by Nia Arthurs
I step into the room and notice that Ariya’s the only one sleeping on the bed. She’s sprawled out, somehow managing to take up the entire mattress despite being only five feet tall.
A smirk climbs my lips, but it fades when my gaze collides with Mom.
Her eyes are still bright, but I now know it’s not from the peace of making a difference in the world.
It’s from the peace of accepting she won’t be in it much longer.
“You’re here early,” she says, her voice soft.
I nod.
Move closer.
Her smile trembles. “Are you okay?”
I shrug. Would anyone be okay in my situation?
It’s a question with a clear answer.
We’re beyond the point of wasting time and breath.
Mom’s gaze slips away from me and snags on Ariya. Pale fingers rub the surface of her pearl necklace. “I’m worried about her the most.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s so tough.” Mom sighs. “I’m afraid she won’t break down. She won’t allow herself the space to mourn and cry. To be a child who lost her mother.”
I stare thoughtfully at Ariya’s slack mouth, drool pooling at the corners. Here, in sleep, she’s just a kid.
But Mom’s right.
My sister won’t allow herself to crack.
“She’s always felt the need to prove herself,” I muse. Shuffle my feet. Think back to the nights Ariya spent studying hard and excelling in her after-school programs to the applause of two, Dad always conveniently busy.
“I guess I should be grateful my daughter’s so strong.”
“Stronger than I am.”
Mom speaks to me without looking my way. “You broke down?”
“Yes.” Yesterday, in the car. On the drive to Kayla’s.
I bawled my eyes out.
Like a little kid.
Like a baby.
It was a fleeting moment that I bundled up and stowed away with all the finesse of a used napkin.
But I’m sure there’ll be an encore in the future.
“I don’t know what to say. My mind is so cluttered and fuzzy…” She rubs her forehead and then drops her hands to her lap.
“Because of all the meds?”
“Because I’m sorry.” Her voice catches, as if she’s on the brink of tears, but her eyes are dry. “I feel like I’m trapped in a body that’s rejecting me. First my mind. And then my heart. My body let me down, but the fact that I’m letting you down…”
“It’s not your fault.”
She stares at the floor. “Even if you’re right, it’s not something I can accept.”
“Then you should have told me sooner.”
“I know.”
“If you had…”
“Nothing would have changed. Except your world would have shrunk to the size of this hospital. I wanted more for you.” She tosses her head, sending her short hair swishing back over her shoulder only to settle right against her cheek again. “And I liked pretending that I was flying all over the world digging wells and changing lives. For a few brief moments talking to you and Ariya, I didn’t feel like a prisoner.”
Her words are hard to swallow, so in their stead, I wrap my arms around her bony shoulders and hug her tight.
She feels small and fragile.
Now more than ever before.
Helplessness crawls over my skin.
My whole life I was taught that money could solve everything.
But look at us.
We’ve thrown so much cash at death and it’s still there, claws sharp and fiery breath looming over someone precious.
Mom pushes me away with a sniff. “Before I die, I’d like to see you in a steady relationship.”
“Ma…” I back away.
“Don’t whine at me.” She wiggles a finger. “Most of my friends have grandchildren by now. Why are you dragging your feet? The last thing I want is to fall six feet under without knowing you’ve found your other half.”
I shake my head. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Fine.” She pushes out her bottom lip. “Just know you’re breaking my heart. Which is losing strength already…”
“This is emotional blackmail.”
“I learned from the best.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Your father.”
My fingers clip the bridge of my nose. I huff out a breath.
Mom stares expectantly at me.
I give in. “There… is someone.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kayla.”
“Kayla.” Mom nods. “I like it. What does she do?”
“She—uh… works as a matchmaker.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “A matchmaker?”
“That’s right.”
“And you like her?”
“I do.”
“Have you slept with her?”
“Mom!”
“I’m just wondering if the grandbabies will come soon. A pregnancy announcement before I go would be nice.”
“Stop talking like that.”
Her smile dims. “I’ve spent so many years hiding from the truth. Brushing it under the rug. Hiding in a corner and hoping that when I open my eyes, things will be normal. Now that I’m at the end, there’s nothing I can do but embrace the truth.” She squeezes my hand. “Bring her.”
“Who?”
“Kayla.”
“What?”
Mom sighs deeply. “Are you hard of hearing, Brendon? I don’t remember having to talk this much before.”
“But—”
“Bring your girlfriend,” she says in that I’m about to take away your Corvette and gold card for a week tone I remember from my childhood. And then she blinks. And it’s gone. Melting under a syrupy sweet smile. “Now, shall we have breakfast?”
Twenty-Three
Kayla
There’s a knock on my door. A brown paper bag with Brew Drop’s logo on the center hovers in my line of sight. Someone’s dark hand grips the bag. White-painted fingernails crumple the top.
