The Good Brother

by Nia Arthurs

  Ben walks a jagged line down the corridor. I keep an eye on him until he tumbles through the correct door. The moment he’s out of sight, I let out a breath.

  Lydia said that Harry appointed Benjamin to act as Reece’s guardian, but was that really the best decision? If Ben’s response to stress is to come home stuttering drunk, then I’m having serious doubts about his eligibility.

  I decide to head upstairs and call Lydia to let her know Ben’s come home when I hear something crash. Adrenaline skitters through my veins. I skate into Ben’s room and find him sprawled on the ground, his cheek pressed to the wooden grain.

  His teeth are bared and his back is shaking. At first, I think he’s laughing. When I draw closer, I see the tears sparkling in his eyes. My heart drops. I sprint to his side and wrench his shoulder to help him up.

  “Ben?”

  His blue eyes shift to me, but they’re red-rimmed. The dark circles beneath them punctuate his sorrow. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  A tear spills down his cheek. “Is my brother dead?”

  “Ben…” The lock holding my grief back snaps at the sight of his pain. I’ve been pretending to be strong all evening. For Reece’s sake. It wouldn’t do either of us good if I was a sniveling mess while she yearned for her father.

  But now… now I can’t stop the tide.

  I know nothing about this man. Except this. He loved Harry.

  And so did I.

  For now, that is enough to bond us.

  Chapter Four

  Ben

  I crack my eyes open. Slowly. Painfully. Just when I think I’m going to need a crowbar to lift them all the way, they break free. Light blows my irises to shreds. There’s not much victory in waking up. I run back to the darkness.

  After a few seconds, I open my eyes again. This time I’m prepared for the outrageous amounts of sunlight pouring into my room. An unfamiliar room. With an unfamiliar ceiling and iron fan squeaking overhead.

  Where am I? What happened last night?

  The memories filter in like a movie loading on a bad internet connection. I remember Lydia taking me to a funeral parlor and a church. Then…

  My mind freezes. It takes a moment for the picture to form.

  Oh, right. I gave Lydia the slip and ran to the nearest bar. The building’s front wall boasted a painting of a half-dressed woman sitting on a lion. For whatever reason.

  I would kill to meet the artist so I could ask what the point was.

  Then?

  My memory bucks right after. I know I drank myself silly. Ignored the women who pranced to my side looking to offer comfort in exchange for free drinks. Got rejected by the bartender when I couldn’t spell my own name.

  Did I catch a taxi? Did someone come for me?

  I snort at the thought. Who in this country would care enough to track me down and drag me to wherever this is?

  So then… was I kidnapped?

  At that moment, an arm slams over my chest. I hiss, my body seizing as I try to delay—for however long I can—the realization that I did something extremely stupid last night.

  A brown leg slides over my own, wiggling closer until the person is pressed against my hip.

  “Stupid, stupid.” I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s a ninety percent chance I didn’t use protection last night. What if I contract a sexually transmitted disease?

  Or worse. What if I got some random local pregnant?

  A thought strikes. Is this how Reece was born?

  Either way, I should disentangle myself without looking at the woman’s face. That way, I can feign ignorance if we ever meet on the street. No harm. No foul. And hopefully, no unplanned babies.

  But my curiosity gets the better of me. I snag a quick peek to my left while my hand goes for the arm wrapped around my chest.

  The face that’s propped up on my shoulder prompts a shout of alarm that I barely cover with my fist.

  Cocoa-brown skin. Sleek black hair, slightly tousled from sleep. Long, black eyelashes settled over soft cheeks. Charming pink lips—the kind that tempt a man to think inappropriate thoughts about what she could do with them.

  I shake my head and hold my free hand to my temple. “No, no, no.”

  How did I end up in bed with Logan?

  I take a few moments to collect myself and then glance at her again. She’s clothed. Which is a good sign in the relative scheme of things.

