.

  “Chance, are you sure—”

  “This is an emergency exit.” He moved a bit faster since we were through the main part of the crowd, but Conn managed to keep up. “Besides, the alarm to this door hasn’t worked in years.”

  When we shoved through the door, a cool wash of air came at us. A bright overhead light illuminated the exit and the small parking lot in front of us. Probably for employee parking. We waited a few seconds at the top of the small stairway for Conn to catch up. Once he’d shoved through the door, Chance led me down the few stairs and in what I guessed was the direction of his truck. I’d gotten all turned around inside Wild Bill’s and couldn’t tell where we’d come from or where we were going.