by R. R. Banks
He looks at me and I can see the wariness in his eyes. “Is that what we are, Tiffany? Family?”
“Of course, it is,” I say. “We're the only family we have left.”
“That's funny,” he says. “Because I tried maintaining a relationship with you for a long time. Because you are the only family I have left. And yet, you wanted nothing to do with me.”
I take a sip of my mimosa and set the glass back down on the table, saying nothing for a moment. Mr. Haas came back with nothing for me on Amanda Johnston. Poor girl, grew up in an abusive home in California, worked in a coffee house – until she got fired. In school studying to be a child psychologist. It's all a sad story that I can perhaps, use to embarrass her, but nothing that I can use as the scalpel I need to excise her from Brady's – and by extension, my – life.
There is nothing about her past that can even be construed as scandalous. Other than her growing up poor and abused, and apparently being a bit of a smart-mouthed bitch, there is really nothing I can use against her as leverage. Nothing I can use as a threat to get her to walk away from my half-brother. Which is rare. Most everybody has skeletons in their closets.
I look at Brady and give him my warmest, most ingratiating smile.
“Please understand my position, Brady,” she says. “I was essentially abandoned by our father. After he found out my mother was pregnant, he wanted nothing more to do with her. Or with me.”
He shakes his head. “That's not true, Tiffany,” he says. “I can remember plenty of times he tried to get together with you. It was your mother who shot it down every single time. It was your mother who wanted nothing to do with him.”
Lies. Lies fed to him by that dirtbag father of his. Which isn't all that surprising. Nor is Brady's blind acceptance of them. But, I can't really expect much more from him. After all, he's just another blind devotee of his father.
“Are you sure you won't have a mimosa?” I ask.
“No, thank you,” he says. “I'm fine.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself,” I say. “So, I hear you have a new woman in your life.”
He nods. “I do.”
“Well, tell me about her, Brady,” I say. “Is it serious? Is she the one?”
He sighs and looks at me. “Why are we here, Tiffany?”
“I thought it was to have brunch.”
He looks at me with a deadpan expression. “Let's drop the act, what do you say?” he says. “Let's just get down to the brass tacks here, huh?”
“Not much for small talk, are you?”
He shrugs. “I've got better things to do with my time,” he says. “You made your position on us ever being a family pretty clear over the years.”
“Brady,” I say, setting down my mimosa. “Can't you allow for somebody to have a change of heart?”
“Uh huh,” he says. “Change of heart, huh?”
“Yes, a change of heart.”
He picks at the napkin on the table in front of him. “And mind if I ask what's spurred this sudden change of heart?” he asks. “Given the way you've treated me over the years – which is like a damn leper, by the way – what is it that now has you on the let's-be-a-family bandwagon?”
I sigh. “Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older,” I say. “And I realize that I'm more or less alone. It was always just my mother and me growing up, but now I don't even have her. Maybe, it's the fact that I'm seeing the importance of family and want to make amends with you.”
I don't. Not really. I just needed to get him here, to a public place – sans his girlfriend – so that I can employ my nuclear option. It's not necessarily something I necessarily want to do – like I said, I'm not a monster – but given the circumstances, it's something I have to do. There's too much at stake.
Brady sits back in his seat and sighs. I can tell he's torn. That's the one thing I have on my half-brother – he may not have many skeletons in his closet, but he's a sentimental sucker when it comes to family. I know his pressure point and know that if I squeeze it hard enough, for all of his cowboy swagger and bravado, he'll crumble.
If there's one thing I know about Brady Keating, it's that he desperately wants a family to love who will love him back.
“I don't know, Tiffany,” he says. “A lot’s happened. A lot's been said.”
“In the past,” I say. “That doesn't mean we can't build a new future.”
He sighs again and rubs the stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, maybe,” he says. “I need to think about it some.”
“Of course, you do,” I say. “You have my number, Brady.”
“I do.” He says as he gets to his feet and puts his hat on.
“I am sincere, Brady,” I lie. “I want nothing more than to be a family.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “Yeah, I guess we'll see.”
Turning around, he walks out of Brevia's. He is putting his swagger, tough-guy act on, but I can tell that inside, he's turning to jelly. It's a useful bit of information, though if everything else goes according to plan, it's information I won't have to act on.
But as he said, I guess we will see.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brady
I walked out of the restaurant feeling totally conflicted. On the one hand, yeah, the idea of having family appeals to me. Ever since my folks died, I've felt a little alone in the world. Of course, I have Nicholas and Miss Delia, but knowing I have a sister out there who's wanted nothing to do with me – it's kind of left a little bit of a hole in my heart.
So, to have Tiffany make the overture, tweaked those heartstrings.
On the other hand, though, I have a feeling she knows she was tweaking my heartstrings. If there's one thing I've learned about Tiffany – mostly through Kendrick and Thomas – it's that she's cold. Manipulative. She looks out for herself, always has an agenda, and never does anything without having some strings attached.
