by D. M. Burns
“You’re a god damn liar. You’d say anything to have her.” I seethe the words out.
“I’m not going to lie, I want her. Your god damn right about that, but not for the reasons you think. Not everything revolves around you, Brogan. She’s meant to be with me and before you fly off the fucking handle again, I suggest you take a second and listen.”
“Why the fuck would I listen to anything you say?” My insides feel the tremor. Shit’s about to change.
“Brogan, what you saw with Brealyn is exactly what’s lies ahead in her future. If you don’t let her go altogether, SHE WILL DIE. That’s her future… Death. And you’ll spend the rest of your shit existence alone blaming yourself for her untimely departure and no doubt, it’ll be your god damn fault.” He shrugs as if unaffected, but I know he cares. For her of course. I see it in his fire and brimstone eyes. “You can be who you’ve always been. You know that self-serving little motherfucker and have her for yourself because she loves you. So, she’ll choose you, but just know that your time will be limited with her, short-lived.” He snaps his fingers. “Or you can do the right thing for once in your miserable fucking existence and love that girl enough to let her have some kind of life.”
“Some kind of life with you, right?” I growl.
“Better than the alternative. That being death. Do what you must do. Say what you have to say to make her leave The House of Creed. Just stay the fuck away. I’ve seen what happens firsthand and now so have you. Do something to surprise me and care enough about her to let her go.”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the fucking chest with a sledgehammer caving the motherfucker in. This time it’s his words causing major blowback on me. I take a step back and blink through the initial shock of this revelation. Channing turns on his heel and starts to leave but I speak up.
“Who was the little boy?” I rasp out. Why am I asking? I already know the fucking answer. I watch his bulky shoulders deflate and his head falls forward in defeat.
“Brother… Don’t.” His voice is lowered like he, himself, doesn’t want to speak on it or relive the details.
“Fuck… Just tell me.” I look down at the ground but see him in my peripheral as he slowly turns back to me. He scrubs his hand over his five o’clock shadow then shakes his head.
“Do you know why both of our moms died after giving birth?” I look up at him and he actually looks disturbed. I shake my head. “It’s the price we pay for these so-called God-given gifts. We lose the ones we love, our soulmate, once they give birth to our child.” He waves his hand between us and says, “This shit’s not a gift, it’s a fucking curse.”
“How do you know that?” I fall back into the cold bricks behind me giving the weight on my chest to the structure but keep my focus on him.
“I can see things from the past as well as the future. I stole those hidden truths from Grant, our dad. He talked to your mother about everything. They had no secrets and she knew her fate, but she was okay with that. Wanna know why?” I give him a chin lift. “She said you were a miracle and that you’d change everything, man.” He laughs and shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe the shit he’s saying either. “They were good people, your mom and dad. If you ever doubted that-don’t. Your parents never knew about me.” He’s trying to distract me.
“Answer the question, Channing. Who was the little boy?” He looks up at the night sky above and blows out a breath of air that turns into a thick fog then looks back at me.
“That was your unborn son, Brogan. You’ll not only lose her but him too if you don’t take a different path. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t wish that kind of hell on you. But more importantly, I damn sure don’t wish it for her.”
Sadly, I believe the bastard. He props his hands on his hips and shakes his head then turns back around leaving me standing in the alleyway.
chapter 25
brealyn
Rolling over, I stretch my limbs and then let my arms fall back aimlessly onto my comfy fluffy bed. I stare at my ceiling above my head and recall the last events of the night. I remember watching my favorite Christmas movie with Channing. Crap… I don’t remember getting into my bed though, nothing. Oh, dear God. That bottle of wine…
Did I pass out? And if so, how did I get in my bed? I reach down and grab my covers inching them up. I take a peek underneath and let out a sigh of relief when I find that I’m fully clothed. Dear Lord, thank you Jesus. I shoot straight up, and my eyes automatically look beside me to find my bed empty, another blessing. Then I snap my head over to the couch, empty. I rub my hand across my forehead thankful for this playing out the way it did.
