The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "You know you're more than that."

  He looked surprised. "Do I? You told Eric we were just friends."

  "He misunderstood me."

  "He misunderstood 'We're just friends'?"

  "Okay, I admit I sort of misled him," she confessed with shame.

  He sat down, "Why?"

  Cassie let her shoulders slump. "It seemed a good idea at the time."

  "Why?"

  She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

  "Yes, you do," he insisted.

  She shook her head. "No, I don't."

  His voice was hard. "Yes, you do."

  "I was humiliated, okay!" she admitted, feeling all the hurt of that evening rushing back. "I couldn't stand his pity. He felt so sorry for me that I wanted to make him feel better and I didn't want him to take me seriously. I didn't want any of you to take me seriously." Tears welled in her eyes. "I wanted to laugh about it, but you all refused and made me feel worse."

  His voice softened. "We didn't mean to make you feel worse, but what happened wasn't funny. We couldn't even have forced ourselves to laugh if we tried."

  She covered her face, her thoughts as jagged and painful as Kristin's words had been. "But it was so embarrassing. How could you not have been embarrassed to be seen with me?"

  "The only person who should have been embarrassed was Kristin because what she said wasn't true."

  Cassie shook her head, wishing it were as simple as that.

  Drake removed her hands, forcing her to look at him. His amber eyes were tender. "What she said was not true."

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but a stream of tears still escaped under the lids. Drake let out an audible breath and held her close. His lips brushed her forehead. "Why didn't you tell me she hurt you this much?"

  "You were so angry and ashamed," she whispered miserably.

  "I wasn't angry at you and I definitely wasn't ashamed." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I could never be ashamed of you." He briefly shut his eyes, battling the anguish her tears caused. He should have known how much Kristin had hurt her. How her flippant attitude was just a mask. He should have been there for her. "Can you forgive me?"

  "You didn't do anything."

  He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "I know." He held her face and wiped away her tears, then gently kissed her. Her lips were salty and sweet. "Open your eyes, Cassie."

  She opened her eyes and saw such tenderness reflecting in his she had to turn away. "It's no big deal really," she said, needing to make light of it all. "I'm okay. I just... wished you'd call."

  "I'm sorry I didn't call."

  She turned to him and blinked. "Are my eyes red?"

  "As a mango."

  She rubbed them with the back of her hand. "Now you see why I prefer laughing to crying."

  "Well, the next time you need to cry, let me know," He placed a finger on her lips to keep her from smiling and making light of his words. "Do you understand?"

  She buried her face in his chest and nodded.

  "You feel like crying again?"

  "No." Her voice was muffled against his shirt. "But I feel a giggle coming on."

  He sighed, knowing she was ready to change the subject. He tossed a package on the table.

  She lifted her head. "What's that?"

  "Never mind." He lifted her chin. "Kiss me again."

  She brushed her lips against his. "Now what's that?"

  "I think you're beginning to take me for granted," he said dryly.

  She lifted the package. "This had better not be food."

  "It's not."

  She flipped it over. "What is it?"

  "Open it."

  She eagerly opened the package and smiled. "Pictures!"

  "I thought since you showed me your family, I would show you mine. There isn't much."

  "It's enough. Are there any naked baby pictures of you?"

  "No. Why would you want to see me naked then when you can see me naked now?"

  She made a face. "It's not the same."

  He lifted a brow. "I should hope not."

  She looked through his handful of pictures with the same reverence he had given her album. "Are these the pictures of your parents?" she asked, staring at a young couple.

  "Yes."

  She brought the picture closer and studied the happy pair. "They look so in love."

  Drake stretched his arm the length of the couch. "For all the good it did them."

  Cassie turned to him, hearing the disgust in his tone. "What do you mean?"

  "When my mother died, you would have thought my father's soul had been ripped from him. There wasn't a day that passed that I didn't hear him crying." He shook his head in irritation as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "We had to take care of him—a man who had been my hero. I think he succumbed to illness just to be with her, leaving us to fend for ourselves."

  "You blame him for dying?"

  He shook his head. "No, I blame a love that was all-consuming, a love that could make a grown man weak. He once told me that my mother was his heart. I believed him because once she died his heart stopped. Unfortunately, his actual death took longer." He stared out in the distance, his voice quiet. "That won't happen to me. I lost the people I loved and it made me strong, not weak. It was the enduring love of family that strengthened me—not romantic love."

  Cassie bit her lower lip, choosing her words carefully. "Yes, the love of family is important, but so is the love between a man and a woman. Family is built on the very foundation of that love. As crazy as they were, my parents' love for each other kept us in balance, made us feel safe. It was the glue that bonded us."

  "And the axe that split my family apart." Drake stared at the black TV screen. "What good is a father so in love with his wife that he can focus on nothing else? What good is a mother who smiles through pain just so that her husband won't worry? It leaves the children as spectators."

  Cassie cupped the side of his face, feeling the tense muscles constrict on his jaw. "With so many kids growing up in single-parent homes, your parents stayed together. Doesn't it make you proud that you were the product of such a love?"

  "No."

