“I need chocolate. Stat.” A woman on a mission, she hurries toward the display cases, her blonde waves streaking through my vision.
“Good morning, Molly Mae,” Gigi greets in playful irritation. “It’s wonderful to see you, too.”
With one of the café’s famous chocolate chip muffins in her hand, Molly takes a large bite, her entire body seeming to relax as the chocolate and sugar hit her taste buds. “God, that’s almost as good as sex,” she breathes, then smiles. “Morning, Aunt Gigi.” She heads toward her, placing a kiss on her cheek.
“How’s my favorite niece and great-nephew doing this morning?” Gigi places a hand on Molly’s protruding stomach. She’s only four months pregnant, but her short and slender stature make her appear much further along. It doesn’t help that, according to Noah, he was over nine pounds when he was born. Of course, when Molly found out, she joked she would have preferred to know that little piece of information before she allowed him to knock her up.
“We’re doing great. Hungry.” There’s a glow about her as she points to her stomach. “This little guy likes his chocolate.”
“You’re sure it’s him?” Gigi pinches her lips together before returning her attention to the line of customers. “I seem to remember a certain niece of mine having an obsession with those chocolate chip muffins before she was ever pregnant.”
Molly takes another bite and heads toward me. “They’re good, Gigi! You need to stop putting crack in them. Then maybe I wouldn’t be so addicted.” She turns her attention to me. “Morning, Brooklyn.” She places her muffin on the table as I stand, squeezing her, all the tension slowly rolling off my body.
“Morning, Mols.” I release my hold on her and meet her eyes. She narrows her gaze on me.
“What is it? You seem…different.”
I blink, wondering if there’s a giant flashing sign attached to me I don’t know about. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.” I steel myself, swallowing hard.
“What is it?” She slides into her chair and I return to mine.
Tapping the side of my mug, I take a sip of coffee as I glance around the café. Laughter and excited voices, along with the occasional sound of fresh coffee beans being ground, echo against the walls. It’s the look and sound of home. I hope it always will be.
When I return the mug to the bistro table, I meet her gaze. Concern overtakes her features, as if she’s preparing to hear I have cancer or am moving far away.
“Last night, Wes asked me to marry him.”
She inhales a sharp breath as her eyes widen, immediately shooting to my left ring finger. When she sees it’s vacant, her shoulders fall. I withdraw my hand, hiding it under the table.
“Oh, Brook. I’m sorry.” From the gravity in my tone and lack of a ring, I know she assumes I said no and we’re no longer together.
“I said yes,” I add quickly.
She frowns. “You what?”
“Yes.” Growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute, I fidget with the napkin in front of me. I’m not sure how I expected Molly to react to the news. If I’m being truthful with myself, she responded how I assumed she would—in complete and utter shock. It almost mirrors my reaction when Wes got down on one knee last night…until I analyzed the situation and realized this is the next step for us. It’s what I need to move on, to bury the past and stop holding out hope for the impossible to happen.
“Wow.”
I lift a brow. “That’s it? Just a wow? When you told me Noah popped the question, I was thrilled.”
“I know, and I’m happy for you.” She covers my hand with hers. “As long as it’s really what you want.”
“What makes you think it’s not?” I pull my hand away from hers, toying with my mug.
“I guess I didn’t realize it was that serious between you two. The way you’ve always talked about it made it sound like you were just having some fun. No expectations.”
“Well, it is serious.” I straighten my spine, staring at the dark shade of my coffee, the queasiness in my stomach becoming stronger. “So I’d appreciate your support and hope you’ll stand next to me as my maid of honor during the most important moment of my life.”
Her stunned expression falls away, a brilliant smile forming on her mouth. Her blue eyes brighten, everything about her oozing happiness. Still, it doesn’t seem genuine. She stands, taking the few steps toward me. “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She holds her arms out and I rise, walking into them. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.” She pulls back. “Truthfully.”
“What are you happy for?” a deep, booming voice cuts through. We whip our heads toward the source, both of us seeming to jump back like two errant children who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t.
My face heats, a feeling of breathlessness overtaking me, as it does every time I stare into Drew’s chestnut eyes. His dark hair is a bit shaggy, curling over the collar of his suit, but it’s not as unkempt and out of control as it was during his hockey days. A bit of scruff dots his jawline, and as much as I prefer how he looks clean-shaven, there’s something about the facial hair that still makes my pulse race, even though I wish it didn’t, wish I could forget the way his arms felt around me, the way his lips warmed mine, the way his body molded to mine. And that’s precisely why I need to marry Wes. To forget. To cleanse myself of his toxins.
Pretending Drew’s mere presence doesn’t send those butterflies fluttering in my stomach like they did during my teenage years, I look at him with a serious expression. “She’s happy for me,” I state with determination, summoning every ounce of confidence I can muster. “Wes proposed last night.”
Drew remains completely still, his eyes seeming to penetrate every fiber of my being, infiltrating my soul, invading my heart. “And you said no, right?”