I’m not saying that I think Channing is a dishonorable man, no. I’m just saying that he’s a man that I don’t know, period. I have no clue for his intentions, good or bad. It’s best that I don’t put myself in those kinds of predicaments though. Most men would take advantage no matter the situation. I’ve got to start making better choices because last night was bad all the way around.
Well, that’s not entirely true. It was perfect until I stepped off Brogan’s elevator. That’s when things took a turn for the worse. I’m still freaked out about that place showing up in my dreams then materializing right in front of my face. It was some sci-fi craziness but that was yesterday. My real gut-wrenching phycological scar was from the way Brogan acted toward me like I was a dirty STD waiting to condemn his future sexual liaisons.
I couldn’t not tell him that I was a virgin. If things had gone any further, he was going to know anyway. I only wanted to try and avoid that awkwardness by being honest. Little did I know that my revelation would be the moment everything changed.
My embarrassment was overwhelming, and I wanted to scurry from his bed and hideout in his closet. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’ve actually never seen a man move so fast in all my life. That’s the type of event that stains your memory and sticks with you for eternity. I know I’m never going to forget it, that’s for sure.
There’s nothing I can do about it though. I can only control today. Honestly, if he feels that way about me then the real question is, do I really want to give that part of myself over to a man like that? And the answer to that is yes… I’m completely screwed, figuratively. Of course, not literally.
My grandmother would tell me that if he felt that way then he wasn’t worthy of having me. Logically, I know that to be true, but my heart is the most irrational organ in my body. No… Stop Brea.
I’m not going to start the day with yesterday’s regrets, nope. If I don’t get my mind right and stop worrying about Brogan’s reaction from last night, then my entire day is going to be miserable. So, I’m declaring that today is going to be freaking amazing.
After a much-needed shower, I got myself ready and headed out to finished up some Christmas shopping. The streets are bustling with holiday excitement in the air. The festive euphoria is hugging my body like a nice tailored suit. I quietly wonder what my grandparents are doing right now. Probably sharing hot chocolate on the front porch swing together bundled up in a warm blanket. Their love for one another is what I hope to have one day.
Grinning to myself, I watch the little kids around me smiling and tugging their parents in different directions. I can’t help but try to breathe in their enthusiasm. It’s refreshing and also a stark reminder that one day I want my own children to go shopping with and spend my future holiday time surrounded by.
Moving my way down Fifth Avenue, I’m falling in love with all the decorations. Admittedly the mom and pop stores are my favorite though. So, I let my eyes window shop until they land on him, Brogan. I stop dead in my tracks because he’s not alone, oh-no.
The Couture queen is latched on his arm pulling him into a store. Probably dress shopping to replace the coffee slip from yours truly. They look well matched. The perfect Manhattan power couple. Admittedly, that thought bothers me more than his deceitful actions.
I should’ve known that my craziness was to
o much for him last night. My dream state death visuals of his house coupled with my virginal status pushed him in her direction. I should’ve kept my secrets safe inside but instead, I shared them with him. God, I’m a fool. I knew he’d hurt me. That ignorant heart of mine drops to the pit of my stomach with a nice thud. It’s a painful plunge down.
My feet are firmly frozen to the sidewalk until someone shoulder checks me as they try to go around my stony still-like structure on the overcrowded sidewalk. They’re only trying to avoid knocking me over. I vaguely hear disgruntled mumbling and some unsavory curses as they pass me by.
The look on Brogan’s face reflects hesitation mixed with aggravation though. It’s quite confusing. Why? It’s obvious that man does nothing unless willing. So, why does he look irate? Brea, you can only take care of yourself. Move your butt girl.
When Brogan looks over his shoulder in my general direction, I turn my booty around, and duck my head. Eye’s to the ground as I quickly retreat back toward my loft at a determined pace. I can’t handle those eyes peering through me right now. He’ll see too much.
