Beating the System

by E V Darcy

  She cursed herself as the eyes she’d been trying to avoid, eyes as rich as the finest whisky aged to absolute perfection, stared at her across the disappearing coffin. Her breath hitched in her throat, a tiny involuntary gasp as she met the unwavering stare of Roman.

  This was the reason Jensen had never been able to fool her into believing he was his brother; Jensen could never look at her the way Roman did. No matter how hard Jensen tried, he couldn’t replicate the way Roman’s eyes bore into her soul and stripped her bare. Roman analysed her very being, yet never revealed his conclusion.

  Roman’s eyes didn’t waiver as gorgeous, stick thin Fiona whispered something into his ear, but the action threw Hattie a lifeline, breaking her gaze with the man.

  Her body took a deep, ragged breath that she didn’t realise she needed—had she held her breath the entire time?—and focused on beautiful, icy Fiona, instead of the heaven made devil at the other woman’s side.

  Fiona glanced Hattie’s way before she brushed her white-blonde hair behind her ear with her gloveless left hand, letting the light catch the large, glittering diamond she wore with pride, as she slipped her other hand into Roman’s in what to everyone who didn’t know them to be an act of comfort. To Hattie, she might as well scream at the top of her lungs he’s mine!

  Hattie raised her chin and squared her shoulders as she narrowed her eyes at the woman across from her. She set her jaw as she watched Fiona’s attention turn back to the grave and the coffin that had reached its final destination with a small smile on her thin lips. Hattie wanted to march over there and slap the damn thing from her face. How dare she smirk at such an event; make today about anything other than Jensen. But then why should she expect anything less from Fiona? Fiona who got everything she wanted and more.

  As the bishop began speaking again, droning on about something Hattie had no desire to hear, Fiona lifted her ice-blue eyes to Hattie’s. She raised a perfectly shaped brow in question before she once more lifted her free hand, this time running it down the neckline of her dress, the diamond glittering in the sun.

  Hattie got the point; stare all you want, but he’s mine.

  Why, after all this time, did Fiona feel the need to reiterate that particular point? She’d made it very clear all those years ago that she was the one he’d chosen. As had Roman.

  She can’t let anything go, Jensen’s voice sneered in Hattie’s ear. She still sees you as a threat; this is her basically peeing around him to mark her territory. Quite sad really.

  The bishop was still droning on, but Fiona leaned towards Roman again, whispering once more in his ear, and Hattie’s scowl deepened at the lack of respect the woman was showing for her almost-brother-in-law. She balled her fingers into the palms of her hand, for once grateful at the pain from her still healing skin. It stopped her from marching over there and reminding the ice queen of where she was, who she was there to say goodbye to, and for the love of God to show some damn respect!

  Do it! Jensen whispered in her ear. Tell her I said she’s still a cow. No, no! Just start mooing at her. Go on, I dare you.

  The bigger question was, why was Roman letting her act this way?

  A quick glance to Julia on the other side of Heidi and Constance revealed Hattie wasn’t the only one watching the leech on Roman’s arm, if the look of outrage on her friend’s face was anything to go by.

  Hattie swore under her breath. This was supposed to be about Jensen, not Roman, not her, and definitely not Fiona!

  She turned her angry gaze back to Roman, whose eyes still watched her, challenging him to do something about the woman hanging all over him. Roman’s frown deepened as she setting her jaw and narrowed her eyes, moving her gaze from him to his fiancée and back again. Finally, he seemed to get the message and pulled his head away from Fiona’s still moving lips, his hand subtly dropped his fiancée’s long, elegant fingers; however, his eyes didn’t leave Hattie’s, nor did they offer any apologies. Not that she was expecting any; Roman Tyrrell never apologised.

  Don’t be too hard on him, Jensen’s ghostly voice whispered. He’s trying his best to be everything that everyone wants him to be. You saw him for ten minutes in the hospital, Hattie, that was the first time in years you’d spoken to him; you don’t know him anymore…

  Hattie’s right eye fluttered again, biting her tongue as she continued to stare back at the man who’d never intended to steal her heart, had never wanted it to begin with, but had never returned it once he had it.

  The ghost was right, she had no clue who the man on the other side of Jensen’s grave was and she no longer had any inclination to find out. She was taking her heart back, and she was finally going to find someone worthy of it.

  I’m sorry it wasn’t me.

  Me too, she told her ghostly friend. Me too.

  Roman needed a few minutes, just five would do. He had to pull himself together before going back out there and facing the vultures that kept circling him, trying to find a tasty morsel of useful information they could take back to whoever they worked for about what his brother’s death meant to the stability of Seymour Medical.

  He felt like standing on the first-floor balcony and announcing to the lot of them that it meant nothing, that it was always going to fall on his shoulders. He wanted to tell them while his brother lay in the ground and his mother played the gracious hostess, his father was tucked up in his office calling their investors to let them know his youngest son had been of no consequence to the firm; past, present, or future. His death would have no impact on the company.

