“Come on, Wise. Cheer up. You’re looking at me like you bashed my face in—it was only a little love tap.”
“You must bruise pretty easy, then, because it looks ugly as hell.”
“That’s my face you’re talking about.”
Max laughs, and the sadness in his face disappears. Willow was right—everything between her brother and me is fine. He apologized for hitting me and hasn’t said a word about his sister.
When I walk back to the guest bedroom where I’m staying, I let out a sigh. Max is just another reminder of why I need to stay away from Willow. He’s the only person who has stuck by my side since I was a kid. He’s the only person from Woodvale who has bothered to keep in touch with me, and I know I wouldn’t have survived the hell of my childhood without him.
No matter what I feel for Willow, and how much she says she feels it too, I can’t be with her. I need to focus on what’s important—protecting my friendship with Max, and protecting Willow from the things she doesn’t know.
If it means I have to suffer because of it, maybe that’s just what I deserve. I’ve always been the one to take hard knocks in this life. Why would that change now?
Max’s bachelor party is fun, for the most part. After our big night out on Friday, we all take it a bit easier on Saturday. It’s mostly me, Finn, and Max catching up on old times. We get a little rowdy, but by the end of the night, all I want to do is collapse into bed.
Sunday morning, I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon. I walk down the stairs to see Max hugging Isabelle from behind as they stand in front of the stove. My heart squeezes.
Last night, Finn was pushing to go to a strip club. Max wasn’t interested, and I know why. He loves Isabelle like only a Wise is able to love someone. With his whole heart, unconditionally, and without reservation.
It’s how his parents loved each other, and it’s how Willow thought she felt about me. Maybe she still thinks she feels that way.
But she doesn’t. She can’t.
The two of them turn toward me. Max looks a little rough from drinking last night, and he nods to the coffee machine.
“Brew?”
“Please,” I answer with a grunt. I sit on a bar stool at the kitchen island and watch the two of them work in the kitchen. They move like they’re completely at ease with each other. A hand on the hip when he walks by her, a squeeze of the arm when she needs a mug behind him. A smile, a kiss, a touch.
It’s easy between them. It’s something I’ve never had.
Max slides a steaming cup of coffee across the island toward me, which I accept with a grateful nod.
“I’m glad the two of you behaved last night and there weren’t any more punch-ups,” Isabelle says, glancing at Max with an arch in her eyebrow. “I was starting to think I didn’t know the man I’m going to marry.”
“I bring out the worst in him,” I answer, bringing the coffee to my lips. The hot, bitter liquid runs down my throat and gurgles in my stomach. I didn’t drink much last night, but I still feel like my head is full of cobwebs. Coffee helps.
“What’s the plan for today?” Isabelle asks, flipping the strips of bacon in the pan.
“Recover,” Max groans.
Before I can answer, Max’s phone starts ringing. He glances at it, frowning.
“It’s Willow.”
“What does she want so early?” Isabelle asks. “I hope everything’s okay.”
My heart thumps. I put my cup of coffee back down on the counter to hide the fact that my hand has started trembling. My eyes are glued to Max, who slides his finger across his cell phone’s screen.
“Hey, sis,” he says, glancing up at Isabelle as he shrugs. “Uh-huh. Fuck. No, really?”
His eyes flick to me, and my heart sinks.
Something’s wrong.
My easy, simple weekend back in Woodvale was never going to be easy or simple. Max’s face drops, and he worries his bottom lip between his fingers. He says a few more things to Willow, and then slowly hangs up the phone. Dragging his eyes back up to meet mine, my best friend sucks a breath in through his teeth.
“That was Willow,” he says, as if that explains anything.
“What’s going on?”
The bacon sizzles and pops on the pan. Isabelle ignores it, staring at Max. The air between us is tense, and the only sound is the hissing of the coffee machine and the sputtering of the bacon cooking on the stove.
“It’s your father,” Max answers quietly, forcing himself to look me in the eye. “He passed away this morning. Had a heart attack and died before the paramedics arrived.”
“Oh,” Isabelle sighs, taking a step toward me. “I’m so sorry.”
I glance from Isabelle to Max and back to Isabelle again, not sure what to say.
What can I say? How do I feel?
I’m not even sure.
The man who terrorized my childhood—who tortured me and my mother for years—is dead. I’m surprised he died of a heart attack, because I always assumed he was born without one.
Am I supposed to be sad?
I clear my throat, nodding to my best friend. “Thanks.”
“Willow didn’t have your number, so she called me,” Max says.
I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”
It’s all I can manage to say. I stand up, staring at the coffee that hasn’t been drunk and the bacon that won’t be eaten. In a daze, I walk back to my bedroom and stare at my suitcase.
I know one thing for sure: I can’t leave now. I was going to go back to my life in the city without seeing my parents, content that they were existing exactly how they always have.
But now, my father’s gone, and I never got the chance to tell him how much I hate him. My mother is on her own in the big house on the other side of town.
For all her bad decisions, and however much I resent her staying by my father’s side, I still love her. I still care about her.