“I brought a peace offering,” Venus says, all but her arm still hidden from sight.
“Breakfast?” I scoot out of my chair and strut around my desk.
She pokes her head through the doorway, her curls hitting her shoulder. “Access granted?”
“It was never denied.”
“Really?” Venus steps fully into my office, showing off her chic outfit of powder pink jacket and red tweed mini-skirt—two colors that shouldn’t work but do. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me for the past couple of days.”
My eyes skitter to the floor. “I’ve been busy.”
“Liar.” Venus falls into one of my wingback chairs and crosses her ankles over the stuffed handle. The sun hits her cream heels perfectly.
“You know how crazy it’s been. Our workload doubled since last week.” I sigh. “I can’t wait until HQ sends someone over to replace Hilary because I can barely keep up.”
“Hilary. The backstabber.” Venus glares darkly at the wall as if her gaze alone can impale our ex-coworker. “How dare she up and get married like that?”
I laugh.
“But,” Venus brings sharp brown eyes back to me, “extra work is no excuse.”
I take the chair across from her and ignore the obvious probe. “What did you bring me?”
“A croissant.”
“Ooh.” I reach for the bag.
Venus snaps it back before I can touch it. “Why didn’t you tell me the guy you’re hooking up with was Brendon Humes?”
My jaw drops. “How did you…?”
“Chandra.”
“Of course.” I scowl. Chandra’s the owner of Brew Drop, the bakery where Zania worked before she took off on her honeymoon. “And we’re not hooking up.”
“You prefer another term?” She gestures mildly. “Dirty tryst, perhaps? The horizontal tango
on repeat. Making the beast with two backs?”
“That last one was Shakespeare, right?”
“Othello.”
“Nice.” I smirk.
“I’m impressed you got that reference. Did you read the book?”
“Watched the movie.”
Venus scoffs and slants me a you’ve got to be kidding look. Pink lips tighten as if she’s preparing to lecture me on the pitfalls of watching movies over reading the original content.
Yeah, yeah. The books are always better.
I know.
“Your questionable literature choices aside, why did I have to find out you were banging a billionaire from the woman selling me my croissant of all things? Do you know how embarrassing that is as your best friend?”
“Um…”
“Worse, you’re avoiding me and I know it’s because I can smell the love hormones all over you.”
“You can smell it?” I snort.
She nods, completely serious. “There’s a certain scent to a woman after she’s been rubbed down by good—”
I snatch the paper bag while she’s talking. “If you know why I’ve been scarce lately, then why are we having this conversation, hm?” I arch an eyebrow and take a bite of the flaky pastry.
Mm.
So good.
Venus narrows her eyes to slits. With that expression, she looks even more dark and exotic. “I swear, Kayla, if you up and get married on me too, I’m gonna scream.”
“Is that what you’re upset about?” I laugh.
“No, I’m happy for you. I am. I just…” She scoots to the edge of her chair. “I wish you would have felt comfortable enough to talk to me about it. I mean, how long have we known each other? Geez?”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it didn’t feel like that big a deal. I’m not exactly sure what Brendon and I are.”
“You’re dating.” Venus takes the bag and fishes inside for her own pastry.
“Not exactly.”
An eyebrow arches.
“We’re not.”
“Is he looking for a friends with benefits type relationship?”
“I don’t think so,” I shake my head.
Bite on my lower lip.
Think about Brendon’s silver eyes.
The way he’d held me so tightly I couldn’t breathe or shift comfortably in the bed.
The way he’d buried his face in my neck, pulling me as close as humanly possible.
Like he wanted to absorb me into himself.
Like he wanted to bond us together.
Even though it was slightly suffocating, his arms had felt so warm and safe.
Different.
Good different.
But earlier...
Before we cuddled in bed…
Being with him that night was… whew.
He seemed to be working out his own frustration.
Roughly.
Angrily.
Relentlessly.
In the most deliciously punishing way.
But after…
After, he was so gentle.
There was the essence of something blossoming in every touch.
Every stroke.
Every groan.
Every kiss.
“I think he wants more.”
More.
The more I can’t give.
The more that I want to.
“That’s so freaking cool.”
“What?”
“That you’re dating—I mean screwing a billionaire.” She makes a face yet still manages to look pretty. “But what about his dad? I heard he’s super creepy.”
“I haven’t met him yet.”
“Be careful. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I don’t get creepy vibes from Brendon.” I hold my croissant and stare into the distance.
“What vibes do you get then?”
“I don’t know. He’s just different.” I tilt my head. “He’s sweet, funny and charming. He loves his sister and mom to death. And there’s this really hot thing he does with his finger…”
“His finger?” Venus clamors to the edge of her seat.
“He pushes it up his nose and then gets this little surprised expression when he realizes he’s not wearing glasses.” I give her the side-eye. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Not that.” She winks.