  Roman tugged at his black tie, loosening it and popping the top button of his starched, white shirt. Finally free of the choking feeling, he sucked in a deep breath as he strode along the corridor to the suite of rooms he and Jensen had shared growing up. Hidden away up here, in the maze of corridors that the old country estate offered, meant he’d have at least thirty minutes to himself before anyone came looking for him and another ten before they found him.

  He just hoped it wasn’t Fiona who’d come looking for him. He could do with a few weeks away from his fiancée, never mind forty minutes. Although, with the way she’d been clinging to him today, he’d be lucky if she didn’t come knocking on the door in forty seconds.

  Roman leaned against the door as it closed behind him, sighing with relief at the barrier between him and the rest of the world. He rested his head back on the solid oak door, his eyes closed as he revelled in the quiet their former sanctuary brought.

  When the moment passed, he reached behind him and turned the key that always sat in the lock—it might give him another few minutes—before he opened his eyes again and took in the private playroom he and Jensen had shared when they were younger.

  It hadn’t changed since their teenage years. The once modern décor was now dated, posters were yellowed, and the computers that had once been top of the line were now so old he could call them vintage with their large CRT monitors.

  Each half’s layout was perfectly symmetrical to the other, yet their personal touches made them a stark contrast. Roman’s was immaculate; stationery perfectly arranged on the desk, papers and magazines stacked neat and tidy, notebooks standing on the shelf above the desk ordered in size from smallest to biggest. His bookcase was sorted based on topical categories and then alphabetically by author, and the walls had very few adornments, but those that did were of an academic nature: posters of the solar system, country populations, and so on.

  The order of his space had brought great comfort to him as a confused teen when he’d come back during the Christmas and summer holiday periods. Staring at and reciting from memory the periodic table over and over had stopped the whirl of thoughts he brought with him each time. Thoughts he didn’t understand and didn’t welcome; dangerous thoughts, his father had told him after he’d come home that first Christmas break and he’d spilt his wonderful and confusing feelings about the beautiful Henrietta.

  Stay away from that girl, Dad had growled any time he
’d mentioned Hattie.

  Stop inviting her over and stay the hell away from her! Dad reiterated after each of her few summer visits. The very next day, Fiona magically appeared for a visit, his dad pushing the two of them to go off and spend some time together. Alone.

  You’ll end up in the Broken Hill if you—

  Roman quickly shut down that line of thought. That memory still held the title of his biggest regret; the pivotal moment in his life where he had made the wrong decision.

  He removed the key from the door’s lock and slipped it into his trouser pocket as he made his way across the room, running his fingers along the smooth wood of his desk, the familiar cool feel of it comforting. But it was Jensen’s chaotic side, that drew him.

  He shook his head as he stood in front of it, taking in the pile of work from their days on the Gifted Programme that still sat in a messy heap at the back of the desk where his brother had always thrown it. The old giant headphones, that had gone full circle and become fashionable again, lay next to the mouse and a stack of CD-ROM computer games that he hadn’t put back on the shelf above the desk.

  If Jensen had had his way, posters of half-naked women would have covered the walls on his side of the room from floor to ceiling, but his mother had forbidden such depraved things, so instead he’d thrown up whatever film posters he could get away with.

  Roman stopped in front of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a leather jacket, sat on a motorbike and holding a gun. He didn’t get it. Why was the guy wearing sunglasses at night? Surely, he couldn’t fire a gun while riding a motorbike, right?

  He moved on. Russell Crowe was dressed as a gladiator, Nicolas Cage said he could be gone in sixty seconds, and for some unknown reason Sylvester Stallone wanted to get someone called Carter. Roman admitted, he’d never watched any of the films his brother had enjoyed, had never understood them. When he did have time to watch a film—which was very rare—he preferred it to have a deeper meaning, something to strive to understand, a message to those who watched it.

  He reached out to run his hand down one of the posters, but his fingers froze as his eyes caught the door to his brother’s bedroom slightly ajar.

  Roman frowned, knowing the staff always ensured that all doors were closed behind them, and besides the maids, he knew he was the only person to ever set foot in this suite. That meant someone was in his brother’s room.

  He peered through the gap in the door and silently cursed as he caught sight of the one person he didn’t want to see.

  Henrietta.

  He ground his teeth; how dare she intrude into his brother’s personal space! He made to march through the door ready to give her a piece of his mind and demand she leave not only his brother’s suite, but the house too, and to take the rest of their childhood group with her! They acted like they still knew him, trying to rally around him as if they’d all kept in touch over the years since they’d graduated. No, they’d all picked their sides the day he’d sided with Fiona over Hattie… Had all made it perfectly clear what they’d thought of him.

  His ire towards the group and the woman invading his brothers space rose with the thought of those few days in this young life when every hope and dream he’d had for himself had crashed down around him. He geared himself up to march inside the bedroom and drag the interloper out, but the moment he heard her sniffles, the tiny hiccupping sound she made as she tried to stifle her tears, even when she thought she was alone, the fight left him. His fury ebbing away into another familiar feeling…

  He swallowed, recalling how often he’d stood within a door frame and watched her cry. How he always warred with himself; turn away, his mind would demand. Just walk the other way and ignore it, don’t get drawn in, don’t be distracted…

  But every damn time, something else, something his young self couldn’t—and then didn’t want to—put his finger on, made him push the door open and step inside. To pull her into his arms and let her cry against him. To bury her head in the crook of his neck, or against his chest, and just allow her pain to flow from her and into him.

