by Mia Wolf
I might as well have, I told her. I also told her I would be there, right outside the medical room in case Zack passes out from gore. I could wager my money on it that he would, at least that’s what I told Zack. All in all, I can’t wait for Ouran to be a part of the family.
I park the car in Hilton’s parking lot and take reluctant steps to the lobby and into the restaurant. My mind wants to run away from here which is precisely why I don’t listen to my mind every now and then.
Just suck it up and do it.
Other than the fact that it feels like I’m somehow cheating on Rose, I guess I’m feeling reasonably okay. I’m not falling apart at least.
I see Cara Walters waiting for me, already nestled into her seat. I check my watch, I’m thirteen minutes late.
“Sorry, the traffic was horrible,” I say without making eye-contact.
“It’s quite alright, I didn’t arrive too long ago,” she says and passes me a calculated smile; her words are acerbic. This is a first.
Usually, women find it difficult to speak up to me; according to Zack, it’s because they get too caught up with my looks, whatever that means. But apparently, speaking up to me is not a problem for Cara Walters; nor was it for Ashley Wang, and definitely not for Rose Maibach.
Just enunciating her name on my mind sends both a shockwave of pleasure through my body that the bulge in my pants will make me regret pretty soon, and a pin-prick of pain through my heart that I’m desperately trying to ignore.
There is a steady noise in the restaurant that acts like background music which I always appreciate since it takes the edge off the conversation.
The waiter shows up at our table with a bottle of wine that’s my go-to order for all dates that I go on. Attending enough of these has made me quite efficient with the process.
“Good evening, Mr. Brehm,” my regular waiter says, spotting the exasperation on my face in an instant. His eyes travel from me to the wine glass he’s filling up then to my date for the night.
I know he’s doing what he often does, observing my guests to see if he can appease them somehow, placate them. After all, the poor women are meeting with Andrew Brehm. Which, in my opinion, can be a delight, I’m just not doing so well these days.
Unfortunately, Miss Walters and I are meeting at quite an unfortunate time.
I look at the waiter for his help, but he wears a blank expression on his face that he almost never does. It means he can’t save me tonight.
I don’t get too bummed about that and observe the people present in the restaurant with us. Cara seems to be taking a great interest in reading the menu; she also seems to be immune to my charms. That’s again a first.
It was a long time ago when I decided that it’s not my responsibility to entertain people and stopped wondering if people in my company are enjoying themselves.
As Zack says, “it takes two to have a good time.”
Within the next fifteen minutes, it becomes evident to me that Miss Walters, too, has been forced to go on this date. Every fiber in my body itches to breach the subject. Why must I go through this suffering all alone?
“It seems to me that you’re here against your will,” I say, sipping wine. I’m not my usual calm and composed self; I’m barely lucid until the alcohol kicks in.
“Takes one to know one,” she replies not sparing me a single extra second of attention than absolutely necessary.
I’m starting to think that I oddly like this arrangement. Being on a date with someone who doesn’t want to be here is somehow more convenient than having my dates swooning over me before they have heard a single word out of my mouth. Like a shiny accessory to elicit envy in others.
My utter distaste for unwanted attention has led me to become unnecessarily philosophical about human behavior. Which comes in surprisingly handy while dealing with particularly obtuse or naggy clients.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and in the time it takes me to retrieve it from my pocket, the call disconnects. I check the notification which tells me the number is unknown.
There are about half a dozen texts from the same unknown number. Before even reading what they say, I know they’re from the alpha. I read them anyway.
“You think you can forget me so easily? Blocking my number wasn’t a wise idea, Andrew.”
I almost yawn at the texts until the next one drains all blood from my face.
“Pretty girl you had by your side the other day, by the way. I guess I’ll pay her a visit since you’re ignoring me.”
Rose.
There is a bear growl in my throat that I stifle and I can feel the anger pulsing in my veins. If he touches Rose, he’s a dead man walking.
Logically, I know he won’t do anything to her because he’s not much of a doer. No wonder he has always been so insecure about his position as the alpha. But the nagging feeling in my chest has already made a home.
My phone is still in my hands when another call makes it ring. This time, it’s Rose.
I pick it up in a millisecond, and I lose all sense of reality when I hear her voice trembling with fear; she’s winded from terror as she tries her best to speak. I snap out of it and will myself to focus, at the same time gesturing to Cara that I’ll be leaving and mouthing the word “emergency” to her. There is no way that this is not going to be used against me. Cara’s going to go home to her filthy rich grandfather and tattle all about how her insolent date walked out on her in the middle of a meal. How uncouth and unmanly.
I can’t care at all right now; I’m trying to make sense of Rose’s situation while pulling out of the driveway.
Not a bone in my body is complaining why Rose called me up instead of 911 or anyone else for that matter. She might not have realized this, but I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that I would do anything she asks me to. I growl out loud in frustration; this is crazy.
I cut through the traffic, thankful for my dependable car.
“Talk me to me, Rose.” I give her simple instructions to follow and ask for her location which she promptly sends me within seconds.
