Shouldn’t Want You: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance

by Monroe, Lilian

  But I don’t say anything. I’m not an asshole—at least not most of the time. Instead, I just arch my eyebrow until Benji extends the car keys toward me.

  “I was just bringing Willow’s car back. Wasn’t as bad as I thought, just a busted hose. Tell her not to worry about the cost, it only took me an hour, and I still owe her for helping my sister out with her wedding.”

  I take the car keys, eyeing the two coffees suspiciously. Did he think she’d invite him in?

  But Benji nods at me and turns back toward the road. I guess he’ll walk back to the mechanic’s shop. A part of me respects him for how he’s handled himself just now. Another man could have puffed out his chest and charged Willow for the parts and labor, just because he felt jilted. Another man probably could have given me a hard time and walked away with his chin in his chest.

  But Benji’s head is thrown back, his gait relaxed and unbothered. As he rounds the corner, I think I hear him whistling.

  No hard feelings, I guess.

  “Who was it?” Willow says behind me, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Your best friend,” I say, dangling the keys. “Loverboy Benji.”

  Willow rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.” She snatches the keys from my hand, trying to hide her grin. “Is that a hint of jealousy I detect in your tone?”

  “I don’t get jealous.”

  “Ha!” She shakes her head, jiggling the car keys. “I don’t believe you. You probably had smoke coming out of your ears and daggers in your eyes when you opened the door.”

  “It was me opening the door, so I don’t care,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and laying a kiss on her lips. “I can’t be jealous of another guy for something I have.”

  Willow’s smile is blinding. She hooks her hands around my shoulders and touches the tip of her nose to mine. “True.”

  “He did have a couple of coffees, and I was a bit hurt he didn’t offer me one of them.”

  “He didn’t!” Her eyes widen.

  “He did. Mentioned returning a favor for his sister’s wedding. I think he wanted to give you his own form of payment.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know, I never turn down a coffee.”

  “Good thing I intercepted it,” I growl, nipping at her ear.

  Willow giggles, gently pushing me off. “I’m not into this protective, possessive thing. Control your hormones.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

  Willow rolls her eyes, turning away from me to hide her grin.

  In the kitchen, when we’re both gripping steaming mugs of coffee—mine black, hers with three heaping spoons of sugar—Willow looks at me over the edge of her cup. “I need your help with something today, if you’re free.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you.”

  “I know I’ll be doing it for you, so I’m in.”

  I’d do anything and say anything for the smile she’s giving me right now. My heart feels light whenever she’s around. Leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, I feel more comfortable than in my own apartment in New York City.

  “Well, no take-back-sies.” Willow grins, leading me to the living room.

  One of her wedding planning binders is laid out on the coffee table, with more paperwork fanned out across the floor. She sits down in front of it all, placing her coffee cup carefully behind her.

  “Today is a big day. The wedding I’m planning has lots of lights and tech elements. There’s even some pyro.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s circus themed,” she explains. “So I need to be there early to make sure everything is working properly.”

  “Where do I come in?”

  “I’m thinking I’ll need an extra set of hands. There might be some heavy lifting. Last time I had a highly coordinated event like this, I ended up having to run around doing a bunch of the setup myself and it was a disaster.”

  “And you need me to do your dirty work.”

  “Exactly.” She grins.

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone.”

  “You’re a big boy. You can handle it,” she says, laughing.

  I sit down with her on the floor, and Willow walks me through the plan for the day. She shows me the sketches, the timeline, even the costumes the bridal party will be wearing. It’s elaborate and over-the-top, but Willow’s eyes shine when she tells me.

  I nudge her shoulder. “I think you like weddings.”

  She grins. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I just like planning events, and weddings are the only events that happen in this town.”

  “That whole ‘cold black heart’ schtick was all a ruse.” I sling my arm over her shoulders and pull her in, inhaling vanilla and strawberries as I bury my face in her hair.

  She laughs, nodding. “Even fooled myself.”

  I want to tell her about the conversation I had with Nolan Gallagher. I want to tell her my plans to dissolve my father’s business and to expose him for what he was. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I hold back.

  For one, I don’t want to ruin this moment by dredging up the past.

  The lawyer was also very, very clear: under no circumstances should I tell anyone about my plans. He said that with so many clients with so much money in my father’s brokerage, it will be a delicate operation to return their assets, contact the IRS, end the business, and make sure my mother and I come out the other side unscathed.

  So, for now, I have to keep my mouth shut. I just wrap my arms around Willow and hold her tight, knowing it’ll all be worth it in the end. I can make up for the fact that I left her and show her I’m here to stay.

  After breakfast, we head over to the venue. It’s about an hour away, a few towns over. The staff is already setting up the lights and stage, and I get to see why Willow’s business has been as successful as it has. Her binder is like her bible. She carries it with her everywhere and refers to it often, directing people to go exactly where they need to be.

  She’s particular about what she wants, but she’s kind and leads with a firm voice and clear instructions. No one questions her. I end up carrying rolls of cable from one end of the room to the other, setting tables, adjusting lights. After a few minutes, I’ve broken a sweat and I’m breathing heavily.