  "It wasn't love that killed your parents. It was surviving in a new world, a new culture, fighting poverty and disease. It was love and hope that brought you here."

  Drake absently stroked her neck, but said nothing.

  She decided it was a subject better left alone. "Are you hungry?"

  His eyes raked over her. "Only for one thing."

  "I'm afraid I'm all out of hot sex on a kitchen table."

  His fingers left a sensuous trail down her neck, disappearing into her shirt. She felt one bra strap being removed from her shoulder. "How about cool sex on the living room floor?"

  She stood, unbuttoning his shirt. "No, I think I can make sweet sex on a mattress much better."

  He tossed off his shirt. "Sounds good to me. I've brought my own utensils." He held up a condom.

  She grabbed the lapels of his shirt and walked toward the bedroom. "Let's get started before you lose your appetite."

  "That's not possible. I've developed a mighty big one."

  The doorbell rang.

  Drake scowled. "Who is that?"

  "Adriana," she said, chagrined.

  "If you have an appointment we can make this quick," he said, tugging on her blouse.

  She slapped his hand away. "That's not necessary." She opened the door and smiled at her friend. "There's been a change in plans."

  "What change?" Adriana demanded. "Drake's no longer a jerk?"

  He came to the door wearing only boxer shorts. "That's right and now we're making up. She'll call you." He shut the door.

  Cassie stared at him. "I don't think you changed her opinion of you."

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom. "Yours is the only one that matters."

  * * *

  Drake nudged her awake the next morning. "Would you like to join
me in the shower?"

  The thought was enticing and in her sleepy state she almost said yes. But her mind soon cleared. Even in her fantasies she couldn't imagine standing naked in front of him with the harsh bathroom light exposing all her faults.

  "No, thanks." She turned, ready to go back to sleep. "Enjoy yourself."

  He sighed with exaggerated dismay. "I'll try."

  When she woke up again, he was gone.

  * * *

  Two days later, Cassie stifled a scream of frustration as she deleted a line of rubbish she had entered on the computer.

  "Just a minute," she called when the doorbell rang.

  She quickly threw away her muffin wrappings and donut boxes and answered the door. Timothy stood there with a smug smile on his face. "Hi."

  Cassie didn't return the expression. "Hi."

  "It's been a while," he said, his smile dimming a bit.

  "Yes. How's your father doing?"

  "He's hanging on."

  She nodded.

  He hesitated, then took a step forward. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

  She shook her head.

  His smile disappeared. "How long are you going to punish me for one mistake?" His eyes filled with agony. "I need you, Cass—Cassie. I go home and there's no one there for me."

  "Get a dog. Timothy, I can't help you." She started to shut the door. He stopped her.

  "Is it me, or didn't we have a good time a few weeks ago?" he asked, confused.

  "We did."

  "And that doesn't matter?"

  She suddenly grinned, pleased. "You're beginning to catch on." She tried to close the door again but he stopped her.

  "You're not going to get better than me, Cass," he said, all warmth and agony gone from his eyes.

  "No, the fact is you're not going to get better than me and you know it. You know you're going to have a hard time finding someone who truly loves you—not just your face, your money, your name or career, but you." She poked him in the chest. "Someone who idolizes you and lets you get away with cruel remarks and spiteful attitudes. You're terrified of being alone because you're scared the next woman you meet will be as shallow as you are. Fortunately, that's not my problem."

  "Perhaps you're right." He hesitated. "Perhaps I'm afraid to lose something special that I know I've lost. But why are you afraid to give us a second chance? Are you afraid perhaps that you still have feelings for me? That what I've said is true, that I have changed?" Tears glittered in his eyes, his voice was a whisper. "I love you, Cassie, please believe me. I married you, didn't I? Out of all the women who wanted me, I married you. That has to mean something. I loved you then and I love you still. I always will."

  For a second she did believe him—her ego was eager, and a wounded part of her needed to believe he had loved her, that he still did. But the reality of how he had treated her made his words hollow. He could choose to believe them, but she couldn't afford to.

  "Timothy, I loved you once. That's why I became your wife. But we also made promises on our wedding day and you broke yours. So now it's over. We're over— forever."

  The tears disappeared as his voice grew harsh. "You're making a mistake."

  "Then I'll deal with the consequences."

  "You'll regret this. You'll look back on this day and wish that you had taken me back. You think you have other men, but they just see you as a diversion. You're a lot of fun but that doesn't last. I know and I was willing to settle—"

  "Bye, Timothy." She slammed the door, barely missing his fingers.

  Timothy jumped back and swore. He couldn't believe he had failed. He had failed. It left an awful feeling in his gut. He felt bad now, but she'd feel bad later. She would regret her decision one day. He stalked to the stairway door. He halted when he saw a big man, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers, blocking his path. He was about to ask the man to move, but piercing amber eyes left him speechless. The man did not have to speak to let Timothy know he had been waiting for him.

  "You can have whatever you want," Timothy said, reaching slowly for his wallet lest any sudden movements set the man into action.

  "I know that," he said simply, as if that were common knowledge.

  Timothy swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a nervous twitch. "Then what do you want?"

  "I want you to stay away from Cassie."