Both Kendrick and Thomas have both warned me to be cautious around her and to never take anything she says or does at face value.
I am heading for my car, lost in thought, when I hear somebody calling my name. I turn around and feel my stomach drop into my boots. Standing there on the sidewalk in front of me is none other than Angie Willows – Nicholas' mother.
She looks almost exactly like she did the last time I saw her. Her long brunette hair falls to the middle of her back, framing her round, sweet face. Her dark eyes stand out against her milky white skin and she's tall – five foot eleven – and slender.
It's been four years, but it doesn't look like a single day has passed.
“Angie,” I say slowly, feeling my breath catch in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
She shuffles her feet nervously. “I was hoping we could talk.”
As I stand there taking her in, my mind is a battlefield. There's certainly a wave of nostalgia seeing her face – I'd cared for her at one point. But there is also a lot of anger – a deep, abiding anger – at her for abandoning both Nicholas and me.
I clear my throat and try to get my head on straight. “I don't know that there's anything to talk about, Angie,” I say. “You made your feelings pretty clear when you walked out on us four years ago.”
Her eyes are shining with tears and she looks down at her feet. “It's – complicated.”
“You walked out on your son four years ago,” I say with some real heat in my voice. “Never a card. A letter. Never a phone call or an email. Nothing. You just fell off the face of the earth. So, I really don't see what there is to talk about at all.”
She sighs. “I'd like a chance to explain it to you, Brady,” she says, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Can we please just go somewhere and talk?”
I sigh and look from her to the car, torn between talking to her or getting in the car and walking out on her the way she'd walked out on Nicholas and me. I have a million questions I want answers to – answers I never thought I'd get. But with Angie standing there, right in front of me, I guess I have my cha
nce.
“Fine,” I say and point to a small outdoor cafe. “Let's go talk.”
When we're seated, I set my hat on the seat next to me and lean back. Angie sits on the edge of her seat looking around nervously – looking anywhere but at me. The waitress comes over and I order a beer, she orders an iced tea. When she drops off our drinks and leaves the table, I motion to Angie.
“So? Talk,” I say.
“I don't know what to say, Brady,” she says. “I'm sorry just doesn't seem adequate.”
My bark of laughter is brittle and bitter. “Because it's not.”
She tears small strips from her napkin, still refusing to look at me. “I just – I wasn't ready to be a mother, Brady. I was still into partying and drugs –”
“Oh, and I was ready to be a dad?” I ask. “A single dad at that?”
“I didn't know what to do,” she says. “And – your mother offered me a large sum of money to go away.”
“That's bullshit, Angie.”
She shakes her head and looks me in the eye for the first time. “It's really not,” she says. “Your mother knew I wasn't ready and feared what kind of a mom I would be to her grandson. So, one night, we had a long talk. She said that if I wasn't ready and didn't think I was up to the job, she'd cut me a check then and there to just go. She said she'd rather you raise Nicholas on your own than have a mother who wasn't cut out for it. She was afraid I'd do more damage to Nicholas than good.”
I take a long pull of my beer and let what she said sink in. It sounds like my mother. She was obsessed with making sure Nicholas had a good upbringing. That he had a parent who was fully engaged in his life. And knowing that Angie was only not really into it, but that she had a slight drug problem back then too – yeah, I could see my mom doing that thinking it was in the best interest of Nicholas. Hell, in her place, maybe I would have too.
“So, rather than clean your act up and get your head in the game,” I say, “you decided to take the money and run.”
She shrugs. “In my place, you would have too.”
“I was in your place,” I snap. “And I didn't because I didn't have the choice. But even if I had, no, I most certainly wouldn't have, Angie. I had a son. A responsibility. So, did you. But you chose to bail on that.”
She looks down at her hands again and I can see her fighting to keep her composure. I can see her silently counting to ten before she looks back up at me.
“Things are different now, Brady,” she says. “I'm clean. I've got a good job. I'm in a steady relationship.”
I take another long pull of my beer. “Good for you,” I say, my tone a little frosty.
“And I want to see my son,” she says. “I'd like to start building a relationship with him.”
“The hell you will,” I say. “You're not coming anywhere near Nicholas.”
“It's my right as his mother,” she says.
“You gave up that right when you abandoned us.”
She gives me a small smile and clears her throat. “But I'm back now,” she says. “And I want to see my son.”
“Not gonna happen, Angie,” I say. “I'm not going to throw his life into upheaval because you decided that you're ready to be a decent human being all of the sudden. Especially knowing you and knowing how quickly that can change.”
“Screw you, Brady.”
“Yeah, I won't make that mistake again.”
There's real anger in her eyes as she stares at me. “I don't want to take this to court, but I will if I have to.”
“Feel free,” I say. “You'll lose.”
“The hell I will.”
I shrug. “You can try,” I say. “But I've got some of the best lawyers in the city on retainer. And don't forget the influence my family's name has in San Antonio. So, feel free to do what you have to do, Angie. But you will lose big and the only thing you'd accomplish is wasting a lot of money.”