That’s my girl.
I curse under my breath when I realize it’s in the opposite direction I’m driving in. My BMW helps me maneuver with ease, and I keep talking to Rose because she seems to be hyperventilating until the line goes silent.
There is a crash that makes me jump and then all I hear is static. I keep calling Rose’s name, but there is no answer. I try calling her again, but she doesn’t pick up.
That’s when I step on it and let the rage build inside until I get to see the face of that slimy excuse for human filth and then break all of his teeth.
I bring Rose’s location on my screen and place the phone on the handsfree mount. I’m ten minutes away. For some reason, Rose’s location is stationary. I don’t know what to make of that information. I juke through tinier streets to avoid traffic until I finally reach my destination.
Rose’s location is in the middle of a street that I’m about to pull into. My eyes take two seconds to find Rose, and standing in front of her is a man dressed in all-black.
I leave the car and bolt towards the two of them. The relief of seeing her unharmed washes over me like a tsunami. I step in between them and am about to land a jaw-breaking punch to the man when Rose catches my hand, and my elbow accidentally hits her shoulder.
She gasps but manages to turn me around to face her.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, panting.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, letting go of me and holding her shoulder instead. “He’s my brother.”
Chapter 22 – Rose
Instead of taking a cab straight home after work, I walk to a nearby ice-cream parlor to treat myself to something nice while talking to Jessica and Joshua once again. I coerce them into sending me as many pictures of their baby as possible.
I hang up and enjoy the Belgian Chocolate ice-cream to my heart’s content. A fleeting glimpse out of the parlor’s window reminds me of the dinner I had
with Andrew. How girls had gathered around the place to take a look at him. That day, I had flipped out, but now that I think about it, how cruel was that for him? How infuriating must it have felt to him? He’s not some animal that’s kept in the zoo for people to gush over. He tried to tell me this that evening; his face had suddenly lost its charm when I had pointed at the caravan of women gathering outside the window.
Feeling sorry for him won’t change a thing, I tell myself. It will only make me feel horrible about what I did, and perhaps, rightfully so. I cannot keep myself tied to his memories.
I leave the parlor and walk along with the fast-paced crowd at Times Square, but when I finally turn into quieter alleys, I get a sense that I am being followed. When I feel it for the first time, I brush it off as a coincidence, but when I notice that a man in a black sweater and jeans is on my tail, I panic.
I increase my pace as my mind tries to think of things to do. I could call the police, the logical part of my brain says. But then a crystal clear voice tells me to call Andrew.
I instinctively take the phone out of my coat’s pocket and find his number in my list of contacts.
“Andrew,” I say as soon as he picks up and I repeat his name about five times before I have another rational thought.
“Calm down, Rose,” he says, his voice even and resolute. It works like a charm. “Where are you?” he asks without asking me what’s wrong. “Send me your live location.”
I do as I’m told. “He’s following me,” I manage to speak through a debilitating stutter.
“It’s alright, Rose. I’m on my way,” Andrew says, and his voice is enough to tranquilize me, to soothe me.
“I’m scared,” I tell him in a whisper.
“It’s okay, Rose, I’m here, I’m on my way.” He repeats the words until I feel calmer.
I’m in control for a very brief moment before the man reaches for my shoulder and my phone drops to the ground. I jump away from him in fear, but my legs don’t want to move otherwise. I’m glued to the spot when the stranger takes his black snapback off and shows me his face.
“Warren,” I say, and the name takes all the fear out of me. I pounce at him and throw my arms around him in disbelief. Is he really standing in front of me?
“You!” I scream and start punching his stupidly big body in a futile attempt to reprimand him. “Why were you following me like a stalker?”
He quietly takes all the punches without batting an eyelid, blinking at me as if I’m being childish. We both know that I’m not punching him because he sneaked up on me; it’s because I haven’t seen his face in almost five years.
I stand two feet away from him and place my hands on his face, touching it to make myself believe that he’s real and that he’s standing in front of me, flesh and bones. Even though I never truly believed that Warren died, there was always this knawing in my gut every time I thought about him.
“We only had each other.” Before I can continue, a cry comes out of me of its own accord. “How could you leave me alone, Warren?” I fist at his chest once then bury my head in his arms. I have lived without a family for five years.
He doesn’t speak but rests a hand on my head and lets me cry my heart out. This is what I’d been missing this whole time, a warm hug from someone I could call my own. Once I’m done with my cry fest, I let go of Warren.
My emotions had been building up for a while. After letting Andrew walk away, I didn’t have a place to break down.
“How’ve you been, little sis?” are the first words out of his mouth.
Woods forbid, he has no idea what I would’ve given to just hear him call me ‘little sis’ one last time before he left.
“What do you think? My older brother left me all alone without a family,” I say. It’s hard to be angry at him right now, and perhaps I did a good job of keeping myself busy these past five years, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t lonely.
I was terribly lonely.
“Forgive me,” he says like it’s almost a nuisance.