  “You,” one of the venue staff says, pointing to me. “Go up there with Willow. We need another body on stage to get the lights set up.”

  Willow’s standing there, nodding for me to join her. I jog to the front of the room, shielding my eyes against the glare of the stage lights.

  “This is elaborate,” I say.

  Willow grins. “More than I would like for my own wedding, but I’ve learned not to judge. Stand on that mark.”

  I find the little taped ‘x’ on the floor and stand there.

  “Closer!” the lightning guy calls out.

  Willow takes a step toward me.

  “Closer!” he yells again.

  Another step.

  “I just need your hands up, holding each other. They’ll have those shiny suits on, so I want to make sure I won’t be blinding anyone.”

  Willow slips her hands into mine as a soft blush sweeps over her cheeks. She fights a smile, staring into my eyes. Under the stage lights, her eyes are glimmering like two twinkling gems, asking me a thousand unsaid questions.

  “I do,” I whisper.

  Her lips drop open and before she can reply, I sweep my arm around her back and crush my lips to hers. We kiss there, at the makeshift altar, and Willow laughs against my lips as if it’s a joke.

  But to me, it’s almost real.

  What if this were our wedding? What if we were really saying, ‘I do’?

  “Okay, thanks!” the lighting director calls out. “I got it!”

  Willow giggles, smacking my chest. “That’s not why I brought you here.”

  “I’m just trying to get the lights just right. You heard the guy—sparkly suits.”

&
nbsp; When she looks at me with that sly grin on her face, Willow makes me feel whole. I feel happy through and through, with no hint of darkness inside me. There’s no thought to our past—only our future.

  But as my phone rings and I see my mother’s name pop up on the screen, I know it’s only a matter of time before the past catches up with me.

  24

  Willow

  The air around Sacha shifts as soon as he picks up the phone. I hear him say hello to his mother, and then he walks just out of earshot. His shoulders sag, and he runs his fingers through his hair over and over again.

  I try to stay busy, but for the few minutes he’s on the phone, my eyes keep drifting back to him. I can feel his pain from across the room. I know he’s hurting, and I want to go over to him and make him feel better.

  When he hangs up the phone, he exhales and rubs his hand over his face. I walk over to him and slide my hand over his arm. He flinches at the touch.

  “Sorry.” He sighs. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “My mother is guilt-tripping me about the funeral tomorrow. I told her I wasn’t going to go, and she’s saying she can’t do it without me.”

  I don’t know what to tell him. He hasn’t told me much about his childhood, or about what’s happening with taking over his father’s business, but I can understand not wanting to go to Alastair Black’s funeral. Sitting through a celebration of that monster’s life would be a slap in the face. On the other hand, I can understand wanting to be there for his mother.

  I take a deep breath. “I’ll support you either way.”

  The gray depths of his eyes are splintered with pain. “You don’t think I’m a terrible person for not wanting to go?”

  I shake my head. “I think you’re very justified in not wanting to go, but I also think if you decide to go for your mother’s sake, that’s an honorable decision as well.”

  “You’re not making this any easier.” A hint of a grin cracks over his face, even though it’s dipped in bitterness.

  I squeeze his arm. “Come on. I need you to carry some tables over to that wall. You can think about the funeral later.”

  “I’m just a bunch of muscle to you, aren’t I?”

  “Something like that.” I grin, flicking my eyes down to his crotch. “Among other things.”

  His laugh is easier then, and he kisses my temple. For the rest of the day, we work alongside each other. I stay for the first part of the wedding, until the speeches are done and the dancing starts, and then Sacha and I slip out the door.

  “That was kind of fun,” he says, intertwining his fingers with mine. “I can see why you do it.”

  “Fun once, maybe.” I laugh. “It becomes a job after the hundredth time.”

  “Could be worse.”

  I nod, leaning into his broad body. Walking alongside him feels so right, I’m not sure how I managed before he came back. All my silly ideas about having a dead heart seem just that—silly. Maybe I just brought my problems on myself. I never had a real relationship because I ruined them. I soured my own thoughts about weddings for no reason.

  Or, maybe, I was just heartbroken over Sacha Black, and I needed him to come back to make me whole again.

  When we get back to my house—which is starting to feel more like our house, even after just a couple of days with him—Sacha wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.

  “Will you come to the funeral with me?” he asks, his voice muffled in my shoulder.

  “Of course,” I answer as my heart squeezes. “You’re brave for deciding to go.”

  “Brave,” he scoffs. “I think I’m a coward. I should be exposing him for what he was, not pretending to celebrate his life.” He shakes his head. “But there’ll be time for that.”

  “Grief is a strange thing.”

  Sacha makes a sad noise, pulling away from me. We kick off our shoes and microwave some leftovers from the fridge before curling up on the couch in front of some mindless TV. I think both of us need to turn our brains off and let our emotions simmer down a bit.

