Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire

by Victoria Danann

  On the way out of the building she threaded her arm through his, giving the distinct impression that she was quite comfortable in his company. She said, “Some of us are going to the Love place in the Hamptons this weekend. Want to come?”

  He said, “Got me a Chrysler, it’s as big as a whale and it’s about to set sail.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  Clearly she wasn’t familiar with B52’s. “I’m not sure, Ginger. I could be busy.”

  She gave the sort of open mouthed laugh you’d expect to hear coming from a big busted, bawdy bartender. It was the kind of laugh that was interesting in its uniqueness, but could get old fast. He wondered if his brother was really interested in Ginger.

  It turned out that what interested Ginger was society gossip. The good part was that it became obvious quickly that Brash would not be expected to talk. All he had to do was nod and give an occasional one-syllable reply. So he concentrated on the food and on finishing quickly.

  That night, Brash called Brandon to find out how carefully he needed to handle Ginger.

  “Do. Not. Encourage. That. She’s clingy as velcro. If you lead her on, I will never be able to peel her off.”

  “She doesn’t seem that bad.” It was all Brash could do to say that without laughing. “Maybe she’d like to experience the difference a piercing can make.” Of course he had no intention of following through on that threat, but it was fun to make Brandon squirm.

  “You wouldn’t.” Brandon’s teeth clenched of their own volition.

  “Oh, yeah, I would.” Brash chuckled.

  “Just because we missed growing up together doesn’t mean I won’t still pound you proper.”

  That only made Brash laugh harder.

  Until Brandon said, “You know there’s plenty of mischief I could cause around here that could make your life more… interesting.”

  Brash got very serious, very fast. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Well, I know this brainy hangaround with a super nice ass.”

  The thought of Brandon talking about Brigid’s ass made Brash’s temper shoot to imminent explosion levels within a nanosecond, but he didn’t want his brother to know just how much he was sensitive about that subject. So he dialed it back quickly.

  “Okay. Settle back. I was just havin’ a little fun at your expense. Truth is, I’d rather be strangled than have another meal with Ginger. So you been thinkin’ about our parents and their predicament?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know that your grandfather blackmailed her into leaving Pop?”

  “What? No! She told you that?”

  “She said he had somethin’ on Pop, Granddad, and some other members of the club that would send ‘em all up. Unless she walked the path he’d laid out for her.” Brandon was silent. “Guess you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t. But I never really pressed her hard.”

  “I wasn’t brutal about it, but I trapped her at dinner in a public place. By the way, the Mexican food here is shit.”

  “Preachin’ to the choir. I’ve been to Chuy’s.”

  “Anyhow, she seemed ready to talk about it. She said that after the selfish old monster died, she figured Pop had moved on. Probably married. Maybe other kids and stuff. Readin’ between the lines.”

  “She called him a selfish old monster?”

  “That was all me, my interpretation of events.”

  “Call it Fate, but I got a similar story here. Pop says he never contacted her again because he thought it was too late, but here’s the thing. He said he took the club legit and concentrated on profit because he was hoping to make some serious money. The subtext is he was hoping to neutralize that as a reason to be apart. He still loves her. Can you imagine? After all this time.”

  “She feels the same. We gotta fix this. Hey, look, Adlay is blowin’ up this phone. Let me find out what he wants.”

  “Okay.”

  Brash hit call back for Adlay.

  “Hey, Uncle, what are…?”

  “Brandon. I’ve been trying to reach you. Your mother has had a stroke. She’s been taken to Presbyterian Weill Cornell.”

  “But she’s just…” He was going to say that she was just fifty-years-old, then realized that was a dumb reaction. “Didn’t my grandfather die from a stroke?”

  “You can’t think about that right now, Brandon. Get yourself to the hospital.”

  Brandon felt like he was in a daze. Fate wouldn’t be cruel enough to give him his mother and take her away a day later. He pulled on jeans and a tee shirt and threw on his brother’s leather jacket.

  Stuffing his phone and his keys into his pockets as he ran, he hailed a cab on the street, then tried to remember the name of the hospital.

  “It was Presbyterian something.”

  “Weill Cornell?” the cabbie asked. His accent was hard to understand, but Brash thought it sounded right.

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  When he found the right floor, they showed him to a private waiting room.

  “What…?” Brash started to ask.

  “She’s not responding yet, but she’s alive,” Adlay said.

  “Can I see her?”

  “I think so. Let’s go ask.”

  The room was dark except for the light of the machines. Brash pulled a chair up to the side of the bed that didn’t have the IV drip. Every hour or so, someone came in and took readings, made adjustments, and asked if they could get him anything. The first few times he said no, but eventually he asked for coffee.

  Even with the coffee, sometime during the night he fell asleep sitting in the chair with his head on the bed next to Garland’s hip. He woke to the feel of her hand on his head.

  He sat up. “Mom. You’re awake.”

  “Brandon. Do you know how much I love you?”