  But she’s still in my bed. Which is pretty much rock bottom for me.

  I haven’t confirmed it yet, but I’m almost certain she had a thing for my brother. And I have a thing for avoiding girls who are into men like Harry. The strong, dependable, forever-type of guy.

  Those girls… their standards are too high.

  I sigh and study her face, trying to find the best way to slide away without waking her. Then her eyelashes flutter. Fly up. Reveal a pair of deep, chocolate brown eyes.

  I can tell Logan hasn’t registered my presence yet. She’s still stuck between consciousness and sleep. But it doesn’t take her long to recognize me. When she does, her mouth opens and she lets out a scream that literally blows me off the bed.

  I land on my rear and snap to my feet. “Damn it, woman! Are you part banshee?”

  Logan’s eyes are wide, wild with shock and dismay. I’m slightly offended. Given that I pride myself on consent when it comes to sexual intimacy, I’m pretty sure she gave some kind of approval if we ended up in bed together.

  I resent the fear in her eyes.

  She gathers the sheet to her chest although she’s fully clothed. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Up here?” I rub my left butt cheek. “I should be asking you that.”

  Logan glances around, her long hair raking all over her shoulders. “Wait… this is your room.” She puts a hand to her temple. “Oh, my head hurts.”

  “Were you drinking too?”

  The side-eye she snaps my way makes me clamp my lips shut.

  “Of course not. You were the one who came home drunk. I showed you to your room and then you fell. When I came in, you were crying.”

  I shuffle nervously. I don’t remember that. In fact, I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry anymore. Guess I’ll just have to blame it on the beer.

  Logan shakes her head as she continues, “Then we cried together. I must have fallen asleep.”

  “On the bed? With me?”

  Logan crawled into bed with a total stranger after spending one night grieving together.

  No wonder Harry was never interested in the women I flung his way. He must have been getting some action from this Belizean beauty.

  That old dog…

  A pillow slams into my face. It knocks me back a step. I cry out, not because it hurts but because I’m so surprised.

  Logan narrows her eyes. “It wasn’t like that. Harry and I were just friends.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “You look sleazy.”

  I place a hand to my chest. “First of all, that’s offensive.”

  She cuts me off with a hand. “I didn’t try to sleep with you. After we both calmed down, you passed out on the floor. I sat on your bed and watched over you so you didn’t choke on your own vomit—” Her scathing look says she regrets her part in preventing that tragedy—“and I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Oh.”

  “You probably climbed up some time this morning.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Didn’t you see me?”

  “I don’t know.” I scratch my head. “I don’t remember.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust me. I wouldn’t sleep with you intentionally. As hard as it is to believe you’re—”

  “Not your type?”

  I look at her, surprised that she finished my thought.

  She offers a wry smile. “You shared that particular opinion plenty last night.”

  “Oh.” I study her. “Well, am I yours?”

  “Your what?”
/>
  “Am I your type? The way you were trying to cuddle—”

  Her cheeks bunch as she struggles to hide her distress. “I did not cuddle with you.”

  “You want proof?” I lift my shirt and feel around my hips. “I’m sure you left a mark you were holding me so tightly—”

  “That’s enough.” She winces. “This was obviously a misunderstanding. As long as Reece doesn’t find out we can pretend it never happened.”

  At that moment, there’s a knock on the door. A thin voice yells, “Logan, are you in there?”

  Logan’s eyes grow wider. She hops on the bed and starts miming at me.

  “I have no idea what you are saying,” I whisper-shout.

  There’s another thud. “Logan?”

  “Just a minute, Reece!” Logan yells. The doorknob starts to turn and she shrieks, “No, don’t open it!” In the next instant, she leaps off the bed like a gazelle and slams into me, her hand going for my neck.

  I’m stunned and slightly horrified by the determination etched into her face, so I allow her to shove me to my knees and herd me under the bed.

