Be My Always: A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 1)

by Nia Arthurs

  Weirdos, maybe.

  “Brendon,” I whisper, “put me down.”

  His grip tightens.

  His fingers dig into my thighs.

  Even if I offer him the world, he won’t let my feet touch the ground.

  We move toward one of the hallways that lead into another section of the hospital.

  The nurse who denied us entry gives us the eye, but she doesn’t say anything.

  I dip my head close to Brendon’s. “Where are we going?”

  “Upstairs.”

  It’s the only thing he says and I don’t ask more.

  Instead, I let my hands drape his neck and pretend I’m being carried on a cloud.

  Which is hard to do when most of Brendon is hard and un-cloud-like.

  We take an elevator to the tenth floor and move briskly down a hallway into a large private room.

  It’s… enormous.

  Big windows. Even bigger TV. Paintings framed on the wall.

  Do hospital rooms have paintings now?

  “Why are we here?” I whisper a second before Brendon gently slides me into the king size bed.

  I glance around, my eyes wide.

  I don’t get sick often so I don’t spend a lot of time in hospitals, but even if I did, I know for a fact that I would never be able to afford a suite like this.

  “Brendon…”

  Before I can ask another question along the lines of ‘how much is this going to cost?’, the door opens and a doctor strides in. He’s brusque and cold, but his touch is warm and his mannerisms efficient.

  He asks me questions about my diet, takes my pressure and dabs information down on a note-card. It takes less than fifteen minutes, but in that time, I get the distinct impression that he’s way over-qualified to deal with a patient who passed out for a couple minutes and is generally healthy as a horse.

  An IV drip is attached to my hand by a nurse who’s more cheerful than the one downstairs.

  A pair of fuzzy slippers are placed at the foot of my bed.

  I’m asked if I need anything, if I’m comfortable…

  Is this a hospital or a hotel?

  “Is she okay, Doc?” Brendon asks when the nurse is finished, his eyes wide with worry.

  Definitely a hospital.

  But you understand why I got confused.

  “She’s dehydrated and stressed, but there’s nothing to be concerned about.” He turns to me. “Rest here for a few hours and then go home. Don’t skip any meals and try to stay away from anything stressful.”

  It’s not like I went looking for stress in the first place.

  But I nod anyway. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Thanks.” Brendon sees the doctor to the door and then returns to me. He pulls up a chair and takes my hand. “You shaved ten years off my life, princess.”

  I ignore the pet name because there are bigger things to talk about. Like this room and how much it’s gonna cost me. “Why didn’t you just take me home?” I scold in a low voice. “You’re making a big deal about nothing.”

  “Nothing?” An eyebrow arches. “You try keeping it together when someone’s eyes roll back and they go limp in your arms.”

  I sigh. “Still…”

  “Don’t think about anything else.” He presses his big hand to my forehead. “Are you okay? They’ll bring food up soon. I asked for the good stuff.”

  I glance around the opulent room. “I can see that.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug.

  “It’s something.”

  “Just... the gold spoon at work, huh?”

  He leans back with an easy grin. “Is that a complaint?”

  “An observation.”

  “The regular way wasn’t getting results.”

  “The regular way is good for building character.”

  “Are you saying I have a bad character?”

  “If the shoe fits...”

  “I liked you better when you were passed out with your tongue sticking out of your mouth.”

  I gasp. “Rude.”

  He chuckles. “I hate waiting in line. We had a problem. I solved it.”

  “By throwing money at it?”

  “Morally sketchy but effective.”

  “Capitalism’s slogan.”

  “Says the woman with the drip IV.”

  “I can take it out.” I go for the tube.

  He stops me. “I was just kidding.”

  “I’m glad you think this is funny.” I lean back into the pillows.

  A pleased sigh floats past my lips.

  Could I possibly stuff one of these pillows into my purse? They’re divine. Not too soft, not too plump.

  Perfect.

  “None of this is amusing to me.” He scoots to the edge of his chair. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “With what?”

  He tilts his head. All of it.

  I blow out a breath, oddly shy and vulnerable.

  As vulnerable as I feel when he has me undressed and under him.

  In fact, I’d prefer that much more than sharing this painful part of my life.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  He smiles gently. “How about the beginning?”

  I start in a slow, hesitant voice.

  I tell him about meeting Drew at one of my Dad’s company events. How we hit it off and started dating. How Drew got very serious, very fast and followed me out here when I got the job at Make It Marriage.

  Then I tell him about why we broke up. I needed space.

  How Drew absolutely broke down and begged me to take him back. He suffered from PTSD and depression.

  I offered to be friends. I knew how loneliness could affect him.

  He didn’t understand my boundaries and kept crossing them. I got angry and annoyed, but I didn’t know how to wean him off.

  Then I tell Brendon about that night.

  It’s like pulling teeth.

  No one knows.

  My part in Drew’s death has been my own dirty secret for so long.

  The text I ignored.

  The long tail of guilt that’s followed from that.