“I said yes.” I stand taller, but my height is no match for Drew’s imposing six-foot, two-inch muscular stature.
“You agreed to marry him?” His pitch rises, disbelief filling every syllable. “After less than a year?”
“You’re one to talk, Drew. If memory serves, you got drunk with your ex and decided to fly to Vegas to tie the knot after only knowing each other a total of what?” I place my hands on my hips. “A month? How’d that work out for you?”
“And that’s exactly why I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistake!” He tugs at his hair, leaning closer to me. I catch a whiff of his woodsy, earthy scent, the aroma causing so many memories to flash before me. We’ve known each other most of our lives. We have some really good memories, but also some really bad ones. I can’t let him be the cause of any more bad memories.
“Our situations are vastly different. I’m not making the same mistake you did.”
“But you admit it might be a mistake,” he shoots back, not missing an opportunity.
“I didn’t say that.” My jaw clenches as I try to remain as calm and collected as possible. Part of me wants to agree with him, but I’ve done that before, allowed him to poison my rationale. I won’t let him ruin yet another one of my relationships. I don’t have to defend my choice to someone who’s supposed to be a friend.
Then again, both of us have been fooling ourselves for years, claiming we’re only friends, that there’s never been anything between us, no desire for anything more. Maybe he doesn’t feel it, but I do. And I don’t want to anymore.
“You were twenty-four when you got married. Pretty much every decision you make at that age can be considered a mistake.”
“Not all of them. Plus, I was twenty-five.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, widening his stance. It makes the arms of his suit bulge. It doesn’t matter that he no longer plays professional hockey. He’s still in amazing shape. But I refuse to be distracted by the broad chest, muscular shoulders, or sculpted torso that I know hides underneath his clothes. Not when I’ve finally found a man who loves me, who will do anything for me, who won’t make me promises and then
forget them the next day.
“Fine. Twenty-five. I’m thirty-two. Wes isn’t someone I met at a hotel bar and asked to come back to my room with me. We’re both mature adults who are more than capable of making mature decisions. And I’ve decided to marry him.”
He seems to assess my response, then narrows his eyes. “Is it because of his money?”
My face heats from his accusation, my blood boiling.
“Drew,” Molly whispers frantically, her tone evidence of her disbelief at his suggestion.
He darts his gaze to hers and back to mine. “No. Seriously. I want to know.”
My lips curling at the fact he thinks the only reason I’d marry Wes is because of his money and success, I lean into Drew, my face less than an inch from his.
“You know damn well that doesn’t matter to me,” I hiss. “It never has and it never will. I’m still the same girl who’s just as happy stuffing my face with whole belly clams off a paper plate at Kelly’s as I am eating duck served by white-gloved waitstaff at a five-star restaurant.”
Grabbing my bag, I storm past him, pausing as I’m about to leave the café. All eyes seem to be on us…including Aunt Gigi’s. Hers aren’t stunned, like everyone else’s are. Hers are more intrigued, curious.
“In fact, I still prefer the former.” I meet his gaze as those words spill from me, a hidden confession laced with meaning only few people will understand.
Then I hurry out the door, cursing Drew for ruining this moment, like he’s ruined everything else.
Chapter Four
DREW
“What the hell was that?” Molly bites out. I snap my stare away from the door where Brooklyn had just disappeared. When I meet her blue eyes, they’re narrowed, her irritation loud and clear.
“What do you mean?” I rake my hands through my hair, feeling like I’m living in an alternate universe. Sure, Brooklyn’s been dating Wes for almost a year now, but I thought it was casual, like things between Skylar and me. Or maybe I simply hoped it wasn’t serious. She rarely speaks of him, but I don’t make it a habit to ask, either. Still, if she’s in love with him, shouldn’t she be shouting it from the rooftops instead of speaking of her engagement as if it’s a business negotiation?
“I’m talking about how you just called Brooklyn a gold digger.” She places her hands on her hips, bringing attention to the baby bump that seems to get bigger every day. “You know as well as I do that she’s the last person on this planet who would marry someone for money.”
“I know. I just…”
“What?” she presses, leaning into me.
You’d think a man of my size and height wouldn’t be intimidated by a woman as short and petite as Molly. But what my sister lacks in stature she makes up for in attitude and perseverance. Once she sinks her claws into something, whether it be a person or an idea, she never lets go. She’s not going to let me leave this café until she gets what she wants out of me.
“It’s like I told Brooklyn. I don’t want her to make the same mistake I did.” My voice lacks the determination I need to demonstrate that my words are true. “That’s all.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it. Brooklyn’s your friend. One of your best friends, really. She just made one of the biggest decisions of her life. She needs our support.”
“But what if I don’t support her decision?”
“Then you need to grow a set and tell her why instead of skirting around the bush.”
“What are you talking about?” My brows pinch together, my tone uncertain.
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Andrew Vincenzo Brinks. I see the way you look at her. In fact, I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at her since high school.” She points her finger in my face, her tone sharp. “If you don’t do something, you’ll lose her. And this time, you won’t be able to get her back.” She hardens her stare. “Let that sink in.”
