Undertow

by Alessandra Torre

  I reassure him with my eyes, then answer the phone, hearing the jingle of keys and then the firm, complete shut of the door. Come back to me.

  “Hey babe.” The voice is Stewart’s, but the strain in his words is that of a stranger.

  My raw throat abandons me, my own words scratchy and weak. “Hey.”

  “I’m sorry I never saw you at the hospital. I was there—until you stabilized. I just, Paul…” He exhales, and I can picture him at his desk, papers stacked around him, his hand working through his hair as he flexes his handsome jaw. “The whole thing caught me so off guard. I should have stayed— ”

  “You did the right thing.” He did. I don’t know what I would have done if they had both hovered over me, pulled me in between, and fought over me.

  “I love you. You know that.”

  I feel the sudden urge to cry. The push of emotion surges in my throat, and I know my next breath will be a gasp. A shuddering, yes-I’m-crying, gasp. I cover the mouthpiece and press my mouth into the pillow of the couch, choking back a sob against the leather.

  He’s waiting, his declaration hanging out there, and I’ve given him nothing but silence in response.

  “I just feel …” There is a voice in the background, then muffled conversation, the scratchy thud of skin against the mouthpiece, and I blink back tears as I hear bits of a very familiar exchange.

  I know, before he even returns to the phone, what his next words will be. I just feel … Do I even want to know the rest of that sentence? Do I want to know how he feels? Or will it be the final tear that rips my barely-held-together heart?

  “Madison, I’m sorry. I—”

  “… have to go.” I finish the sentence for him and feel the drip of undeserved tears as they run down my cheeks. I clear my throat, needing to say something before he leaves, hoping he will wait long enough to hear them. “Stewart—one last thing.”

  One last thing. Three casual words that suddenly scream of finality. I swallow the weakness and strive for a clear tone. “I’ve loved Paul for a long time. I think… we would have ended up here anyway.” I choose Paul. “You leaving the hospital, you giving us this opportunity...” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

  “If you change your mind—I’m here. You know that.”

  “I know.” No, you’re not there. Pieces of you not consumed by work are there. You have never been there.

  There is a moment of silence and then he hangs up the phone. I drop the phone on the couch, hug the pillow to my chest and let out the sob.

  59

  Hollywood, CA

  STEWART

  I take my hand off the phone’s hook, the receiver still against my ear, and listen to the drone of the dial tone, my thoughts somewhere else, my mind shaky from the sound of her voice. The door to the office flies open, and Ashley’s frame barges in.

  “We need you now, Mr. Brand. Conference Room Four. Everyone is waiting.”

  I move the receiver away from my ear, waving a hand dismissively at her, and set it in the cradle. “No need for that. She’s gone.”

  She comes to a stop, her eyes on mine, and her voice drops in pitch and volume. “Are you okay?”

  I sigh, the thick exhale rumbling through my throat and run my hand slowly over the top of the desk, feeling the grain of wood beneath my fingers. “I—” the words drop, and I clear my throat, start again. “I fear I have made a mistake.”

  She takes a moment and sits on the arm of a chair, ignoring the statement and moving on to her own inquisition. “Why’d you have me cut off the call? Why didn’t you talk to her longer?”

  I meet her gaze, needing the frank directness of her stare. “Honestly? I was worried what I might say.”

  “You walk away from big deals all of the time.”

  “She’s not a deal.” The words roll harshly off my tongue, and she meets my glare without hesitation.

  “That’s how you treated her, Stewart. And that’s why she never committed to you. You didn’t just make this decision. You’ve made it every day I’ve worked for you. You’re right. You have made a mistake. But it wasn’t a week ago. It was two years ago. Celebrate that you’ve finally walked away from it.” She stands, her eyes flashing, and sets the folder she was carrying on the desk. “And my second interruption wasn’t an act. You have people waiting in the conference room.”

  I sit back in my chair as she slams the door, listening to the irritated clip of her heels fading down the hall. I close my eyes and think of Madison’s grin in the dark of my bedroom. Her hands tugging me closer. The way her laugh releases the tension in my chest.

  There, alone in my office, I take a moment and mourn my mistakes.

  60

  One year later

  SMUGGLING: [verb]

  To hide arousal, usually by holding your board in front of you while walking.

  There are ways you shouldn’t think about your future brother-in-law. Places that should be off-limits for your mind to wander. Like right now. I am watching his hand skim down the open back of her dress, slipping inside and gripping her waist, his thumb rubbing a soft pattern on her skin. My eyes can’t pull from that spot, from the slow motion of his hand, the seductive pass over her skin. I know how that feels, know how frantic he gets when he fucks, how he pushes deep with his cock, pins you to the mattress, or the desk, or the floor, his hands hard on your wrists, his face intense above you, heat and raw need in his eyes. I blink and turn away, looking for Dana. Her strength grounds me and her knowledge of everything we’ve been through reassures me.

  She smiles at me from the kitchen, waving me over with a flour-covered hand. “I need those fingers. Come knead this dough.”

  I wash my hands in the small island sink and pat them dry on a sunflower hand towel, joining her at the counter, diving into the sticky dough, grateful for the job.