  From my perch beneath the bedsprings, I watch her feet patter against the floor. Her toenails are a girly pink. There’s a tiny tattoo above her ankle. It’s shaped like a pair of scissors.

  Tats aren’t my thing. They’re too permanent for my tastes. But on Logan, it’s pretty. Feminine. True to her.

  The door yawns open with a creak. “You’re up, honey?”

  “Why are you in the guest room?” Reece asks. Her voice sounds unfamiliar. Which could mean that I just haven’t gotten used to her tone yet or she’s still recovering from sleep.

  “I needed to freshen up some things before your uncle gets here.” I notice Logan kicking her legs backward, toes pointed at me. “He’ll walk through the front door in the next ten minutes to spend some time with you.” More kicks.

  Looks like I have my marching orders.

  “Why didn’t Dad tell me I had an uncle?”

  “Well…” Logan’s leg returns to the ground. “I don’t know. But let’s not think about that now. Would you like some pancakes?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Reece. Your dad would want you to eat. And you know how much he loved pancakes.”

  “A-alright.”

  “Great. You can help me crack the eggs.”

  They walk out and Logan closes the door behind them. I climb out of my hiding place and sink against the edge of the mattress. Lydia’s words at the hospital echo in my head, “You’re Reece’s official guardian.”

  She might as well have asked me to find a magic bean, plant a giant beanstalk and bring her back a golden egg.

  I don’t know what to do with a kid. In fact, I seriously considered getting a vasectomy just to prevent those small, financially draining creatures from falling into my lap. The clinic’s brochure is still in my car, nudged between the console and the driver’s seat.

  I’m hoping Lydia misunderstood. And if she didn’t… I’ll have to decide if Harry’s last wishes mean anything when he didn’t even tell me about Reece until after he died.

  I scramble to the door and open it a smidge. Noticing the coast is clear, I dart outside, sail past the living room and slip onto the porch.

  My fingers form a fist. Just before I knock, I hesitate. The moment I invite myself into this house, my world changes.

  I blow out a breath. It’s not like I have a choice. Half of Harry’s DNA is in there.

  Before I can knock, the door swings open. Logan stands on the threshold. Her hair is smoothed back now, but she’s still in the outfit I woke up to earlier. “Look who’s here?” She gasps and throws a hand against her cheeks. “It’s your uncle.”

  Reece looks up at her, eyebrows slanted together. “Why are you talking like that?”

  “Like what?” Logan says in that sprite, obviously forced voice.

  “Like the announcers on the baby channel.”

  Logan clears her throat and gestures to me, her tone more subdued. “Say hi.”

  Reece grabs the doorknob and studies me with those fascinating grey eyes. “Hey.”

  I wiggle my fingers awkwardly. “Hi.”

  “So you’re my uncle now?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Why didn’t my dad tell me about you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Reece studies my face. “I see.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for her to ask all the questions I probably won’t be able to answer.

  At last Reece turns around. “We’re making pancakes.”

  Logan locks eyes with me and offers a small smile.

  I walk in. “Pancakes? That sounds lovely.”

  Chapter Five

  Ben

  I settle around the small table in the kitchen. Reece falls into the chair next to mine. Her braids run down her shoulder. The sunlight picks up streaks of gold in her light brown mane. She settles her cheeks in her hands and stares at me.

  Those grey eyes are unnerving.

  I lick my lips and chuckle nervously. “Is something on my face?”

  “It’s funny. Sometimes you look like him. Sometimes you don’t.” A skinny arm hovers in the air and a slender finger points. “Like your eyes.”

  “My eyes.”

  “They’re bluer that Daddy’s.”

  “I guess so.”

  She studies me a second more and then flounces back, disinterested. “My dad was handsomer.”

  “More handsome,” Logan corrects. “And I agree.”

  Ouch. “First off, it depends on what you’re looking for. Plenty of women would beg to differ. In fact, just last night I was at the bar and these women—”

  “Ehem.” Logan narrows her eyes.