I touch the USB on my keychain as my heart stutters. I already know he’s committed fraud multiple times, stealing from his clients and evading millions of dollars owed in tax. It’s all stored right here on this USB. I’ve held onto it all these years. If he passed his business on to my mother, she could be the one liable for his crimes. This USB isn’t leverage against my asshole of a father anymore. It’s evidence of his crimes.
Does my mother know, though?
I need to see her.
After a quick shower, I pull on the first clothes I find in my suitcase and make my way to the front door. Max and Isabelle stare at me, wide-eyed. All I can do is nod to them and walk out the front door. My throat is too tight to say anything to them, and I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I might start crying.
I refuse to cry for that man. I’m not even sad.
In a way, his death makes me even more angry. He never had to face any consequences for his actions. He died, and he’ll be celebrated, and his legacy will live on as one of the great men of this city.
The truth will die with him, and where does that leave me? Where does that leave my mother?
I should have exposed him for what he was ten years ago. I should have stood up to him instead of running away. Now, I’ll never get that chance.
That upsets me more than the bastard dying.
The sound of flip-flops slapping on concrete draws me from my thoughts. I look up to see Willow, long hair streaming in the wind, eyes wide as she runs toward me. Her wispy blue dress floats around her body as she rushes toward the house, reminding me of the color of her eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen her dressed in anything other than jet-black, and it feels significant.
She skids to a stop on the other side of my rental car, panting.
“Hey,” she says between breaths.
“Hi.”
“You want me to come?” She nods to the car. Willow doesn’t even need to ask where I’m going. She already knows.
I almost say no. I almost push her away, just like I did last night. Just like I did ten years ago
. Just like I’ve always done…
…but something stops me. I open my mouth to tell her to leave, but no words come out. Instead, I find myself nodding.
Willow doesn’t need to be told twice. She rips the passenger’s side door open, her chest still heaving from the run as sweat starts to bead on her forehead. Glancing at me over the roof of the car, she nods her chin.
Our connection is wordless. She knows where I’m going, and I know what she means. Her support doesn’t feel like pity or sadness. She’s by my side. In my corner.
No questions asked.
For once, I don’t turn my back. I slide into the car and put my hand on her thigh. She places her palm on top of my hand and gives it a light squeeze, and that’s all I need to gather my courage and start the car.
14
Sacha
Willow: 17
Sacha: 19
My body was still buzzing by the time I left the Wises’ house. I slipped out at dawn, staring up at the stairway that led to Willow’s room.
Kissing her felt like jumping off a cliff into crashing waters below. The rush of adrenaline. The bottomless feeling in my stomach. The euphoria.
I didn’t want it to end, but it did.
The night before, the blush that had stained Willow’s cheeks had made me harder than steel. Clumsily, she’d pressed her lips once more to mine and smiled softly.
“What does this mean?” she’d whispered in the darkness.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”
Her words had sent a zing of heat straight to the pit of my stomach. My cock throbbed and I stared at her swollen lips, wanting to kiss them again.
“Me too,” I’d whispered. “I want to be with you, Frogface.”
Her smile made my world brighter. We jumped at a noise at the top of the stairs. One of her parents was awake. A toilet flushed. Willow stayed perched on the edge of the couch, listening.
She glanced at me. “I’d better go back to bed.”
“Okay.”
I wished I could join her. With one last peck on the lips, she disappeared up to her room.
Now, as the sun broke over the horizon, splitting the darkness with rays of orange and red, my heart felt at ease.
I’d been by Willow’s side since we were kids. I’d seen her grow into the young woman she’d become. I’d loved her for a long, long time.
Maybe she loved me too. Why else would those big pools of blue look like they were inviting me to jump in? Why else would she stroke the side of my face and lean her forehead against mine?
A smile stayed stuck on my face the whole way home. I couldn’t have wiped it off if I tried. I inhaled the crisp air of the morning, walking through dewy grass as I breathed in happiness.
Willow Wise was the most beautiful girl in the world, and she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. Whatever feelings I had, she had them too.
How could I ask for anything more than that?
Maybe I could even convince my parents to let me go to cooking school. I had a talent for it, but they didn’t think it was a good career move. I was supposed to become an investment broker like my father, not a chef. But who knew? Maybe they would change their minds. With Willow going to Woodvale U for college, maybe I could stay close.
When I walked up the manicured lawn toward my parents’ house, the joy in my soul faded ever so slightly. A cloud passed over my spirit, dampening whatever happiness Willow had given me.
The gardens were immaculate, as usual. The big, white house with black shutters stared back at me as I approached as if it had been waiting for me all night. I could almost hear it creaking in greeting. In the distance, waves crashed against the cliffs far below.
I opted to go to the back door. Father didn’t spend much time at the back of the house, and in those days, he was up early. I preferred to avoid him if I could.
Opening the back door, I stepped into the kitchen. Mother stood near the sink, her face red and blotchy. She quickly brought her apron up to her cheeks, wiping tears away before painting a smile on her lips.