“Why are you here?” I ask, putting my emotions on the backpedal. “You live in New York?”
Something tells me that he’s not going to tell me the truth, and I mouth a “never mind” before he goes through the trouble of coming up with a lie.
“I wanted to see you once.” He breaks every word apart like he always did when he was getting sentimental. It makes me giggle; he could never hide it whenever he liked a girl in school.
Sending their kids to college was a proud Maibach family tradition, but it didn’t do much good for the two of us. We grew distant when Warren first left, and by the time it was my turn to go, we were barely even talking to each other.
Of course, we didn’t know what tragedy awaited us. Our parents died in an accident when I was in the final year of college. We stood side by side at the funeral in the woods at the back of the village. It was pouring non-stop, and I just remember feeling so angry at the rain because my mother hated rain. Why did it have to rain on that day? I took it as a mockery of my parents’ death, as though the universe was laughing. It felt like a twisted joke that went too far and could never be reversed.
For a long time, I thought the accident would bring Warren and me together, that we would be close again like we were once upon a time. But that never happened. I shake myself awake like I usually do when I think of the accident and its aftermath. I don’t like to bring up those feelings on my happy days because the sadness can last for an entire season.
“Well, you’ve seen me now,” I reply after an eternity it seems during which neither of us has moved from our places. Where would we go? my mind laughs. Two orphans alone in the world, where would we really run to?
“I can tell you still resent me for leaving,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Will that make you tell me why you did it anyway?” I pause and spit out the words that I didn’t know I still had somewhere buried deep within me, “or will it make you come back?” My voice cracks as I struggle to get those words out, but I fight back the tears and the hurt.
There is no fixing our family, no matter how much I’m internally screaming.
As always, Warren doesn’t answer my question.
“Don’t hate me so much,” he says as if he’s leaving me again.
I let my anger loose in response. “I don’t think you’re worthy of my hatred.”
“I’ll always look out for you,” he whispers almost as if he hasn’t heard what I said. His last words are an even quieter whisper. “How do you think Ashley Wang found you?”
That’s when I hear a car coming to a screeching halt and Andrew running up to us. He’s about to land a punch at Warren when I grab his hand to stop him. His elbow hits me hard on my shoulder. I use all of my strength to turn him around and look at me instead of my brother. The rage in his eyes melts away, and the calm Andrew who made my heart race just by being near him is asking me if I’m okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “He’s my brother.”
Andrew turns around again, and I lean to the side to look around him, only to find that my brother has disappeared into thin air.
Chapter 23 – Andrew
“Are you sure that was your brother?” I ask Rose still coming down from my adrenalin rush.
“I would know my own brother, Andrew,” she says resting her left hand on her right shoulder where I had accidentally hit her with my elbow.
“What kind of a brother sneaks up on his own sister?” I instinctively place my hand on top of Rose’s to feel if her shoulder is alright. “Is it hurting too much?”
She gently pushes my hand aside, putting miles and miles of distance between us. Her concerned look from a moment ago shrivels into a sad, disappointed one.
“Let me take you home,” I say and place a hand on the small of her back to gently nudge her in the direction of my car. Surprisingly, she doesn’t retaliate or reject the offer. We walk in the silence of the night not knowing what to say. What just happened so
mehow bonded us.
We drive back to my apartment in continued silence. I want to ask Rose what she’s thinking because I know she’s not thinking the same thing as I am. I’m thinking that we belong together.
There is a dull emptiness in her eyes that I feel I’ll never be able to breach.
I take Rose to my bedroom so that she can lie down and rest, but she stops me before I can leave.
“Can you help me with my shoulder?” she asks, hiding the actual request somewhere deep underneath her words.
The first aid kit is in the bathroom. I go and grab it and sit facing Rose at the edge of my bed. She looks tired yet so utterly beautiful. The way she’s looking at me with puppy eyes; I would kill to make the hurt in them go away. I grit my teeth instead and focus on her shoulder.
She’s wearing a black sweater with a deep V-neck which I carefully push off her shoulder while trying not to stare down her cleavage. I wince at seeing the blue-black bruise that seems to be getting worse by the second.
“Don’t move too much,” I instruct her and roll an elastic bandage over the wound for compression. Once it’s done, I pull her sleeve back up and retreat a little.
“Thanks,” she mouths in a whisper.
“I gave you the bruise,” I reply absent-mindedly, but Rose stops me in the middle of my thought before I can add anything further.
“Not for this,” she points at her shoulder. “For showing up when I needed you. You didn’t have—”
“I didn’t have to,” I finish the sentence for her. “You knew I would.” There is no hint of doubt in my words, there is no second-guessing. She knew I would come to her if she asked.
“I did,” she admits which seems to soothe some underlying unease in my body like a knot finally untying.
I observe her carefully; the crinkles on her face, the creasing and un-creasing of her forehead, her mouth flinching at the edges as she goes through several emotions in front of my eyes. It’s like experiencing all the seasons within a matter of minutes, I think to myself. At least, she’s here with me.