  Timothy paused, trying to comprehend the unexpected request. "What?"

  The man stared at his cigarette. "You don't live in this building, do you?"

  "No, but that's—"

  The man met his gaze. "Then there's no reason for you to be here."

  Who the hell was this guy, anyway? "Listen, you can't tell me what to do."

  His gaze didn't waver. "I can and I have."

  Timothy began to grin. "You think you can fight me? She used to be my wife. I've had her in ways you'll never know, never comprehend. You're one of many, but I was her husband. She belonged to me." He held up his hands in mock surrender and chuckled, shaking his head. "Now if you want to fight over my leftovers that's up to you. Just remember I—"

  The man cut off his windpipe. His large hand fastened around his neck like a noose. "Let me try again," he said slowly, "since I don't seem to be making myself clear." His hand tightened a fraction. "Stay away from Cassie."

  Timothy made a gurgling sound in response and the man let him go. Gasping and wheezing, Timothy glared at the stranger's dispassionate expression. "It's up to her who she wants," he panted. "She's the one who has to make a choice."

  The man opened the door to the stairwell. "Not if I make the choice for her."

  Timothy sent him a dirty look, then left. He stormed down the stairwell and opened the door to the ground level, halting for the second time when he saw another large man standing by the front doors. Sharp dark eyes and a hard mouth greeted him. He held up his hands in ready submission, then let them fall when he recognized him. "She's all yours. You don't have to worry about me anymore. She doesn't know what she's lost."

  The man said nothing, but his expression said, Not much.

  Timothy smoothed down his hair. "You never liked me but now you've got some other guy to deal with and he's not as friendly as I am."

  He shrugged.

  "She's not worth the trouble."

  The man didn't blink. Timothy cleared his throat and headed for the exit, feeling the man's gaze.

  * * *

  Drake shut the door behind Timothy and sighed, wondering what damage Timothy had done to Cassie's self-image and how much injury he would have to undo. He knew she needed space, but he had just wanted to see her. He was glad he'd come. He'd been curious to see the ghost that kept them apart—a scrawny, egotistical playboy. Drake had been a little sorry when he'd spotted Timothy, he had hoped to have a more worthy adversary.

  He heard the familiar creak of Mr. Gianolo's door. "Get rid of him, did you?"

  "For now."

  "He's wrong. Cassie is a good girl. She doesn't have a lot of men coming and going."

  "I know."

  "Have you asked her yet?" he demanded.

  "No, not yet. You'll be the first to know."

  "Don't wait too long. I'm not as young as I look." He closed the door.

  Drake knocked briskly on the door, running over in his mind the excuse as to why he was here. Then he remembered the box in his jacket and concluded that was reason enough.

  When Cassie opened the door, he was surprised to see that she was okay. Instead of the red eyes, droopy mouth, and wary expression he had expected, she looked rumpled and frustrated like a kid whose Lego castle refused to stay up.

  "Why are you grinning like that?" she asked.

  "I'm happy to see you." And happy to see that your ex no longer affects you. Their relationship had reached a new level.

  Cassie impatiently drummed her fingers on the door. If she didn't get rid of him soon he'd become a pleasant diversion and then she would never get anything done. "It's nice to s
ee you too, but I'm really busy."

  "Of course." He handed her a plastic container.

  Cassie groaned. "Tell me it's not something sinful."

  "Food can't be sinful."

  She shot him a glance. "Spoken like a true nonbeliever."

  He took the container and opened it. "Go ahead and try one."

  She tugged on her sweatshirt. "Do you see this shirt? Do you want my body to resemble this shirt?"

  He ignored the question, holding out a pecan praline.

  She should be furious with him. She used to hate when Timothy gave her food, knowing that eventually he would tease her about it. But since she knew that for Drake giving food was the highest honor, it didn't annoy her. It wasn't like Timothy's gift or her father's absent-minded treats. It was a well-thought-out present that always made her feel special and cared for.

  Resigned, she took a bite, letting the crunchy, sweet taste fill her mouth. She met his eyes, which reflected warmth and the pleasure that he could make her happy. "Delicious."

  He nodded. "What's this?" he asked, picking up a shiny, silver card.

  "Another invitation from Kevin. Would you like to go?"

  His glare was eloquent enough.

  "He's not as bad as you think."

  Drake folded his arms.

  "Very well. I'll say no." She pushed him toward the door. "Now leave. I have to get some writing done."

  He spun around her and went to the couch. "Your book's not going well?"

  "It's not going, period." She sat down next to him, facing defeat.

  "Let me see what you have." He took a praline. "Perhaps I can help you."

  "That's a joke, right? Mr. Unromantic wants to help me write about keeping love alive."

  "I'm not unromantic," he said, offended. "My entire job is about creating environments where romance can flourish. Remember your broth dinner?"

  She handed him her outline. "Fine. Try."

  Drake quickly scanned it, then tapped the paper. "I can already see your trouble."

  She leaned over his shoulder. "What?"

  "You're not focused. In order to keep your book together you need to have one underlining theory on how to keep romance alive."

  "But there are plenty of ways."

  "Let other books discuss them. What could you focus on?" He munched on another praline, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Food."