  “Did you read it?” Brendon asks gently. “Did you read the text before…?”

  I bet I’d see understanding in his eyes if I had the balls to look at him. “No, I didn’t read the message. It came in. I saw his name on the screen and I put the phone back in my pocket until I had a spare moment.”

  “When did you realize?”

  “When it was too late.” I swallow. “I rushed to Drew’s apartment, but he was already… gone.”

  “So you blamed yourself.”

  “If I’d been less selfish—”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “He needed my help.”

  “He needed therapy. What he did to you was emotional manipulation.” There’s a tick in Brendon’s jaw. “People like that are toxic.”

  “He was broken.”

  “We all have crap to deal with. It’s not like you told him to kill himself.”

  “I didn’t answer when he threatened to do it. It’s the same thing.”

  He grunts low in his throat.

  Clearly, he doesn’t get it.

  “You’re being insensitive.”

  “And you’re being emotional about this because you’re close to it.” He dips his chin. “If you could look at it objectively, step out of your own skin and really think about it, you know that beating yourself up for someone else’s actions is a waste of time and energy.”

  “I—”

  His eyes narrow. “If you’d been responsible for his death, you would have been charged. His mother would have seen to that.”

  Despite the somber mood, a smile flits to my lips.

  Brendon grunts. “I can’t believe she slapped you.”

  “Looked like you wanted to slap her back.”

  “Took lots of restraint not to. I hate that she hurt you.” He stares into my eyes. “I h
ate that you’ve been through so much pain.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why does it matter if I’m hurt or in pain?”

  He smirks. “Really?”

  I shrug. Lay my hand over the smooth comforter.

  The sun glints over my fingers.

  Turns the skin to a tan brown.

  “Yes, really.”

  Even if I have a suspicion, I want to hear him say it.

  “Why does it matter if I get slapped or if I pass out or if I have emotional baggage from an ex? Why does it matter?”

  “It matters,” he takes my hand and squeezes, “because you matter to me.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Brendon

  Mom’s bugging me about Kayla. Dropping hints about grandbabies. Moaning complaints about the fact that she hasn’t seen my girl yet.

  Putting her off won’t work for long, but I’m trying my hardest.

  She’s so damn persistent.

  I know it won’t drop.

  If Mom asked me for anything—the moon, the stars—I’d find a way to lasso them down to earth and present them with a smile.

  But Kayla?

  Damn. I don’t want to drag her into this world yet.

  Finding out about her ex-boyfriend finally explained a few things. Why she’s so guarded. Why she’s so afraid of relationships. Why she was hell bent on not letting someone in.

  Until I bashed my way through with a promise of a one-night stand turned more.

  She calls me sneaky. Says I intended to trap her this entire time.

  I call it good strategy.

  She calls me a jerk.

  It’s an argument that usually ends with her quickening breath as I hike her skirt up to her thighs.

  That’s how I win fights.

  And I think she’s starting to get the hang of that.

  She damn well enjoys it.

  We’re building something solid.

  I don’t want things to get complicated by presenting her to Mom for inspection. Mom’s good at putting people on the spot. A bunch of not-so-subtle nudge-nudge, wink-wink, ‘bearing the next of the Humes bloodline’ conversations and Kayla might run right outta here.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against the thought of pumping Kayla full of my seed and fathering a baseball team of caramel colored babies with my eyes and her smile.

  Damn, that sounds good.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  We’re just starting out.

  She’s barely begun to let me in all the way.

  It’s hard work taking down those walls.

  That’s not a complaint.

  I don’t care how guarded she can be, I’m not letting Kayla go.

  I’m her first one-night stand.

  And I’m her damn last.

  But that doesn’t mean I want to throw her off the deep-end into the land of the Humes wolves. Mom has good intentions, but embracing her death has made her bold.

  And pushy.

  She’s more like dad than she’ll ever admit.

  And she definitely won’t see that as a compliment.

  “Why don’t you just bring her?” Ariya demands when I pick her up from school a few days later. She’s wearing the academy’s white button-down blouse with the tie and a preppy skirt that’s looking a little too short.

  Damn.

  I’m going to have to crack the skulls of a bunch of horny teenaged boys soon, won’t I?

  Is there any way to keep Ariya a kid forever?

  “Brendon?”

  “Hm? What?” I start the car and force my thoughts away from the merits of the machine gun versus the machete when it comes to threatening underage males.

  “Kayla. Mom wants to see her.”

  “Yeah. I know. She made that pretty clear.”

  “It’s been a week. What are you holding out for?”

  “Kayla doesn’t—”

  “You haven’t even asked her yet, have you?” She tilts her head, her expression reeking of smug.

  “No.”

  “You scared?”

  I scoff. Flick the indicator. Merge into the freeway. “I’m waiting for the right time.”

  “Well that’s stupid.”

  “I don’t rush.”

  “Maybe you should. We don’t know how long Mom has…” Ariya bites down on her bottom lip. This is hard for her. Hard for all of us. But especially her. “Why won’t you just give her what she wants? Kayla would understand.”