“Morning, Sunshine,” she sang out to me, and my heart turned black.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing, Sacha.”
“Why does it look like you’re crying?”
“It’s nothing. It was my fault.”
“What. Did. He. Do.” My voice was dark. My vision was tunneling. I glanced at my mother’s arm as she tried to hide it behind her. A wet kitchen towel slipped off, revealing a nasty, blistering burn on her forearm.
“His eggs were overcooked,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It was my fault. I know how he likes them. The coffee slipped out of his hand, is all. It was an accident.” She picked the towel up again and hid the burn, turning away from me. Her slight shoulders shook, and I could see every vertebrae in her back through her thin shirt as she rounded herself away from me.
It was hard to breathe through clenched teeth. I sucked in a breath anyway, trying to control the beast that rose inside me.
Rage was a good friend of mine. I inherited it from my father, but I was better at hiding it. I didn’t want to turn into the kind of man he was, and rage reminded me too much of him.
But my anger was always there. It flowed in my veins like gasoline waiting to be set alight. It was etched into my DNA. Ever since that man fathered me, my destiny was written.
I’d be born angry. I’d live angry. I’d probably die angry.
What was today, then, other than the fulfilment of an old prophecy? One that said I would do unto him what had been done to me?
My footsteps didn’t make any noise as I made my way through the huge house. I couldn’t think. I could barely see. My breaths were ragged.
The only thing on my mind was finding my father. After that? I wasn’t sure what would happen.
The happiness that had flooded my heart just minutes ago was completely gone. Disappeared. Vanished, like the darkness at dawn. Instead, sweet, hot anger rushed through my body. It fed the blackness in my heart until I didn’t know where I ended and my rage began.
My father’s study had been off-limits my entire life. I’d never entered without knocking, except for once when I was six years old. The beating I got after that day landed me in the hospital, and it was enough to scare me away.
Not anymore. I was done being afraid.
I rammed through the door with my shoulder, stomping up to his desk and ripping the phone from my father’s ear. I flung his laptop against the wall. It shattered, feeding the blackness in my soul.
He yelled something, but I didn’t hear.
The man I used to call my father leapt over the desk and threw a wild punch at my head. It didn’t take much to dodge out of the way. He grabbed my wrist and tried to twist it, but I was older. Stronger.
I wasn’t a scared six-year-old kid anymore.
I was bigger than he was.
Ripping my wrist from his hand, I wrapped my fingers around his pudgy, trembling neck. My father wheezed, grasping at my fingers and trying to pry them off his neck.
The whole room was bathed in red. Everywhere I looked, I could only see through the eyes of fury.
It blinded me to everything except my urge to hurt. To destroy. To maim.
To avenge.
My mother’s screams pierced the echoes in my head, but I didn’t loosen my hold. It wasn’t until my father managed to grab the paperweight on his desk and knock me clean across the room that I let go of him.
Blood dripped from the object—an award he received from the Mayor of Woodvale, the corrupt fuck, for being an outstanding businessman—and my father advanced toward me.
My face was reflected in his. His anger only intensified mine.
Maybe we weren’t so different after all.
My mother screamed, and my father paused.
“Get the fuck out of my house, boy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Sacha…” my mother p
leaded, pressing a cloth to the side of my head. “Alastair, please. He was only worried about me.”
“You’ll never amount to anything.” My father dropped the bloodied paperweight onto his desk, leaving a smear of blood on his paperwork. He turned his back to me. Resting his knuckles on its surface, Alastair Black took a deep breath. “Become a fucking cook, if you want to. Just don’t use my name.”
“Alastair,” my mother pleaded, taking a step toward him. “He’s only a boy. He was only trying to help me.”
It would be easy to get up and strike him. I could hit him, stab him, choke him. I could kill him.
Rage whispered in my ear, asking me to comply with its wishes.
But I didn’t.
Call it cowardice. Call it being the bigger person. I wasn’t sure what it was. All I knew was that when my father uttered Willow’s name, the blood stilled in my veins.
“I know why you hang around with the Wises. Willow Wise is an attractive young woman,” my father said. “But she’s not good enough for you. The Wises are working class, and it’s high time you kept your distance from that riff-raff.”
“Riff-raff?”
Grabbing a handkerchief from his top drawer, my father wiped his hands and finally dragged his eyes up to mine. “You’re a Black, son.”
“I’m not your son, and I’ll never be a part of this family. Not while you’re alive. Besides, Willow’s going to college. How can you call her riff-raff when she’s doing that?”
Alastair Black’s eyes darkened, and I saw the putrid rottenness of his heart. His lips curled into a snarl, and I knew in that moment that something had to change.
Somehow, my father had learned how I felt about Willow. He knew how I felt about Max, and about Mr. and Mrs. Wise. He knew what they meant to me, and he was ready to take them away.
15
Willow
I don’t know why Sacha lets me come with him. When I ran from my house to Max’s, I thought I’d be too late to see Sacha. I thought he’d push me away, just like he had last night.
Shouldn’t Want You: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance Page 8