  She sounded weak and looked pale as death.

  His voice caught in his throat twice when he tried to say what needed to be said. He finally got it out. “I’m not Brandon, Mom. I’m Brannach.”

  He could see that she was trying to focus on him and make sense of what he was saying. He could see that her heartrate was speeding up by looking at the graph display on the other side of the bed. She reached for him and he took her hand.

  “Brannach. My sweet baby.”

  Brash’s throat closed off completely as tears formed behind his eyes. She had wanted him.

  “Mom. Why did you…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “It was all I could do to give you up, but your father needed you to heal his broken heart. I loved you, but I loved him, too, and I knew you’d be his angel in the form of a beautiful baby.”

  “He still loves you.”

  “It was the magazine, wasn’t it? I think I was hoping that you would see it.” She sounded exhausted and went to sleep before he could say anything else.

  Later that morning the doctor told him she would recover. She had some slight paralysis on the left side of her body, but it might go away in time, with physical therapy.

  Brash called Brandon from the private waiting room before going down to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast.

  “She’s okay. There’s no damage to her memory or speech. She may have to have some physical therapy to get her brain to connect with her left side again. But it’s gonna be alright. And I’ve been thinkin’ we might use this to our advantage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re gonna tell Pop what you’d call a partial truth.”

  “Spill it.”

  “We’re gonna say she’s had a stroke and wants to see him. Once they’re in the same room with each other…”

  Brandon didn’t respond right away. “It’s as good as anything. Let’s do it.”

  “You’ll have to let Pop know you’re not me.”

  “Thank fuck. It ain’t easy bein’ you.”

  Brash laughed. “And that’s the truth. Now about that girl…”

  Brandon found Brigid behind the bar, deep in
conversation with Nam, who was telling stories from the early days of the Sons of Sanctuary.

  “Brigid.” She looked up. “Could I have two minutes?”

  She looked surprised, suspicious, and above all put out. “I’m busy.”

  “Please.”

  She asked Nam to excuse her and untied her apron as she walked around the bar. “What’s this about?”

  “I have somethin’ to show you. Somethin’ important.”

  “What?”

  “Guaran-damn-tee you will want to see it.”

  She followed, but with both prejudice and resentment. Inside Brash’s room, he closed the door and said, “You can’t be mad at Brash.”

  “Why not? And when did you start talking about yourself in the third person?”

  “I’m not talking about myself in the third person. Because I’m not him. He wasn’t the one that made you mad. It was me, the…” he had to smile, “…evil twin.”

  She turned on her heel and started toward the door, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back. “Hold on. I can prove it.”

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Brash. When he answered, Brandon said, “Need you on Facetime. There’s a girl here who doesn’t believe there are two of us.” He switched the phone to Facetime and handed it to Brigid.

  “Hey, beautiful,” said Brash.

  She narrowed her eyes at Brandon. “How are you doing this?”

  Brash pulled her gaze back to the phone by answering. “He’s not doin’ it. I’m here in New York. Takin’ his fuckin’ place.”

  She looked at Brandon, then at Brash on the small screen in her hand and could see that he was wearing a tie. “That’s a… good look for you.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it. Look. I’m sorry you got caught in this.”

  “What is this?”

  Brash sighed. “It’s a long story. We didn’t know about each other until a couple of months ago. When we figured it out, we were both curious about the other parent. Brand was raised by our mother.” She looked at Brandon, who smiled and waved. “I was raised by Pop.”

  Her eyes widened as she processed that. “Oh my God. You traded places and your parents don’t know!”

  “We both wanted a chance to find out what we missed.”

  “That is one incredible story.”

  “I know. I’m sorry if you got hurt in the middle of this.”

  “What made this confession day?”

  “Our mother has had a stroke. Brand is gonna tell Pop and bring him up here. We’re gettin’ our parents back together.”

  “That’s got to be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothin’. Just know that I miss you and as soon as this is over I’m comin’ back. For you.”

  “I take it back. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Does that mean you’re gonna forgive me?”

  “No. It means you’re already forgiven. And I can’t wait to see you.”

  Chapter 9

  Brandon knocked on Brant’s office door and heard his father say, “Come in, Brash.”

  He flopped in a chair in front of the desk. “What made you think it was me?”

  “You have a distinctive knock.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. What do you need?”

  “To tell you that you’re wrong. It’s not Brash.” Brant looked at him over his glasses like he was waiting for the punchline. “I’m Brandon.”

  Brandon sat quietly and patiently waiting for his father to internalize his words.

  Brant put down the paper and took off his glasses. After staring for a full minute, he simply said, “Brandon.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “I expect so.”

  “And Brash is?”

  “With our mother.”

  Brant scrubbed a hand over his face. “Does she know?”

  “She does now. We’d both planned to have at least a week with the other parent before we came clean, but Mom’s had a stroke.” Brant looked absolutely panicked. “She’s okay. Well, she’s out of danger. Her speech and memory functions are okay, but she’s going to need some physical therapy.”