  “How’s it going?” she murmurs.

  “Fine,” I say softly, though no one is close enough to hear. “I’ve only spoken to him once—when he introduced me to her.”

  “And …” She takes a handful of flour and sprinkles a line of it on the counter. “What do you think of her?”

  I consider the best way to word my response. “I think…” I pause to scratch my forearm. “She’s nice. Accommodating. Stewart says she’s a web designer?”

  She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly. She created a site that just signed a deal with Apple.”

  So the quiet blonde is successful and smart. I wait for the flow of jealousy to poke its green head up, but instead, a smile forms. I’ve spent so much of the last year feeling guilty. My life with Paul has been wonderful—perfect. But every bit of happiness has felt slightly tainted by the fact that Stewart was alone, left out in the cold as Paul and I continued full-steam ahead in our happy relationship. And now, with our engagement, I’m terrified of how Stewart will react. Could the brothers’ new, fragile relationship weather the announcement?

  Seeing Stewart show up with a date had lifted that guilt and sent a spike of relief through me. He’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. I believed it, and I desperately hoped it was the truth.

  Arms slip around me, gripping my waist and pulling me back. I turn my head and catch a soft kiss in the crook of my neck. “Stop,” I giggle. “The bread!”

  “The bread can wait,” Paul says softly, spinning me around and delivering an innocent kiss that deepens into something more, his pelvis dipping into me, my belly curling at the contact. I moan against his mouth.

  “Wow.” Dana smacks Paul’s shoulder with the spoon. “Point made. You guys can melt each other’s clothes off. I got two bedrooms upstairs should you feel the need for more.” She stares pointedly at Paul. “Now ‘git, Loverboy. Go back and tend to the steaks and let me have some time with her.”

  He grins at her and steals one last kiss. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, glancing around quickly before shooing him away. “Now go, before Stewart comes back.”

 
“He’s too gaga over his date to notice anything,” he says, his relief matching my own.

  Dana shoves Paul aside. “That’s it. Outside. You get all night with her, give me a measly fifteen minutes.” She points to the back door, her expression firm, and he sends me a playful smile before heading outside.

  She shoots me an exasperated look. “Please tell me he’s not like that all the time.”

  I bite back a smile. “Okay.”

  She pulls out a pan and unwraps a stick of butter, spreading it around the base. “So… you hiding that ring for a reason?”

  I glance toward the living room, the muted voices alerting me of Stewart’s presence. “You know why.”

  “Uh-huh.” She moved to the sink, turning on the water to wash her hands. “You scared?”

  “I’m nervous. It’ll be our first conversation in person, since the accident. Paul wanted to tell him, but this is important to me. I need this conversation with him.”

  She nodded. “I agree. It was one of the reasons I invited everyone over. That, and I’ve been itching for a family Thanksgiving since I bought this house.” She grins. “No other point in having a twelve-person dining room set.”

  I try to return the smile, but at the thought of speaking to Stewart, my stomach twists into knots.

  The Thanksgiving meal is a success, the table filled with turkey, ham, and enough side items to feed a family three times our size. We eat our fill and then abandon the dishes and move to the den. I stand in the doorway and watch Stewart. I’ve never known him to have time for sports. Frankly, I’m surprised he even knows how football works. But right now, his arm is around her and his attention is on the game. I tap his shoulder gently, and he looks up at me.

  “Could I speak to you for a minute?” I smile awkwardly at Mia. “I won’t keep him long, I promise.”

  He squeezes her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” She nods, giving me a tight smile and turns back to the game. She hasn’t exactly been friendly to me, but I can’t blame her for that. If she knows anything about this situation at all, she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest slut.

  Stewart holds the back door open, and we step outside, my skin standing at attention in the cool fall air. I shiver slightly, and his eyes sharpen on the movement, his movement visibly restrained when he starts to move forward and stops. We both laugh, and the awkwardness breaks. “Want to sit on the steps?” he offers.

  “That sounds great.”

  We sit, his long legs stretching down the steps, and I struggle with where to begin. Do I dive into the engagement first? Ask about work? Mia? That orchid I kept in our bathroom?

  He glances over at me, his gaze moving over my face, as if he’s memorizing the features. “I’ve missed you.”

  I look away, focusing on the house behind Dana’s. They’re hanging Christmas lights, a ladder propped up against the brick, a string half-strung across the eves. “I’ve missed you, too. We had some good times.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah. Most of our good times involved very little clothing.”

  Color floods my cheeks, and I grin at the truth in his statement. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call again. To follow up after the accident.”

  The somber tone of his voice surprises me, and I shake off the apology. “You had work. You always have work. I understood that—that’s how your life is.”

  “I’ll always love you, Madison,” he says quietly, and my heart tugged at the words. “I love you for mending this family and for making Paul happy. But the in love with you part… I’ve moved on from that and I’m really happy for you, for both of you.”

  I have to look over at him then, have to risk my heart to see if he is telling the truth. He meets my gaze and gives me a rueful and unfamiliar smile, one I can’t read but want desperately to believe. He still loves me, but he’s not in love with me. It’s the best-case scenario, and I reach out and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his shirt as I hug him.

