The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  She hesitated.

  That was answer enough. He slammed the drawer shut. "Let's just try seeing other people to find out if we would really work. You just may discover that I'm not the one."

  She stared at him.

  He stared back. Her eyes were his weakness, cutting his heart open every time he thought it had closed. "Don't look at me like that."

  Her voice was soft. "Like what?"

  "Like I'm abandoning you."

  "You are."

  "No." His voice was firm. "I'll always be there for you."

  Adriana gripped her bag. He would always be there for her. It sounded like the mission statement of a bank. She didn't want him to be there. She wanted him to be with her. "I won't let anyone take my place."

  "Nobody will." He held out the check. "I want you to have it."

  She pushed his hand away. "I don't want it! I want you. Don't you understand?" She tapped her chest. "It's not about the money, it's about us."

  His tone was level. "Just take the check."

  She stood, feeling the ice in his eyes as he created a distance between them. "No. You're not listening. I want—"

  He rose to his feet, propelled by anger. "I know what you want, but this is all I can give you! I know it's not enough, but it's all that I have. Why can't you—" He rested his hands on the desk, gathering his temper. His voice became quiet. "Accept what I can give you. I want you to succeed."

  "I will succeed, but—"

  "Take the check. Don't worry about what's on..." He adjusted his glasses. "Just take it, no strings. No commitment. As friends."

  She reluctantly took the check and put it in her bag. "Are you free Saturday?"

  He shook his head, his throat preventing any words.

  She stared at him; he stared at her. Her gaze fell first and she went to the door.

  "Adriana—"

  She gripped the handle. "Don't say good-bye," she said and walked out the door.

  * * *

  Adriana sat in the car and watched snowflakes land on her windshield. They were small and melted quickly, touching the window and then streaming down like tears. She didn't want to go home or to work or talk to Cassie. She didn't want to cry or think. She just wanted to disappear.

  She drove out of the city and ended up in Virginia. She stopped at a mall. In a haze she walked past the stores where there were blouses that promised a fresh new life, dresses that avowed to catch a man's eye, and shoes that swore they would add a spring to your step. She felt beaten, but knew she was going to be fine.

  They just needed time apart and then they'd be together again. She wanted to believe that, but in her head a vicious little imp whispered that it was over. That he'd grown tired of her. Tired of her need for him. Tears threatened, but she fought against them. That's when she saw it. Her tantalizing demon. Neiman Marcus was having a sale.

  Chapter 13

  Drake, Clay, and Eric sat in Eugene's Bar with beers and a bowl of chips on the table in front of them. They watched a game on the TV as a few regulars shouted out the plays.

  Drake stared into his mug. "So it's over?"

  "Yep," Eric said.

  "Why?"

  "Why are you surprised? You knew it wouldn't last."

  Drake shrugged. "I wasn't sure. I hoped it would."

  "Well, it's over now." Eric lifted his glass. "We're friends."

  Drake winced. "Friends? Why don't you just break up?"

  Eric swallowed his beer.

  Clay said, "You're in luck because I met this woman—"

  Drake scowled at him. "He doesn't need a woman right now."

  "Why not?"

  "Have you lost track of this conversation? He's just broken up with his girlfriend."

  Clay nodded. "Right, so it's time for some medicinal bonking."

  "What?"

  "Therapy sex."

  "What the hell is that?"

  "It's like pity sex except more intense," Eric explained.

  Clay leaned forward. "Right, and only some women can do it well. Fortunately, I met this woman—"

  "No," Drake said. "He needs time."

  "Time's relative, mate."

  "He loves her."

  "You're thinking like a married man. You're thinking of loyalty. But we reside in the single guy's realm. The rules are different. Once you've broken up, it's over. You and your willie are free."

  "So it's okay if Adriana suddenly finds another man?"

  The sound of crushing metal interrupted Clay's reply. They both turned to Eric's demolished beer can.

  "I'm sure that won't happen," Drake said quickly, moving the can out of view.

