“I think it was beef because I remember being tempted to make Yorkshire puddings to go with it.” Ben laughs at his own joke.
I look at Charlie. “I think you and I have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”
Charlie takes a breath before picking up his bottle of beer. He tilts it toward Ben. “You’re dead meat.”
“What did I do?” Ben asks with a devious gleam in his eye.
“Not much has changed then.”
We all focus on Devon. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie shaking his head. “You may as well pile it on, Devon. I can’t get in much more trouble.”
When Devon leans forward, I notice the change in his mood. He looks … playful. It’s a side I only see when he’s with a woman. A sight he seems to relish me witnessing.
“I have two words for you. Actually, I have a name. Tim Burnstein.” Devon points to Charlie, who places his head in his hands.
“I remember that name from somewhere.” I try wracking my brain. I know I’ve heard it mentioned before.
Charlie carefully takes one hand away from his eye, looking at me. “Our old neighbour.”
“Oh! He was an arsehole.” I remember something and gasp.
“Remember that time someone set up a load of appointments to turn up at his house on the same day?” He’d had plumbers, electricians, painters, and even someone from pest control.
Devon points to Charlie with a smirk. My mouth drops open as I place my hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You didn’t!”
He turns to me, squinting. “I may have done it a little bit.” He holds up his thumb and index finger to show how little.
I turn away. “You are not my brother,” I say jokingly.
“You have to admit that he deserved it,” Devon says.
I look over at Devon—a little amazed he’s including me in the conversation. “Okay. I can give you that. He once shouted at me because I got too close to his lawn. Frightened me to death.”
Charlie elbows me. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
I shrug. “I apologised and just made sure I didn’t go near his yard again. No biggy.”
“I would have strangled his scrawny fucking neck.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. You were as hot-headed back then as you are now.”
Charlie throws an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to him. “I can’t help it if I want to make sure my little sister is safe. What kind of older brother would I be if I didn’t look out for you?” He kisses my head. I can’t help but smile. How can I be mad at him?
“You’re such a big softy.”
“Only when it comes to you,” he replies.
Just as Charlie lifts up his drink for a salute, I lock eyes with Devon, who’s staring at me intently. Heat instantly rises inside me. His blue eyes seem to delve deep into my soul. It’s almost like a power he possesses. I can’t quite explain the feeling. I don’t see it in him often, but when I do, it just makes my obsession for him grow even stronger. I don’t want to desire this man, but when he fixes me with those eyes of his, it’s like he almost commands it.
“To family and friends,” Charlie says. Immediately, Devon’s eyes are off me and on him. “Come on then.” Charlie nudges my arm, making me realise I’m still in a stupor.
“Sorry,” I offer, picking up my wine.
“To family and friends,” we all say, clinking glasses.
The evening’s going well. After two hours—with only two drinks for me and several for my brother—everyone is in a merry mood. As Charlie gets more and more drunk, I’m able to talk with Ben uninterrupted. The only thing I have to put up with is the occasional glare from Devon. I don’t care, though. I am having too much fun. Ben is extremely attentive. So much so, the thought of kissing him becomes a tempting prospect.
When his phone rings, he excuses himself, saying it’s his sister. After several minutes of sitting and sipping my drink, I get up and head for the toilet as an excuse to have some breathing space. After I’m done and dry my hands, I walk into the hallway, running into Ben.
“Hi,” he says with a big smile, grasping my arms to steady me.
My cheeks flame. I feel like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush. “Hi.”
Ben points to the men’s toilet. “I just need to—”
“Of course,” I say, moving out of the way. I feel like an idiot. As he moves past me, I clear my throat. “How’s your sister?”
Ben turns around, his smile vanishing. “She’s … she’s not well.”
Biting my lip, I move closer. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Can I ask what’s wrong?”
He leans against the wall and rubs his hands across his face, blowing out a breath. “She’s been on dialysis for months now, but her kidney function hasn’t been good lately. She’s due for another round tomorrow, but she’s so weak. I feel helpless. What can I do?” He sighs.
Walking forward, I place my hand on his shoulder. “Everything you’re probably already doing now. Just be there for her.”
He huffs. “That’s a bit hard when you’re a squaddie being shipped all over the fucking place.”
“Surely the army will understand that you need to be there with your family at this time.”
He nods. “I’ve been granted special leave, but I just feel like I should be doing more.”
Without meaning to, I move even closer. When our bodies touch, he turns to face me. “If I were your sister, just you being there would be enough. It’s heartbreaking for me every time my brother goes on yet another stint for three or six months at a time. I’m sure your sister feels the same. I bet she’s pleased as punch that you’re home. You being here and showing your support helps her more than you realise.”
Ben smiles, taking my hand. “Thanks.” He lifts my hand up and kisses the back of it. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
I suddenly realise just how intimate we are. We’re both leaning against the wall, facing each other. We’re so close, if I stand on tiptoe and wrap my hands around his neck, I could kiss him.
Do I want to?
We’re silent for a few seconds as we stare at each other. Ben has the softest-looking blue eyes I have ever seen. They’re not like Devon’s icy ones—nothing like them at all.