  “Hey, there.” He squeezes me and I don’t realize I’m crying until he pulls back and wipes at the top of my cheeks.

  “They’re happy tears,” I swear. “Honestly.”

  “I’ve never seen you cry before.” He sounds surprised at the realization and I pause, my emotions tapered as I consider the possibility.

  “Are you sure? Never?” I think of sad movies, but we never watched movies together. I think of serious conversations, but we rarely had any. We never fought, or had injuries, or dove into painful memories. He hadn’t seen me cry, and I’d never seen him cry. I blinked at the realization of exactly how superficial our relationship must have been.

  I notice him studying me, his handsome features pinched in concentration.

  “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

  “Yes.” I force a smile. “We have to be. We’re gonna be stuck together for a while.” I hesitate, then step toward the edge. “In fact, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  I jump off the cliff. “Nothing’s wrong. Paul proposed.”

  The reaction comes slowly, but it appears, a wide grin that splits his face in an almost unnatural way. A grin. Stewart… doesn’t really grin. Not normally. He scowls, he glints, but grinning? It’s such an odd look that I stare at him in surprise. He grabs my hand and his smile drops when he sees my bare finger. “You said no?”

  I shake my head with a smile. “No, I accepted. I just didn’t want to show up wearing a ring, not without talking to you about it first.”

  He pulls me into a hug, one so tight that I squeak.

  “So, you’re fine with this?” I push out of the hug, wanting to see his eyes.

  “You’ll be my sister now, Madison. As totally creepy as that is, seeing as I still got a raging hard-on when you walked in the house—”

  “Shut up,” I choke out, blushing at my own inappropriate thoughts.

  “Seriously,” he says. “You’ll always be in my life now. That couldn’t make me happier. And Paul—he loves you so much. More than I did. He deserves you, Madd.”

  “Madd? You’ve never called me that before.” I wrinkle my nose at him.

  He shrugs. “Things are different now.”

  “So, we have your blessing?”

  He wraps an arm around my neck and places a quick kiss on my forehead. “More than that, babe. You have my heart. Both of you.” He releases me and stands, holding out a hand to help me up.

  “Did he get you a good ring?” he asks gruffly.

  I nod with a smile. “He did good. You’d approve.”

  And Paul had done well. It wasn’t a Stewart ring, one picked out by his assistant that shouted my status while begging me to be mugged. But for Paul and me, it was perfect. A blue sapphire, the color of the ocean after a storm, framed by tiny diamonds.

  Paul had surprised me with the ring on a Sunday morning. I’d been wrapped in a big blanket, the ocean air whistling through the cracked window. Paul had handed me a mug of coffee, and I waited for him to sit behind me and cradle me back against his chest. It was how we often spent the lazy mornings that didn’t involve early morning surfing or sex. Instead, he’d dropped to one knee, his eyes tight to mine, his hands fumbling as he opened the box and extended it. He’d choked out the question, his voice tight, his hands shaking, his gaze glued to mine. And I’d sat there for one shocked moment before my mind responded, and I’d launched myself into his arms, covering him with kisses and chanting the word yes.

  He had been so worried, so nervous that I would say no. But he’d had nothing to worry about. I’ve always been his. I’ve loved him since the moment I saw his playful grin in a line at Santa Monica Pier, his eyes studying me as I took the place next to him. And finally, with my relationship status one devastating blue-eyed brother less, we had nothing holding us back.

  I return to Dana’s den, and watch as Stewart pulls Paul into a congratulatory hug, their faces holding matching, dimpled grin
s. I watch them closely, but there is no sign of tension or competition in the air. It’s incredible that this train wreck ended in such a perfect fashion. My boys, the ones I fought so long to keep separate, are embracing. I get to keep them both in my life. I’ve emerged with my heart intact and get to continue life with the man I love. The man who, from the beginning, has waited patiently for this chance.

  I cross to him, his gorgeous face beaming as he collapses on the couch and pulls me onto his lap. I lean back against his chest and look into his eyes.

  Their eyes should have been my first clue. Piercing blue, too gorgeous, and too unique to be a coincidence. But this man’s eyes… they see into my soul. They know every bit of me, and accept it all. I will grow old with this man. I will have his babies and teach them to surf. And I’ll try, through it all, to be worthy of his love.

  Epilogue

  GLASSY: [adjective]: smooth seas resulting from calm wind conditions, little disruption, nothing hidden beneath the surface

  I knew. I’d known for a long time. Since I’d opened our mailbox one day and saw Paul’s real last name. Not the one he’d used for as long as I’d known him, the one plastered over surfer magazines and endorsement deals. I’d known he used a pseudonym, one for the press, but I’d never taken the time to dig deeper. Paul Linx was how I knew him, was how he lived his everyday life. But that day, on the broken concrete that led to our garage, I flipped through envelopes and stopped at one with a different last name. Paul Brand. A unique last name. So unique it made my hand shake, the mail scattering on the ground. I told myself it was probably a coincidence. A crazy, highly unlikely coincidence. As crazy and highly unlikely as dating two men who end up being related.