The Hurt.
The Shame.
The Embarrassment.
The Love That He Does Not Deserve.
When an oversized hand slides under my upper arm pulling me into their side, I startle. Trying to jerk my limb free doesn’t work because they hold on tight. I whip my head up to see who has their uninvited hand on me and Channing comes into view.
“What are you doing? Last-minute shopping or snooping?” I ask.
My attitude is wrongfully directed at him so, I try to check that. It’s not his fault his brother is a two-faced, two-timing, Manhattan HO. Can I even call him that? We’re we exclusive? Heck, I guess in my mind we were. I’ll just need to ignore that angry ball of hurt swirling around in my gut until I can get home. Then I’ll dissect the heck out of it.
Channing looks like he just came out of a boardroom victory in his impressive suit, trench coat, and slicked-back hair. Who knew that there were two true DNA boardroom beasts in New York? But I notice that his face is slightly bruised. I wonder what happened. Did he get jumped? He gives me a sad half-smile then wraps his arm around my shoulder pulling me into his spicy scent.
“Yeah, something like that. Let’s grab some breakfast, yeah?” His voice is filled with empathy overflowing. Crap, he must’ve seen the Creed and Couture sighting too and now he feels sorry for me. The poor little country girl that got trampled over by the big bad Wallstreet God.
“Uhm, I was just headed home.” I look off to the side because his resemblance is too much like Brogan. Plus, I’m embarrassed beyond belief.
“Plans have changed. I’m taking you to eat.” He steers me down another street and pulls open a side door to a café I never knew existed. The logo on the window is of a little cartoon couple sharing a cup of coffee at a table with a cupcake between them. Above that, it says Cupcake Café. He holds the door open motioning me in before him.
“You’re getting into a habit of trying to force-feed me.” I smile and he gives me a wink.
Why do I feel a calming sensation when he’s near? It’s like a blanket of false feelings. You know what I’m talking about. Sorta like when a nurse administers drugs through an IV and instantly you feel incoherent. A euphoric sense of gentle reassurance that everything is going to be okay.
“Everybody needs a little caffeine and a cupcake. You won’t be disappointed, sunshine. Let’s go.” He nudges his head and since I have nothing better to do other than feel sorry for myself, I go on in. Postponing the pity party for later sounds like a wonderful idea.
Two cups of black coffee later, I sit in the booth across from Channing and watch as he bounces his foot in a manic-like rhythm. Heck, I’m still nursing my first cup while eyeballing the impressive strawberry shortcake cupcake Channing insisted, I order. His bulky coat hangs over the back of the seat along with his black blazer and he rolled his white dress shirt up mid-forearm length. He looks like a mafia bad boy with the bling of his watch glinting off the glare from the lights above.
“I know you saw him too,” I say. Channing briefly looks at me then aims his silver slits out of the cafés window and his jaw ticks.
“Yeah, you made it a little hard not to pay attention with the traffic jam and all. I just followed your line of sight.” I nod my head because what do you say to that? “What do you see in him, Brea?” He turns his head back to me and I can tell that he’s genuinely interested in my answer.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” I say on a defeated sigh.
Focusing my eyes down at the cupcake in front of me causes my stomach to roll. There’s no way I’m eating that. It looks delicious but no. He reaches out and covers my hand with his. My eyes stare at the consoling connection. His hand swallows mine whole with warmth that leads me to believe he’s running a fever. It feels weird and wrong though. Slowly, I slide my hand out from under his and place both my hands in my lap then look up at him.
“No, I won’t.” Channing winks at me and I break out a small smile. He’s only trying to be nice to me, but I still don’t understand why he’d bother.
“Okay, but before you go judging me, just remember that I warned you,” I say.
“Noted, now spill it.” He chuckles.