  "I said single guys," Clay clarified. "Single women operate by different rules." He scratched his chin. "Unfortunately, I haven't quite worked them out yet."

  Drake turned to Eric. He was too quiet, becoming a shadow again. He sighed. "You make me worry sometimes."

  Eric glared at him. "I'm not a damn drug addict. You've a wife and two kids to worry about. When am I going to get off your radar?"

  "Never. I've known you all your life."

  Eric shook his head, solemn. "No, you haven't."

  "You're right," Drake agreed. He ordered another beer. "I could never figure you out."

  "Don't try."

  "Why not?"

  "You don't need to pretend anymore."

  Drake thanked the waitress for his beer, then turned to him. "Pretend what?"

  Eric glanced up, his eyes like stones. "I know you've despised me since Dad died."

  "That's not—"

  "You can deny it, but I know how my illness affected you. I know how much you had to sacrifice. I know how you had to keep me out of trouble all the time. When you thought I wasn't looking, I'd see you staring at me as if you wanted to put a pillow over my head while I slept. Do you deny it?"

  "Yes. I never despised you. What put that in your mind?"

  Eric set his glass down with a thud. "Because I despise myself. I was pathetic and weak with bad eyes and bad lungs and could do nothing to help you."

  Drake pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. Eric snatched the pack. Drake flashed a slow, dangerous smile. "You're in a fighting mood today."

  He didn't deny it. He held up the cigarettes. "I want you to stop this. Not just for me and Jackie, but for your family. Do you think it will be fair to put Marcus through what we did? You sick in bed with emphysema or lung cancer and he having to watch you die and not be there for him and his sister."

  "I'm not going to get sick."

  "You don't know. You've always been healthy. If you knew about illness you wouldn't risk it." He tossed the cigarettes down in disgust. "I made you become this."

  "No, you didn't."

  "I remember the way you used to look at us. It was—"

  "Guilt. I felt guilty. Every time you got sick or said you were hungry, I felt guilty because I wanted to keep you instead of giving you over to the system. You were my family. The only thing of value that I had and I made you suffer for my own selfish need." He raised his drink, then set it down. "It preys on a man's conscience." He frowned at his drink. "Who knows? You might be healthier now if you'd been brought up in a good home and a clean environment instead of what I could get for you."

  "But my scams..."

  "Your scams kept me going. They gave me the motivation to work harder and provide a better life so you would stop."

  Eric grabbed a handful of chips. "I didn't stop."

  "Did I ever turn your money away?"

  Eric turned toward the exit, his voice a raw whisper. "I nearly got you killed."

  Drake sat back and shook his head in regret. "How could you still blame yourself for that?"

  Eric couldn't stop. It was a virus eating away at his mind, every year the memory becoming more clear, more gruesome. He had scammed the wrong guy. The man had seemed a good mark: weak, unassuming, naive. He didn't look like a guy with connections to an underground gang that had slipped under the radar of
police for fifteen years.

  Eric had discovered his mistake quickly. The man hadn't been pleased to lose five hundred dollars in Eric's counterfeit money scheme. He had gotten reckless and Drake had paid for it. The gang grabbed Drake as he left for work, beat him until his face was barely recognizable, and hung him upside down over the side of a building.

  They made Eric watch. They held him and forced his eyes open. Time stood still.

  It was spring. He wore a T-shirt with the arms cut away and jeans. The spring air was warm and brought a gentle breeze, but his insides were frozen. His heart was crystal, his lungs icicles. He could hardly breathe. They held him a few feet away from Drake so he could see the bottom of his brother's sneakers—so worn the grooves were smooth. He was sixteen but nearly wept like a baby, talking fast, trying to come up with a bargain.

  They finally dropped Drake on the concrete roof and offered a warning. Eric didn't hear it, he didn't need to. His eyes remained fixed on Drake, who lay motionless only a few feet away. He'd seen death before and felt its presence. He wondered if it would sweep down and take his brother away. Soon the gang was gone. The sound of traffic was heard below, voices carried up from the streets. But he stood paralyzed, trapped by invisible restraints.