“She loves you, Andrew,” Aunt Gigi says as a hand rests on my arm. I spin around to see her behind me. She gives me a knowing look, wordlessly reminding me of everything I’ve struggled to forget over the years.
“Who? Molly?” I joke, trying to lighten the atmosphere and avoid having to endure this conversation. They’re seeing something that’s not there, something I’ve done everything in my power to bury. Now, as I look back at that summer, I no longer feel the vice squeezing my heart. “I know she does.” I nudge my sister.
Aunt Gigi lifts her hand and lands a light smack against the back of my head.
I duck away. “Ouch! Why did you do that?”
“You’ve suffered too many hockey injuries. I’m talking about Brooklyn, you fool.” She clasps my hands in hers. “Brooklyn loves you.”
“Of course she loves me. She’s told me on more than one occasion that she loves me like a brother.”
She shakes her head. “Sometimes, my sweet, sweet boy, women say things they don’t mean. They say things they want to think, want to believe.”
I look from Gigi to Molly, who simply nods. “We do. All the time. I can’t even tell you how many orgasms I faked before I met Noah.”
I grimace. “Jesus, Molly!”
Gigi lands another slap against one side of my head, then the other.
“Hey! I wasn’t the one who said it!”
She shoves her finger into my face. “You know better than to take the Lord’s name in vain, Andrew, and I can’t hit Molly since she’s pregnant.” She takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should have insisted your father take the two of you to church more than a few times a decade.”
“Funerals and weddings,” Molly and I say in unison, recalling our father’s response to Gigi anytime she harped on him for his lackluster attendance record at church. Apart from those two events, our father refused to go, although Gigi attended once a week, sometimes more.
“But seriously, Drew,” my sister continues. “Gigi’s right. We lie all the time, myself included. After I began spending time with Noah, I couldn’t remember ever feeling that way about another person. It scared me, so I did everything I possibly could to fight it. And I fought it hard. No matter what I did, he was still on my mind…and in my heart. I love Brooklyn like I would a sister. I will support her decision to marry Wes, if that’s what she truly wants. But I get the feeling she’s been trying to convince herself her love for you is simply like that of a sister loving a brother. I don’t think that’s the case at all. I never have. And I don’t think that’s the case for you, either.”
“Those pregnancy hormones are affecting your brain.” I head toward the counter to grab my morning coffee, my steps slow as the reality of the situation hits me.
Brooklyn’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her, even after everything that happened before I left for college. I wonder how much longer she will be there, if I’ll gradually see less and less of her until Wes consumes every part of her life and I’m nothing more than a distant memory.
“They are not. You’re deflecting,” she argues, following me.
“Have you forgotten that I’m seeing someone?”
She bursts out laughing. “I’m not so sure getting together for an occasional booty call qualifies as ‘seeing someone’.” She holds up her hand, counting on her fingers. “One, you don’t talk about her. Two, you claim it’s not serious, that she’s more than welcome to see other people. And three, you’ve never brought her home to meet the girls.”
“They’ve already been through enough with Carla leaving.” I add some milk to my coffee, stir it, then turn to Molly, Gigi peering over her shoulder, a smug look on her face. “They don’t need to go through that again.”
“They’re not the ones who went through it,” Molly argues. “Sure, Alyssa asked for her mama a lot at first, but she was only two. After a while, she stopped. Charlotte can’t remember ever having a mother, so there’s nothing for her to miss.” Her expression turns compassio
nate, her brilliant eyes piercing through me. “It’s not the girls, is it?”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.
“You’re the one who doesn’t want to go through that again. The girls are just a convenient excuse.”
“They are not,” I protest, although my words lack certainty.
After Carla left, I put all my energy into my family, my girls included. My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at an early age and it progressed rapidly. I bought the café from him, saving it from being turned into yet another Starbucks. Once I no longer had hockey in my life, I devoted everything I had into making this place as successful as possible. When I wasn’t running the café, I kept myself busy with my girls, doing everything to make sure they had as normal a childhood as possible and didn’t want for anything. I didn’t start coaching hockey again until two years ago, which was when I handed over the reins of the café to Gigi.
“If I were worried about going through all that again, would I be dating?”
“I don’t consider you and that bimbo to be ‘dating’,” Molly retorts without missing a beat. “You won’t be able to use those girls as an excuse forever. At some point, they’ll grow up and start building relationships of their own. Then where will you be? Alone.”
“Not this again,” I groan, walking away from her, but she’s quick on my heels. I expect Gigi to have something to say at this point. Instead, she remains suspiciously silent, observing me through small eyes, analyzing, assessing, judging.
“Yes, this again. I just… I don’t get you these days, Drew. I’ve been trying to understand. I really have. But for years now, you’ve successfully caused Brooklyn to shun nearly every guy who was remotely interested in her.”
“What?” I squint at her, my tone evidencing my disagreement with her statement. “No, I haven’t.”
Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire Page 93