“Uhm, when I first moved here, I was channel surfing one night and caught a glimpse of the boardroom boss that was Brogan on TV. It was one of the only times that the man had ever agreed to sit down and speak publicly about his success. I mean even then he ended up jumping ship, which was hilarious but anyway. I… Uhm, well, the reporter’s questions became background noise and all I could focus on were his eyes. They spoke to me on a level that I can’t explain. I couldn’t even hear what Brogan was saying anymore, nothing. It was like he was looking through the screen directly at me. For the first time, I felt something real. Like he was my reason for coming to New York.” Channing is staring at me in complete silence like I’m some kind of loon. Which I guess to him I am.
“His eyes, huh?” He smirks.
“I told you you’d think I was crazy. Or maybe you believe I’m one of those fruity fangirls, but I didn’t run out on a wild hunt for him. I just filed that day away mentally. I don’t know. I just figured that if God meant for me to have him then he’d make it so.” I shrug my shoulders.
I don’t bother to tell him that I’ve dreamed of Brogan countless times since that day. That alone screams that I’m a mentally deranged madwoman. That’s far too personal and those are my heart's secrets not to be shared. Honestly, it’d probably tip the stalker scales. He nods his head and scrubs his hand across his sharp jawline contemplating something. Probably my level of insanity but he chooses not to share.
“What happened to your face?” I point at my jawline where the bruise is on his face and he chuckles. “That wasn’t their last night.”
“Let’s just say it was a corporate disagreement.” He leans back in his seat latching his hands behind his head. His biceps flex with the motion and they’re ridiculously huge.
“Was this disagreement with anyone I know?” He knows what I’m asking without having to come out and say his name. He slowly shakes his head no. Oh. My. God. Is that why Brogan is mad at me and painting the town up with Prada Patti? Did he find out Prince Channing was at my apartment?
“We’re not going there.” He chuckles. “Whatever is going on in that head of my brothers has nothing to do with you.” He points his finger at me as he states that last part.
“How do you know?” I ask. He smiles and shakes his head again. This guy is not budging. “Was it because you were at my house last night?”
“No. Listen Brea, you’re not to blame. That man does damn well what he wants to do, period. Anyway, we did nothing wrong by sharing food and watching a movie.”
“Yeah, sure. I know.” Really, I know these things, but I also feel that there are factors that Channing isn’t telling me. “Did you put me in bed last night?” He shakes
his head no.
“You looked peaceful curled up on the couch. I had to leave suddenly and didn’t want to wake you, so I covered you up and slipped out.” He shrugs. How the heck did I get into bed then? I don’t remember getting up. “Tell me something.”
“Sure.” Leaning my elbows into the table, I place my chin in my palms.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” His question slaps me out of my stupor.
“Huh?” I ask.
I slow blink at him as he stands towering over me like one of New York’s many high rises while shrugging on his multiple coats. I guess this is his way of saying he’s ready to head out. I reach around snagging my coat off the back of the booth and start bundling myself up too. When I go to slide out, he positions himself in front of the opening placing his hand on the table and the other hand over the back of my seat then leans in. He’s an imposing figure of flesh and muscle.
“Do you believe in soulmates, sunshine?” His blackened holes dilate leaving only a hint of that gunmetal lining. He really is a beautiful man but for some odd reason, he arouses an anxious need in me to keep my distance. My mouth goes dry.
“I used too,” I whisper out. I believed in a life with Brogan until today came around and stabbed my perfect love bubble with a serrated knife. Of course, don’t forget about last night’s craze. Jesus.
“You don’t understand right now but Brea, everything happens for a reason. One thing I can assure you is that Brogan was never meant to be at your side.” He slowly shakes his head. “He can’t take the place that was meant for someone else. And God will remove anything from your life that doesn’t rightfully belong or fit snuggly here.” He places his overheated palm to the center of my chest. My heart accelerates under his touch pounding out a scary symphony then he softly kisses my forehead.