  “I told you—”

  “Whatever you’re going to say is bull.”

  I scrunch my nose. “Who taught you to say that?”

  She folds her arms over her chest. Her voice is even. “Admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “This has nothing to do with Kayla. This is about you.”

  There’s a red car edging up beside me. Trying to cut into the line. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I hate the thought of my baby getting scraped because of some idiot.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I flunked my algebra test.”

  The car keeps brushing up against me. There’s a man in the front seat. He’s giving me the finger. Flicking his indicator light like he’s a firefly signaling its mate.

  “It’s fine. Just do better next time.”

  Not exactly the world’s best speech, but Ariya is crazy smart and the guy in the red car is obviously not.

  I ease on the brakes and give him leeway before he does something stupid and we’re stuck in a police station filing insurance claims all evening.

  “Brendon, I flunked my algebra test.”

  “Yeah I heard you.” I glare at the car in front of me. Freaking bastard.

  “Yesterday, Mom told me she could leave because I’m doing well in school.”

  Something invisible hits my chest.

  My eyes dart up, away from traffic. To my little sister, looking small and lost in the passenger seat.

  “She knows…” Ariya’s voice chokes, “she knows I’ll keep acing my classes and making her proud. She says I don’t need her there to do that. That I’ll be valedictorian even when she’s gone.”

  My heart thuds.

  Those little tears are rolling down her cheeks.

  Tearing up my chest.

  “I failed because I want her to stay. I thought… maybe if I start doing badly, she’ll keep fighting for a while longer.” Glassy brown eyes meet mine. “Mrs. Hasher called me to her office. She said I can do better. I have to re-do the test.”

  I can’t swallow.

  It hurts too freaking much.

  “I went to the bathroom and I cried because… I can’t do anything to stop Mom from leaving.” She sobs and it breaks my heart into tiny little pieces. “I can’t stop it so I’m gonna ace the test. I don’t want to disappoint her before… I want her happy.”

  The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. “That’s not what I’m doing with Kayla.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I was sure before but…

  Not anymore.

  I take Ariya to the hospital and hold her hand all the way up to Mom’s floor, but I don’t go in.

  She turns, her black sneakers gliding against the tile. “Aren’t you going to see Mom?”

  “Not right now.” I shake my head.

  She looks at me. Realizes something. Then nods. “I’ll see you and Kay when you get back.”

  That little girl is way too freaking wise for her age.

  “You call her Kay now?”

  “She’s gonna give me cute little baby nieces.”

  There’s chaos in my head, in my chest, but that makes me smile.

  I’m still smiling on my way to Make It Marriage Agency, even if it’s tinged with pain.

  My thoughts are split between figuring out what I’m going to say to Kayla and Ariya’s accusation that I’m stupidly trying to postpone Mom’s death.

  I consider her point, but I have solid reaso
ns for keeping Kayla away.

  I do.

  But Mom…

  It’s what she wants.

  And I want her happy too.

  Damn.

  Emotions pull at my chest. I don’t want to be this wrecked when I talk to Kayla.

  She’s going to freaking see.

  She’s getting good at that. Reading me.

  I don’t know if it’s her or if I’m that damn transparent. I need to act tough. I’ve been pulling that off well so far.

  Or so I hope.

  Make It Marriage is pulling off the ‘welcome to your future’ thing with class. Lots of overstuffed furniture in happy colors—pink, red, yellow, blue. No pastels. Lots of picture frames on the walls, happy couples they’ve matched up.

  It’s the adult version of Disney Land. I’ll make all your dreams come true if you just walk through these doors.

  The receptionist doesn’t look pleased when I tell her I don’t have an appointment.

  I’m scratching my head, wondering how I’ll explain this one without starting a gossip spree when a voice chimes behind me. “Brendon freaking Humes. Is that you?”

  Well, so much for secrecy.

  I whirl around and find a slender woman with brown skin and reddish-brown hair staring at me. Long curls dangle over her ruffle-clad shoulders. Tall heels click against the tiles. Dark eyes sparkle.

  “It is you? You’re here for Kayla?”

  “Uh…”

  A look of mischief flashes in her eyes. Then she whips her head to the left. Gestures to the receptionist. “I’ll take it from here.” Her hands flutter toward a set of stairs. “This way, Mr. Humes.”

  “Thanks.” I trot behind her.

  “I’m Venus, by the way.” She calls over her shoulder.

  The name rings a bell. “Ah, the best friend.”

  “Kayla’s mentioned me?” She blinks thick eyelashes and presses her palms beneath her chin. “All good things?”

  “For the most part.”

  Venus laughs. “Sounds like her. I’m like the annoying little sister she never wanted. But what can I say?” She shrugs. “I make life more interesting.” She stops at the landing and gives me a once-over. “A favor for a favor?”

  I nod, a little amused. She’s definitely got the Energizer Bunny thing going.

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Something big, but I’m not sure you can handle it.”

  I gesture with my finger. Get on with it.

  “Keep doing that.”