I chastise myself for thinking about him. I shouldn’t be when I’m with another man. A man whose lips I’m currently staring at. I look back up and see the smile in his eyes.
“You’re making this extremely difficult,” he says. I can smell the beer on his breath. It doesn’t put me off. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect.
“How?” I whisper.
“I have to be honest with you. Kissing you is about the only thing on my mind right now.” He leans down to emphasise his point.
I become breathless. “Then, why don’t you?” As we edge closer, I burn from the need to have his lips on mine.
“I shouldn’t be doing this. Your brother will kill me.”
“He doesn’t have to know,” I say against his lips.
Taking my head in his hands, he says, “Fuck it. You’re totally worth the arse beating.”
We only just manage a light touch on the lips before the door to the hallway pushes open. “What the fuck?!”
My shoulders sag as Ben steps away. I turn, seeing Devon standing there, having the gall to look pissed off.
“Hi, Devon,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
After glaring at Ben, he fixes his eyes on me. “Do you realise Charlie’s going to go fucking ballistic when he finds out?”
I step forward. “Which is all the more reason not to tell him. Nothing happened.”
Devon huffs. “Nothing happened, huh? If I would have been just a few seconds later, you two would have been fucking each other’s mouths!”
I feel Ben step in front of me. He puts a hand out. “There’s no need to shout, mate. We’re all adults here.”
Devon pushes him in the chest. “Don’t fucking talk to me like
I’m a piece of shit.”
Ben steps forward again, so I decide to intervene. “Stop this right now!” I shout. “This is none of your business.”
Devon starts to say something when the door opens again, and in steps my very drunk brother.
This is all I need.
“What’s going on in here? No one told me there was a party in the hallway.” He fixes a grin in our direction, but when he sees no one else smiling, his own drops. “What’s going on?” He squares his shoulders.
Devon points toward us. “I came in to find these two almost locking lips.”
Charlie snarls at Ben, which I know means trouble. Instantly, I round to stand in front of him.
“Andi, step out of the fucking way so I can deck him.”
I shake my head. “Charlie, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. It was my fault. I wanted Ben to kiss me.”
“Andi, step … out … of … my … fucking … way.”
I stand my ground. “No. You’re being ridiculous. I’m not moving.”
I feel a set of hands on my shoulders. Ben leans down to my ear. “It’s okay, Andi. Let him get it out of his system. It won’t be the first time we’ve had a bit of a scuffle. I can handle him.”
I spin around to face him. “This is stupid. We’ve… You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Andi,” my brother warns again. When I don’t move, Charlie looks at Devon. “Take her outside for me.”
Devon immediately starts toward me. “Don’t you dare!” I warn.
Not listening, he grabs me around my waist, picks me up, and walks out of the hall. Immediately, I hear scuffles behind us. I shout toward his army buddies. “They’re fighting. Please help!”
One by one, they all get up and head toward the commotion. I have no doubt the police will be called, and my brother will get in trouble. I won’t be here when that happens, though. I’m done.
Devon doesn’t release his grip, so I turn my head and glare at him. “You can let go now.”
He locks me with those icy-blue eyes of his, gripping my waist. This would normally turn me to mush, but I’m too angry. When he still doesn’t release me, I say, “I told you to let me go!” I yank myself away from him, causing him to grit his teeth. Seeing him angry just makes me even more pissed. I turn and quickly walk toward my bag. I pick it up, and without looking back, I leave the bar.
Once outside, I inhale a deep breath of fresh air. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself. I love my brother fiercely, but this shit needs to stop. I’m twenty-fucking-six, but you’d think I was fifteen by the way he behaves. Devon doesn’t help either. It’s almost like he’s kissing up to my brother. Why the fuck does he care if I kiss someone else? It’s none of his business.
I let out an exasperated growl. Just as I do, I’m blindsided by a young man whose face is obscured by a hoodie. Somehow, not being able to see his face makes him all the more intimidating, and before I have time to react to his presence, he yanks my handbag from me and sprints off. As soon as he’s left, I find my voice, and I scream. I keep screaming for what I’m sure only feels like an eternity until Devon runs out.
“What happened?” he asks, looking concerned.
I start to hyperventilate. Can this evening get any worse? I point to the running figure. “He just took my bag.”
In an instant, Devon runs toward the disappearing man. I know it’s a wasted effort. There’s no way he’s going to catch up to him. They both disappear, leaving me breathing heavily, leaning up against the pub’s wall.
As realisation of what’s just occurred dawns on me, tears spring into my eyes. By the time Devon comes back, he’s panting, and tears are running down my face.
“I can’t find him.”
Shaking my head, I wipe my cheeks. “Don’t worry about it,” I answer sarcastically. I know he helped me, but I’m still so pissed—especially now.
He looks indignant. “You don’t sound grateful.” He’s still trying to catch his breath as he shakes his head.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that not only have you and Charlie decided to ruin my night by going way over the top, but some arsehole decided to steal my bag!” I start to cry again.