  Something in him had died that day. He was never the same again.

  "It was better me than you," Drake said, cutting through his thoughts.

  "Why?"

  Drake looked at him. Eric knew the answer then. He would have killed them and probably gotten killed in the process. That was Drake—passionate and ready to defend and protect those he cared for. Either way he would have been involved—either as sacrifice or defender. Eric swore, the fierce love for his brother annoying him.

  "It's over," Drake said. "It's the past. It taught us both a lesson. That you were playing a dangerous game and that I had to keep a closer eye on you."

  Drake tried to make light of it, but Eric couldn't. His real fear shadowed him every day. "I'm like Dad," he admitted, ashamed. "I have his rashness, his optimism, his willingness to risk it all. And I fight that part of me every second."

  "Why fight it?" Clay asked.

  The two men looked at him, surprised. They had forgotten he was there.

  "What?" Eric asked.

  "Why fight it? Isn't life a gamble?"

  "I've taken risks. I've asked three women to marry me."

  Clay gave a low whistle. "That is a risk. One of them might have said yes."

  "How come you never did marry?" Eric asked him.

  "What are the acceptable excuses? Never found the right woman, didn't want to, I'm gay, fear of commitment. Personally, I think I'm too old now. I'm too set in my ways."

  "Should guys like us get married?"

  "Don't see why not. If you can convince a woman to marry you, what's the harm in that?"

  "Your past. Who you used to be."

  "I used to drink. Was completely legless for years. I hardly remember my twenties. I can assure you I'm not that man anymore. Whoever meets me is meeting Clay now, not then."

  "You told me once not to be ashamed of my past," Drake added.

  "Your past is different than mine."

  "Is the man who accepts dirty money cleaner than the one who makes it?"

  "He has a point," Clay said. "You—" He stopped when Eric looked past him and swore.

  Bruce approached the table. A large and predatory menace. "I've been looking for you."

  Drake leaned back. "What is the problem?"

  Clay flashed a cold smile. "We might be of service."

  Bruce pointed at Eric. "I owe Four Eyes a broken nose."

  "Really?" he said slowly.

  Drake stood. "Why don't you practice on me first?"

  Bruce kept his eyes on Eric. "This isn't about you."

  "Yes, but I can make it about me."

  Eric spoke up in a lazy voice. "I can handle it." He rose to his feet and threw some money on the table. "I've been waiting for this moment."

  * * *

  March pushed into February with ice, snow, and wind. When Adriana stepped into Divine Notions she was too busy trying to get warm to notice Sya's excitement.

  "You won't believe this," she said as Adriana hung up her coat.

  "What?"

  "A woman came in and ordered three of your boxer and robe sets."

  Adriana looked at her, confused. "That's nice. Did you give them to her?"

  Sya shook her. "She wasn't talking about the store, she was talking about your design. She saw it at the fashion show and wants to discuss selling your designs in her stores. She owns—"

  Adriana didn't hear the rest. She fell into a chair. "She liked them?"

  "Yes. Adriana Travers, you're in business."

  Adriana looked at her; Sya looked back. They took a deep breath and screamed.

  She had to tell someone. Adriana was so full of energy she thought she could float. First she had survived a Neiman Marcus sale, actually walking away with nothing, and now a woman wanted to buy her clothes. She went to Cassie's house and saw a man stumble down the steps. She raced up to him.

  "Eric! What happened?"

  "Bruce found me." He pulled out something from his shirt pocket. "This time he did break my glasses."

  "That's awful." She reached for him but stopped herself.

  He shrugged. "I have another pair at home."

  "Will you be able to find your way?"

  He squinted at the ground. "I know I scattered crumbs somewhere."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Are you drunk?"

  Eric shook his head, mournful. "Tried but it didn't work."

  "I think it did."

  He looked at her. His eyes were clear. "I'm fine. I don't get drunk. I told you I like being in control."