“You’re nasty.”
“Why do all your insults sound like compliments to me?” She brushes her curls over her shoulder. “Have you talked to Mr. Humes lately?”
“Please don’t call him that.”
It sounds too distant.
Too far from the Brendon I’ve been getting to know.
Too much like the Humes Corp, billionaire version that I’m not familiar with.
“And yeah. We texted a couple days ago.”
“About?”
“Meeting up.”
“Oooh.” Venus gets a wicked gleam in her eye and wiggles her eyebrows. “Planning your next rendezvous?”
“Something like that.”
Actually, the opposite of that.
We’re going to Drew’s grave tomorrow.
It’s dark and dirty, but not the kind of dark and dirty that Venus’s one-track mind is thinking.
My phone buzzes. It’s the receptionist letting me know that my client is here.
Venus gets the gist of the conversation and sees herself out, stopping at the door to do a few hip thrusts and assure me that she’s got some kinky positions to suggest if I’m so inclined.
Honestly, that woman is insane.
I shake my head and brush off the crumbs the croissant left all over the sofa into my hand, preparing my office for Eva.
My client shows up a few minutes later, as quiet and shy as ever.
We discuss her latest milestone with Pete (a FaceTime date while watching a Marvel’s Avengers marathon). I suggest another face-to-face meeting with him, which she strongly rejects—as expected.
After another half-hour, I hug her shaking body to mine and see her to the door.
Returning to my chair, I sink into it and check my phone, lighting up when I see a message from Brendon.
I smile when I read it.
BRENDON: I’m bringing flowers tomorrow.
ME: To put on the grave?
I slide the phone on the desk and try to pretend that I’m working when I know full well that every nerve is strained toward my cell.
At last, it buzzes with a response.
BRENDON: Flowers are for you. I’ll bring for the dead guy. Depending on how I’m feeling.
I chuckle.
Then guilt flushes me.
I’m in debt to Drew.
There’s nothing funny about this.
Even so, my lip twitches when I type back a response.
ME: Don’t worry about the flowers.
ME: This isn’t a date.
BRENDON: Why not?
ME: You want it to be?
BRENDON: No.
I chew on my bottom lip.
Of course not.
We’re just…
What the heck are we?
My fingers curve into fists. My knuckles lie flat on the desk.
I got carried away again.
No matter how much I tell myself not to care, it doesn’t work. Brendon’s gotten under my skin and talking to him like this is just feeding the habit.
BRENDON: I don’t want our first date to be at a cemetery in front of your ex.
I stare at the words.
Try to puzzle through them.
Is he officially asking me out?
Or am I reading too much into this.
Why is everything so confusing?
After Drew, I promised myself I wouldn’t go down this road, yet here I am, skipping away. The fact that I don’t deserve a relationship is losing ground to the fact that I want one.
Because of Brendon.
With Brendon.
On
ly Brendon.
With a sigh, I set the phone down.
Pretty sure anything I say now won’t make sense anyway.
Twenty-Four
Brendon
After hours of driving quietly and not saying much, Kayla and I are here.
‘Here’ being the cemetery in Greyson’s Point—a small town a few miles over. It’s a pretty little place, although I haven’t been visiting cemeteries that often to go comparing them.
There’s a surprising amount of trees.
Everywhere.
Growing like ten foot weeds with big leafy branches.
Their blooms release a soft fragrance, trying and failing to cover the stench of untapped potential and lives lost too soon.
Kayla’s clutching a bouquet of white carnations in her hand.
Not mine.
I’d never give her something so somber. The bouquet of pink-pearl roses I got her are in the car. They were set tenderly in the backseat after Kayla cradled them for a solid minute with a strange look in her eyes.
She’d whispered a quiet thank you and then put them away as if the sight of the pink and red-tipped petals were too painful.
Her reaction was understandably subdued.
Can’t say I didn’t expect it.
This day isn’t about us, after all.
But I wanted her to know that I’m not going weak at the knees over whatever baggage this ex slapped onto her slim shoulders.
I’m here.
I got her roses.
I’m not pissing around anymore.
After this, I’m taking her.
Not just her body—although I’m down for that if she’s in the mood—but her heart too.
No questions asked.
Lots of tissues handy.
A table reserved at Antonini’s Restaurant.
I even made sure the roses have the thorns clipped off.
Each and every freaking one of them.
From now on, she’s gonna enjoy the rose—the petals, the open blooms and the soft invitation—without getting a single prick on those dainty, brown fingers.
My shoes crunch dewy grass. It’s a hot day, but the grass is surprisingly green. Blindingly so.
I keep my eyes on Kayla’s black dress. It’s soft and modest—stopping just above the knees, but on her body it’s as appealing as the maroon-colored temptation she wore to Teale’s wedding.