  “So she knows that you…?”

  “Yes. And she wants to see you.” He tried to keep his voice steady even though that was, by far, the biggest lie he’d ever told.

  “She does?”

  “Yeah. How soon can you be ready?”

  “We need to book a flight.”

  “All taken care of. Got a jet waiting for us.”

  Brant smiled. “Of course you do. I’m gonna take a shower.” He ran a hand over his face. “Can’t take the years away, but I can at least shave.”

  “You look great, Pop. And I think you know it.”

  Brandon stood when Brant rose and came around the desk. His father shocked him by pulling him into a bear hug, but he returned the hug and swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotion in check.

  When Brant leaned away, he looked at his son, who was two inches taller, and said, “That’s why the haircut.”

  Brandon nodded. “It took a month to get the tattoos.”

  Brant laughed. “You did all that ink in one month?”

  “Yeah. And I’m betting Mom is gonna be pissed about it.”

  “Well, let’s go find out.”

  “Brash made it better with Hamburger Helper though.”

  “Hamburger Helper will cure a world of ills.”

  Seven and a half hours later Brash heard the swish of the hospital room door. Garland was awake. She’d eaten, had a shower with assistance, was wearing a nightgown of her own, and was looking a little more like herself.

  Brash smiled at his pop and his brother when the door opened. Brant stood just inside the door staring at the mother of his two boys. He hadn’t seen her for almost three decades.

  “Garland”, was all he said.

  His voice was more gravelly, and laden with emotion, but she didn’t have to turn her head to know who it was. He had some silver in his hair, but he was every bit as beautiful as her memories. And her fantasies.

  When she looked at his eyes, she felt decades slip away.

  He crossed to the side of her bed.

  “Brant. You’re still hotter than hell.”

  He smiled. “And you’re just as beautiful as the day you wandered into the maintenance shed.”

  She tried to laugh, but coughed instead. “Liar.”

  “Not about that. Brandon said you wanted to see me.”

  “He did?” She sounded weak. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.”

  “You mean you didn’t ask for me?”

  She started to cry softly. “Dad said he would send you to prison.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you would have fought him and he would have won. Nobody could win against him. I had to make you agree to not contact me. He would have broken you and that would have broken me. More.

  “I told Brannach, when I thought he was Brandon, that I didn’t contact you after Dad died because I was sure you’d gone on with your life. I figured that, except for Brannach, you must have forgotten all about me. Our summer romance. We only had a few weeks together. It seemed logical that you would have found somebody else and made a life. Without me.”

  He sat down next to the bed and took her hand. “That was no summer romance. That was the real deal. And I never stopped lovin’ you. Not for a minute.”

  “God, Brant. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Brandon told me you never married.”

  “How could I be interested in anybody after you, biker boy?”

  He smiled a little. “I spent years turnin’ the Sons into a legitimate business, thinkin’ maybe if I made enough money…”

  “It never was about money.”

  Brant’s shoulders slumped at that. All that time he’d spent thinking she didn’t want him because he didn’t have eno
ugh to offer, when all along she’d simply been protecting him.

  “I know that now. It must have been really hard to let Brannach go.”

  In response, she let out a sob just as the door opened and a nurse came in to take vitals and check the IV.

  “Are you a family member?” she asked Brant.

  “I’m her lover,” he said. Garland tried to laugh, but ended up coughing.

  “Only family members allowed,” said the woman.

  “Okay then. I’m her long lost brother from Texas.”

  The nurse gave him the stink eye, but left without another word.

  Everything was quiet for a few minutes after. Brant reached over, took her hand, and immediately began drawing little circles with his thumb, just to remind himself that he had a connection, no matter how tenuous.

  “How’re we gonna fix this, darlin’?”

  “You mean my brokenness?”

  “No. I mean our brokenness.” He paused and changed the subject. “You did a good job with Brandon. He’s so much like Brash he fooled me. Mostly.”

  “Who’s Brash?”

  “We started callin’ Brannach that as soon as he was old enough to show us his personality.”

  “And he’s brash?”

  “Can be. Yeah.” He looked at Garland adoringly. “He’s also good as they come. Smart as a whip. Devoted to friends and family. Got a work ethic that had me questioning him about wantin’ a vacation.”

  “Brandon’s not brash. He thinks things through. But he’s smart, too. Got top honors in school. He runs Germane Enterprises. And he’s only twenty-eight. Well, I guess you knew that last part.” They both laughed softly. “People like him.”

  “Yeah. People like Brash, too.”

  “They both look just like you.”

  “But I see you in Brash all the time. The way he moves or laughs. Even his bad singin’.”

  She smiled at that. “Looks like we did something good.”

  “True enough. But we also did somethin’ bad. It wasn’t right keepin’ them away from each other. And it wasn’t right not bein’ together either.”