Devon walks over and places an arm around me. “Come on. Let me take you to the police station.” I nod. As we get to his Ferrari 458 Italia, he helps me in before running around to the driver’s side. As he starts it up, he looks at me. “It’ll be okay, Andi. We’ll cancel all your cards and get a new phone—”
“It’s not about that,” I say, wiping away more tears. I look down at my hands. “The last photo I ever took of my mum before she died was in my purse. I don’t give a shit about the money, my phone, or my cards. It’s that photograph. It’s priceless to me, and I’ll never get it back.”
Devon doesn’t say anything as he drives away, and I don’t expect him to. I don’t look up to gauge his reaction because if it’s pity, I don’t want to see it. Instead, I quietly cry the whole ride, mourning the loss of the photo. I have others, but this one was special. It was taken on her birthday. We’d had a party at our house. The sun was shining, and the music was playing. We made her wear a “Birthday Girl” hat and plied her with her favourite Prosecco. She was especially happy because Charlie wasn’t there and Dad had bought her a Dyson hoover. I smile at the memory. Mum had badgered my dad to buy her a Dyson. He went ballistic, saying, “There’s no way I’m buying you a Dyson. How do you think people will look at me when I tell them I bought my wife a hoover for her birthday? No way, Meredith. That’s a step too far.” Over the weeks, my mother broke him down and eventually got her hoover on the condition that she open it in the morning and open another present at the party. She agreed. My father was happy to give her a jewellery box with a diamond eternity ring inside. Wanting to capture the memory, I took a photo of her, keeping it in my purse. It was always my favourite, becoming more poignant when—just three weeks after that party—she was shot and killed.
“We’re here,” Devon says, interrupting my thoughts. I hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped. I don’t say anything or even look up. Instead, I sniffle and nod. I hear him sigh. “I’ll help you out.”
As he helps me out of the car, I finally look at him. “Thank you for bringing me. You can go now. I can get home by myself.”
Devon’s jaw ticks for a moment. “We’re going to report it, and then I’m taking you home.”
I nod as he leads me up the stairs. I’m not going to argue with him when he seems so angry. I don’t know why he’s acting that way, either. I’m the one who got manhandled by him, which led to me getting my handbag stolen.
Once in the station, we pass by an officer who’s dealing with a drunk man singing “Oh, Danny Boy” in his best, high-pitched Irish accent. It would have been comical if I weren’t feeling like shit.
“How can I help you?” the officer behind the desk asks.
“I’d like to report a theft,” I answer.
The officer, who looks to be in his fifties with greying hair and glasses, takes out a template notepad and grabs his pen. “Name?” he says, like this is the thousandth time he’s asked this today.
“Andi Bellingham.”
“Address?”
I rattle off my address. He then starts asking for details about the incident. He tells me to call my bank and cancel all of my cards. He then gives me a crime report number to supply the bank with.
“What was in your bag?”
“Apart from the cards, fifty quid, my iPhone 7, and a few bits of make-up, the only other thing in there was a photo of my mum. That’s the only thing I care about.”
He offers a sympathetic smile. “I understand, but I’m sure you can make others.”
I feel a tear fall down my face. “My mother died almost three years ago. It was the last photo I had of her before she …” I cover my face to hide my tears.
I feel a set of arms wrap around me. “Okay. I think that’s enough for one nigh
t. Do you need anything else from us?” Devon asks the officer.
“No, I think that’s it. Here’s a number to call for an update. Just don’t forget to call the bank.”
“We won’t,” Devon replies, ushering me toward the door.
Because my emotions are all over the place, I don’t think. I act. Throwing my arms around Devon, I bury my head in his chest, feeling him stiffen. “How … how could someone do this? How could anyone be callous enough to just take away someone’s precious memories? That photograph was the one thing I had left to cling to, and now some stranger has stripped it away from me.”
As I cry, his posture relaxes, and he places his arms around me. I feel him sigh against my hair. I don’t know whether it’s because he’s frustrated with me or the situation. Probably both. I pull away.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to wipe away my tears. “I’d like to go home now.” I look up at Devon, and all he does is nod. I don’t get him at times. The moment I do something wrong, he has plenty to say, but at a time when I need him to talk, he remains quiet.
As he drives me home, I try to push the thought about my mum’s photo aside and concentrate on what happened before the theft. I have so many questions to ask Devon that my head hurts. But, like always, I remain quiet and obedient. I know I can be timid at times, but if he keeps on, I’ll crack.
Then what?
I woke the next morning with a raging headache. Not from the drink, but from sleeping so deeply. Turning over, I moan and then hear a persistent banging coming from another source.
Throwing my covers off, I quickly reach for my dressing gown behind my door, grab my glasses, and walk to the front door. I hear the banging again.
“Okay. Okay. Who is it?” I ask, peeking through the peephole. I see a man standing there wearing a DHL cap, box in hand, clipboard sitting on top.
“Delivery for Miss Andi Bellingham.”
I open the door and spot the smirk as he takes in my dishevelled state. He motions with his head to the clipboard.
“Miss Bellingham?”
Grabbing his pen, I say, “Oh … yes. Sorry. Where do I sign?”
TAILSPIN Page 7