  He closed his eyes, trying to listen to the voice in his mind now, to at least walk away from her if he couldn’t demand for her to leave—

  He nudged the door open slightly and let out an oh as he stepped inside the bedroom. He paused in his step as if he hadn’t expected her to be there, but while she jumped, she didn’t turn. Instead, she hurriedly tried to wipe away the evidence of her tears.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said through a sniffle. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be—’

  Her words halted as she glanced over her shoulder and came face-to-face with him.

  Like a deer caught in headlights, his mind taunted, but he wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or himself.

  He should have berated her. Should have chided her for daring to come into the family quarters, for stepping foot in his late brother’s room. Demanded to know what right she felt she had to be there, trespassing on their grief in such an intimate manner. But when her brown eyes met his whisky gaze he was thrown back in time, to a similar night when it all went wrong.

  She’d been crying then, too. Great big racking sobs that made her face red and her nose runny. Her eyelashes had clumped together, framing her big, watery eyes as she startled at his intrusion and demanded he leave her alone if he’d come to taunt her as the others had. She’d never been a pretty crier.

  He’d shook his head back then, never being one for words of emotion, and simply sat next to her on her bed, slipping his arm around her and pulling her against his side.

  Roman resisted the urge to close his eyes, to relive the memory that still danced through his dreams and made him awaken unsatisfied and angry.

  He wondered if she’d allow him to offer her comfort now; to fall against him and bury her face in his shoulder once more? Would she spill her heart to him if he offered to listen? Would her kisses still be as sweet? Her touch as electrifying?

  He curled his fingers into the palm of his hands, holding himself back from making the same mistakes he had so long ago.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said, dropping her gaze from his and breaking the spell. She stood, smoothing out invisible creases from her dress, before taking a breath and walking around the bed.

  He didn’t know why he did it, he hadn’t planned on it, but he reached out, and grabbed hold of her arm. She immediately stopped, her breath hitching and eyes widening as she stared up at him.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked, his voice low.

  ‘I—’ His eyes dropped to her lips, her full, red lips, as her tongue sneaked out to wet them. They glistened in the dim light, tempting and teasing him into supping at them once more, and he felt their pull like a drowning man felt the current tearing him away from the shore.

  She slept with Jensen, his mind reminded him, and he felt his stomach churn again at the thought. But it wasn’t enough for him to remember she’d had his brother; the temptation was still there. He still wanted her the way he’d never wanted anyone else.

  ‘Answer me,’ he growled as he squeezed her upper arm tighter, shaking her slightly, hoping he could shake off the temptation. Shake her out of every inch of his being she’d overtaken from the moment they’d met.

  ‘I was saying goodbye,’ she squeaked. His eyes lifted to hers at the fear in her voice. ‘Please, let go. You’re hurting me,’ she whispered, staring down at his fingers that held her arm tight enough to bruise.

  He felt the coarse line of bandages still underneath her sleeve and Roman cursed as he quickly released her, allowing her to flee. He closed his eyes, pushing away the ball of guilt and self-loathing at himself as he listened to her feet scurrying away.

  Even after all these years, after denying himself everything he’d ever wanted, he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t able to be near her without wanting to own her, to take everything she had to offer, and leave her wholly dependent upon him.

  God, he was a selfish bastard.

  He took a seat on the bed, h
olding his head in his hands as he tried to gather himself together again, tried to find the box in his mind in which to shove his emotions back into. He had no idea how she did it, how she opened up the part of himself he tried to bury so deeply.

  He lifted his head and glanced towards where she’d been, the comforter slightly ruffled from her presence.

  Saying goodbye. He snorted at the thought as his hand trailed over the still warm patch on the duvet. How the hell was he supposed to say goodbye when he’d barely said hello to his brother in a decade?

  His eyes fell on the silver photo frame that still stood on the bedside table. Roman frowned and moved closer to see who his brother had felt warranted pride of place in a room that held no other photographs.

  He froze momentarily as he processed what he saw, before he reached out and picked up the frame to examine it more closely.

  It was them. All of the Guildford Geniuses as the older students had dubbed them, dressed in their graduation gowns as they finally escaped the clutches of the University. The best and worst four years of his life.

  He ran his fingers over the image, noticing how he and Jensen took up either end of the group, as far apart from one another as they could be. Naturally, Fiona stood at his side; her bright white hair and fair skin a stark contrast to his dark locks and olive tones. But it was the other end that had his attention, where Hattie and Jensen stood.

  Hattie was beaming at the camera, her eyes bright with happiness, her body language open and welcoming with one arm around Julia and the other wrapped around his brother’s waist. She was the embodiment of their joy and relief at being released from the confines of their internment.

  Each of them smiled at the camera, even he bore a small grin, knowing he never had to return to where he’d ruined everything. All of them that was, save Jensen. His brother wasn’t looking at the camera, instead his focus was on the small woman stuck to his side, his eyes filled with something he’d never seen in his brother, yet something he recognised so well in himself.