  "I'm so sorry about Bruce."

  He tenderly touched the bruise on his cheek. "Don't be. He only hit me twice."

  "You counted?"

  He nodded.

  "What do you mean? How can he only hit you twice?"

  "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

  Adriana made a face. "Is it bloody?"

  He nodded.

  "Very violent?"

  He nodded again.

  She bit her lip. "Is Bruce conscious?"

  He paused.

  She held up her hand. "No, I don't want to hear it."

  "Okay." He walked past her.

  "I have news."

  He turned. "You found someone?"

  Her voice fell. "No."

  "I was trying to be funny."

  "Don't."

  He rested against the railing. "What's your news?"

  "I did it!"

  He blinked. "Did what?"

  "I sold a design! A woman wants three boxer and robe sets. Can you believe it?"

  He held out his arm. "Congratulations."

  Adriana hugged him. "I hardly feel like myself."

  Eric stifled a groan. "Careful. Not too tight."

  She looked up at him. "I thought you said he only hit you twice."

  "That's right, but he threw me a couple of times. Concrete is not good for the back."

  "Are you sure you're okay? Will he be looking for you again?"

  "Doubt it."

  Adriana frowned. "I don't like this. How could he be angry with you after all these months?"

  "He knows how to hold a grudge."

  "Did he mention Lynda?"

  "We really didn't get a moment to chat," he said dryly.

  "I wonder if they're still together."

  "I really don't care." He pulled away, realizing he was still holding her. It felt too natural.

  Adriana studied him. He looked tired. "Are you coming down with something?"

  "No, I've just had a lot to do." He turned and slipped on some ice. Adriana grabbed his arm. They both fell.

  "Are you all right?" she asked, hovering over him. His eyes were closed.

  He smiled. "You smell good."

  "Are you sure you're not drunk?"


  "I'm sure."

  "How hard did you hit your head?"

  "I didn't." He sat up and opened his eyes. "I'm fine." He winced. "Stop worrying."

  "You could have twisted an ankle, broken a leg."

  "Busted a skull."

  "That's not funny."

  Eric shrugged. "No, but this is." He pulled the back of her shirt and dropped in snow.

  Adriana squealed and shook it out. "Why, you—" She tried to catch him, but he ran. She made a snowball and threw it at him. It hit him in the back of the head. He spun around and grabbed some snow.

  "I love you," she said.

  The snow fell through his fingers. "I wish you would stop saying that."

  "I'll say it until you believe me."

  His shoulders fell. "It's not enough."

  She walked up to him. "What else do you want? Proof?"

  He wiped the snow off his gloves.

  "Nina wants to know when you'll stop by."

  "Some day."

  She searched his face. His nose was red from the cold, the bruise on his jaw turning purple. She thought he looked beautiful. "Are you seeing anyone?" she asked softly.

  Eric sighed. "No."

  "Then you might as well see me."

  "Adriana—"

  "I've proven that I don't need to spend impulsively, I will be grateful for anything you have planned, I've accomplished a goal—"

  "I don't want you to change because of me."

  She bit her lip. "And I don't want to lose you because of me."

  He groaned and turned. "I'll think about it," he called over his shoulder.

  "Don't think too long," she said. "I'm not as patient as you think."

  * * *

  Carter gripped the phone, fighting the wave of panic that threatened to drown him. He'd lost the money. His investment was gone. In three weeks the family would discover three thousand missing from the fund and Henson would demand his money. The receiver slipped from his hand, clattering into its cradle. He needed money now. Fast. Serena would never forgive him for this. Her family would never trust him.

  They wouldn't understand. They'd never had money troubles. It was always there. For him money troubles had haunted him all his life. Even in elementary school he was aware of the differences between the haves and the have-nots. He'd grown up with kids like Nina Shelton who never had to worry about money, or even about getting a job after graduation. Their lives were planned out and if they made a mistake, they had a big cushy trust fund to land on. Their parents invested in them like property. Something valuable.