“You can't keep me from my son.”
I shrug. “I don't need to do much,” I say. “You've kept yourself away for four years. Are we done here?”
She doesn't say anything else, so I get to my feet. Angie jumps up and before I can react, throws her arms around my neck and plants a kiss on me. I'm so stunned that all I can do is stand there with her attached to my face for a minute before I come back to my senses and push her away.
“What the hell, Angie?” I snap.
“I'm sorry, I –”
I turn and storm off, walking back to the car. Derek is holding the door open for me and I jump in quickly. As he closes the door and the gloomy interior envelops me, lean back in the plush seat. My mind is spinning in a million different directions with a million different questions.
But I need to put it all out of my head. Tonight is an important night and I don't want any of this garbage floating around.
“Where to, sir?” Derek asks.
“Home,” I say. “Home. This has been one of the weirdest days ever.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I walk in the door to find the house silent. But at least here, I feel grounded. Centered. I feel like this is the one place in all the world that makes sense right now.
“I wasn't expecting you home so early, Brady.”
“Things are a little too weird out there today,” I say. “I needed to come home for a little sanity.”
I smile at Miss Delia. She's got an apron on and judging by the aroma in the air, she's baking pies. I inhale deeply.
“Cherry?”
“And apple,” she says. “It's Nicholas' favorite.”
“Nicholas at his lessons?”
“I drove him over,” she says and glances at her watch. “I need to go pick him up in an hour or so.”
I nod. “Is Amanda here?”
“She is,” she says. “She's out by the pool, I believe.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“I really like her, Brady,” she says. “Smart as a whip and I can tell she doesn't put up with your guff.”
I laugh. “No, that she doesn't.”
“I think you did well with her.”
I give her a nod and a small smile. If only Miss Delia knew how Amanda came to be in my life, she might not be praising me so much. In fact, knowing her, she'd probably be slapping me upside the head.
“I think I got lucky,” I say.
I turn and walk out to the backyard, making my way around to the pool. And sure enough, she was stretched out on one of the padded loungers reading a book. She looks up at me and smiles, putting her book down.
“Well hey there,” she says.
“Hey yourself, darlin'.”
“You know, a girl can get used to this life of leisure.”
I lean down and give her a quick kiss. “I certainly hope you do.”
“How was your meeting?”
I sit down on the lounger next to her and shake my head. “Today has been one of the strangest days I can ever remember having.”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “What happened?”
I tell her all about the meeting with Tiffany, give her some of the background details so that she has some idea of what I'm talking about. I don't tell her about running into Angie though. I don't know why, but for some reason, it still feels a little too raw for me. And aside from that, the last thing I want is for Amanda to feel threatened by Nicholas' mom rolling into town.
Knowing her like I do, this is a momentary flight of fancy and I don't want to stress Amanda out with it. Angie is flakier than a biscuit and I doubt this is going to be an ongoing thing with her. She'll probably blow out of town again soon enough and never give us a second thought again. That's just how Angie is – flighty.
“So, you think she's up to something? Tiffany?”
I nod. “It smells like it to me,” I say. “It could just be though, that she's feelin' around, seeing whether or not we're serious.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because if I don't meet my obligation to the estate, owne
rship of the Keating empire transfers to her,” I say. “And both Kendrick and Thomas have it on good authority that she's going to break it all up and sell it all off piece by piece the minute she assumes control.”
“Wow. This woman sounds like a total bitch,” I say. “I'm sorry, Brady.”
I shrug. “What are you gonna do?” I say. “Know what we need?”
“Tell me.”
“We need a little fun,” I say.
She gives me a flirty little smile. “Now?”
“You are incorrigible, darlin',” I say. “Don't ever change that. But I'm thinkin' we should go out tonight.”
“Photo op night, huh?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. Just you and me. A nice dinner, a few drinks, and a quiet evening just celebrating us.”
“I'd like that.”
“Great,” I smile. “Pick you up in the foyer around seven?”
She smacks me playfully in the arm. “I'll be there with bells on.”
~ooo000ooo~
When she descends the stairs wearing a black satin sleeveless dress with the plunging neckline that displays her ample cleavage and hugs her beautiful curves everywhere else, I feel like I got kicked by a mule and had the wind knocked out of me.
“My God,” I say when she steps up next to me. “You are breathtaking, darlin'.”
She blushes and looks away, but gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
Nicholas is standing with Miss Delia, smiling wide. “Bye Daddy.”
“We'll see you later, champ,” I say. “Be good for Miss Delia.”
“I will.”
Miss Delia gives me a smile and a wink as I turn and escort Amanda out the door and usher her to the waiting car. Derek holds the door open and we slide into the back. It's dimly lit, but I can see her smiling wide.
“What are the smiles all about?” I ask.
“I just feel so – fancy,” she says. “Elegant. All of this still feels like a fairy tale or a dream and I'm just waiting to wake up from it.”