  We make love that night, slowly and tenderly. I kiss every inch of Sacha’s body, wanting to commit it deep into my memory. He’s already etched onto my heart, but I want to imprint him on my soul, too. I want my fingers to remember the feeling of his skin, even when he’s not beside me. I want to memorize the sound of his heartbeat, and hear his voice in my head whenever I need it.

  I want him beside me, always. Even if it’s only in my mind.

  The next morning, our mood is dampened. Even the sky is gray. It’s the first drizzly day we’ve had all summer, and it’s perfectly fitting for today’s event.

  Sacha doesn’t talk much as we get ready, but he does hold my hand as we make our way to the church for the funeral. When he gives it a squeeze, I can hear his wordless thank you. I squeeze back, telling him I’m here, by your side, always.

  I’m wearing heels for the first time in ages, and as we walk toward the funeral, they get stuck on a stormwater grate in the street. I stumble, hopping on one foot as my shoe stays stuck behind.

  For the first time all day, Sacha cracks a smile. “Graceful as always, Frogface.”

  “This is why I don’t wear heels.”

  “They look good, though.” He chuckles, the sound easing the tightness in my chest.

  Sacha grabs my shoe from the stormwater grate and kneels down to help me slide it on. I lean on his shoulders, admiring how handsome he looks in his tailored black suit. I know we’re going to a funeral, but I can’t help it. The man cleans up nice.

  When he stands up again, Sacha lays a soft kiss on my lips. “I love you, Willow.”

  My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. “You…you what?”

  “Is it that much of a surprise?” He chuckles, clucking my chin before kissing my lips again. “I thought you knew. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. It never faded, even though I tried to forget you.”

  My bottom lip trembles. “Sacha…”

  How do I find the words to tell him I love him with all my heart? How can I explain what this man means to me? That even after a couple of weeks in his presence, it feels like my entire world has changed?

  “I love you, too,” I finally say. It’s too simple. Too small. Too cliché to explain what I feel, but it’ll have to do.

  Sacha wraps his arms around me and kisses me then, right there in the middle of the street. A car drives around us, honking a couple of times until we split up.

  Max leans out of the car window. “The middle of the street? Really, guys? Come on.” He shakes his head, and both Sacha and I start laughing. The tension in the air breaks, and even though we’re going to his father’s funeral, it feels easier than it did a few minutes ago.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence, but it’s an easy, comfortable silence. When we get to the church, Sacha takes a deep breath. It’s the only sign that he’s finding this difficult.

  His mother is waiting on the church steps. Her eyes are rimmed red and she’s clutching a crumpled tissue in her hand. She holds out her arms to Sacha, who hugs his mother tightly.

  “Thank you for being here,” she says in a trembling voice, burying her face in his broad chest. “And, Willow,” she says, turning to me. “I’m so glad to see you with Sacha. You were always meant to be together. All that business with your parents…it should never have affected the two of you.”

  I choke on air. “Excuse me? What business with my parents?”

  Mrs. Black’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. I glance at Sacha, whose brow is dark. He won’t meet my eye. Sacha stares at his mother as his jaw ticks, the tension rippling down through his neck.

  “What are you talking about? What about my parents?”

  “We should go inside,” Mrs. Black says, waving us in.

  “No,” Sacha growls. “We shouldn’t. This is how we’ve lived our entire lives—hiding from the past. Hiding from what’s important. Pr
otecting Father. Never telling the truth. The Wises deserve to know what happened.”

  My heart beats uncomfortably fast. My hands feel clammy. My mouth is dry.

  “Sacha,” his mother says, giving him a loaded look.

  “What…” I rasp, unable to finish the sentence.

  Mrs. Black shakes her head, waving us toward the church doors.

  Sacha squares his shoulders, shaking his head. “I won’t go in there. I can’t. I can’t celebrate that man’s life and pretend like everything is okay. I can’t keep secrets for him, when the woman I love is suffering in the dark.”

  “What are you talking about?” I repeat. It’s like my brain is stuck on those words. I can’t think of anything else to say.

  Sacha slips his hand into mine. His fingers are cold. He nods toward the pathway on the side of the church that leads to the creek behind my childhood home.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “I have something to tell you.”

  I have no words, so I say nothing. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Mrs. Black’s face twist as she watches us walk away. Max and Isabelle arrive at the church and throw me a questioning glance, but all I can do is follow Sacha into the trees, where the truth awaits me.

  Dread curls at the base of my skull, because I know that whatever he tells me will change everything.

  25

  Sacha

  Willow: 17

  Sacha: 19

  I couldn’t live in this house anymore. My father’s presence was oppressive, stifling everything inside me. He’d made it very clear this morning that I either had to get in line behind him or leave.

  Leaving meant so much more than moving out of his house. It meant leaving the town he basically owned. It meant leaving Mr. and Mrs. Wise. Leaving Max. Leaving Willow.

  Just when I got the courage to show her how I felt, it was all crumbling around me. Last night, I kissed her for the first time.

  Now? Now it seemed like it would never happen again.