  I shrug innocently.

  She frowns. “Reece, I thought you were going to help me with the pancakes?”

  “I’m not hungry any more.”

  “But…”

  “Can I go back to sleep?”

  Logan’s jaw drops. “You’re still tired?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess.” Logan’s mouth twitches with concern.

  We watch the little girl rise and slump down the hall. Her expression is pure sadness.

  The sight of Reece in pain gets to me. Maybe because I know it would hurt Harry to see her like that. From everything I’ve gathered so far, my brother was a great father.

  Logan twists the knob of the stove and looks pointedly at me.

  I meet her gaze. “What?”

  “Shouldn’t you make sure she’s alright?”

  I stare at Reece’s back. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “She lost her dad yesterday,” Logan says. Like I need a reminder. “This is an opportunity to introduce yourself. Get to know her a little. Maybe even share some of your favorite memories about Harry.”

  I groan. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

  Logan wields her spatula. “Go or this thing might end up wedged where it doesn’t belong.”

  I scramble to my feet. The chair legs scrape against the floor. My hands curve around my behind. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nods sharply and returns to the pancakes.

  I shoot a terrified look over my shoulder as I wander down the hall. Geez, what made her so feisty? It’s too early in the morning to start picking fights.

  Logan catches me watching her and I freeze. She lifts her chin and jerks it down as if to say: ‘what?’

  “Nothing.” I rush down the corridor.

  Most of the doors are open. There’s a bathroom to my right. Just up ahead, I glimpse a pink wall and what appears to be the ear of a giant stuffed teddybear. Bingo. That must be Reece’s.

  I quicken my pace and ease the door open. My gaze sweeps the expanse of a princess-themed room. It’s like a Disney movie threw up in here.

  There’s an exquisitely carved white vanity dresser filling one side of the room. Animated characters grin from the posters on the wal
l, and a display of plastic tiaras sparkle in a glass shelf.

  But there’s no Reece.

  I back away slowly and return to the corridor. Where did she disappear?

  I hear sniffling coming from a room across the hall and inch closer to peer inside. There’s someone sitting in the middle of a large bed spread with a navy blanket. It’s Reece.

  I knock on the door before opening it. “Can I come in?”

  Reece sniffs and rubs her cheeks.

  “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

  She glares at me. “What do you want?”

  “Whoa. Let’s chill with the tone. I’m not here to drag you back to Logan’s pancakes. I bet they’re not that good anyway.”

  She turns around so I can see only half of her face. “Logan’s pancakes are the best. Apart from Dad’s.”

  “Your dad made pancakes?” I approach the bed.

  “Every Saturday morning. Sometimes we made waffles too.”

  “Wow. I thought Harry hated cooking.” I sit on the bed and share, “Once, our mom left us home alone for the weekend. Neither of us wanted to cook so we ended up blowing our money on takeout. She was furious when she came back home.”

  Grey eyes wide with interest, Reece whirls around so she can watch me without craning her neck. “Did he get in trouble?”

  “Yup. We got no allowance for a week.” I pause and then admit, “He must have really loved you if he cooked so often.”

  “Honestly, pancakes were the only things we made. We ordered food most of the time.”

  I laugh. “That sounds about right.”

  She blinks slowly, her black eyelashes sparkling with tears. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Benjamin Duncan.” I offer my hand to her. “You can call me Ben.”

  She clasps it gently. Her fingers are so much smaller and thinner than mine, but her grip is firm. “I’m Reece Duncan. You can call me Reece.”

  I release her and take my time surveying the room. It’s mostly bare of furniture, but everything is neat and tidy, not a sock out of place. “This was Harry’s room?”

  “Yes.”

  I notice a picture frame on the nightstand. It’s Harry, grinning broadly. Reece has her arms thrown around his neck. Their eyes are sparkling like stars. A panther stalks a dusty path in the background. It’s black coat gleams darker than midnight.