Loving You Is Easy

by Wendy S. Marcus

  Neve’s stance softened the tiniest bit.

  The cop held out his hand. “I’m Neve’s brother, Nate.” He sent side glances to both women. “Since no one felt it necessary to introduce us.”

  “Shane Develen.” He shook it.

  “I apologize,” Brooke said, sounding way too formal. “I don’t know what happened to my manners.”

  “No wonder you’re off your game,” Nate told her. “Lots of craziness going on with you smack in the middle of the mess, which brings me to why I’m here,” he motioned to his uniform, “in my professional law enforcement capacity.”

  Chapter Five

  At the mention of Nate being there in his professional capacity, Brooke’s full attention turned back to her current situation, and her heart twitched out a couple of irregular beats.

  The time had come.

  She should probably have felt relieved that Nate, whom she trusted and thought of as a big brother, had come for her. Except being taken from her home into police custody would be one hundred times worse than she’d imagined, thanks to the press waiting outside to document every demoralizing second for all to see.

  The unfairness of her situation grated her emotions raw.

  She imagined a news headline: DISGRACED DAUGHTER OF NYS COMPTROLLER/REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR, LEN ELLSTEIN, SUSPECTED OF SEXUALLY ABUSING INNOCENT CHILDREN, TAKEN INTO POLICE CUSTODY.

  And one possible proclamation by her mother in response: “Something went horribly wrong with the first one. But my other two daughters have turned out wonderful, well-mannered, and perfect in every way. They are much more interesting than Brooke. Let’s talk about them, shall we?”

  Brooke wanted to run to the door, yank it open, and scream at the top of her lungs, “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  But no one outside the room seemed to care about her innocence.

  Her heart started to pound in her chest.

  She rubbed the smooth surface of Grandma’s pearls.

  To no avail.

  The self-assured woman she’d seen in the mirror earlier that morning had deserted her.

  Her condo seemed to shrink, the walls closing in.

  Please, not again.

  No. Air. She clutched one hand to her throat and groped for the sofa to steady herself with the other.

  A strong arm came around her, supported her. “You’re okay.”

  A man.

  “Come on, babe. Breathe.”

  Shane’s voice.

  He guided her to the sofa and sat down beside her. “You’re going to get through this.”

  You’re going to get through this. Of course her rational self knew that. But how long would it take and how much would she have to endure and what would the final outcome be—vindication or indictment or a unanimous verdict of guilty by a jury of her peers?

  Her chest tightened painfully.

  “Hey,” Shane said calmly, still holding her. “Stop thinking the worst. You’ve got yourself all worked up.”

  Darn right she did. She gasped in a shallow breath, then another and another, her breathing too fast, but breathing too fast was better than not breathing at all.

  “Slow it down,” Shane said. “You’re going to hyperventilate.”

  Neve knelt at her feet. “That’s twice in less than an hour,” she pointed out. “This hasn’t happened since—”

  “Don’t,” Brooke forced out. The last thing she needed to think about right now was the reason behind those panic attacks that had plagued her for a few brutal months after the fund-raiser turned nightmare. She hated that they made her look and feel weak, hated that they’d apparently started up again.

  Needing to take back control, Brooke inhaled deeply and tried to hold it before blowing it out. “This whole…situation”—she took another breath—“is a bit overwhelming.”

  Nate came to stand in front of her.

  She grabbed his hand. While she didn’t want to get him in trouble for failing to follow proper police procedure, she couldn’t keep herself from begging, “Please don’t use the handcuffs.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “I’m not here to arrest you.”

  Neve shot to her feet and smacked him on the arm. “Then why the hell did you go and scare her like that? ‘In my professional law enforcement capacity,’ ” she dropped her voice an octave and mimicked him. “You ass.”

  “What?” Nate rubbed his arm. “I am here in my professional capacity.” He looked directly at Brooke. “Your neighbor called in to report your front door had been vandalized. Which raises the question”—he glared at her and then Neve—“why didn’t either one of you call it in?”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “ ‘Die bitch’ is serious stuff.” Nate pulled over a chair from the kitchen and sat down facing her. “Someone or several someones were prowling around outside your condo last night. What if they’d tried to break in, to teach you a lesson, to take the law into their own hands?”

  Yikes! A very good question.

  “Stop it,” Neve snapped at Nate as she sat down on the loveseat facing the couch. “You’re going to make her have another attack.”

  Shane tightened his arm around her. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” He was so confident. Her big, strong soldier. Even wounded, Brooke believed he would…or Brooke believed him capable.

  “People get a little irrational where crimes against children are concerned,” Nate explained, sounding official.

  Brooke started to object to the implication, but he quickly stopped her with, “Everyone in this room knows you’re innocent. But the investigative process needs to run its course. When I got into work this morning I spoke with the officer in charge, who’s a good guy, by the way, very thorough. By his count there are sixteen kids that need to be interviewed.”

  “Sixteen?” Oh. My. God. “They think I—?”

  “No,” Nate said.

  Shane took her cold hand into his big, warm, rough one and held it firmly. He sat so close, his thigh touching hers, his muscular arm still around her shoulders, so protective. He smelled good. Felt good. Home. Finally. The two of them together. He hadn’t deceived her. Through circumstances beyond his control the pictures had been stolen.

  “Are you paying attention?” Nate asked.

  Oy! No, she wasn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  Nate started again. “He counted sixteen kids who made comments that need to be followed up on. He’s setting up interviews at the school, but interviewing kids means coordinating schedules with parents, and some will no doubt lawyer up, which is their right to do. Bottom line, it’s going to take a few days, at least.”

  “When do I get to tell my side?” Brooke asked.

  “If all goes well, you don’t,” Nate answered.

  That didn’t sound fair at all. “But—”

  “You’ll be brought in for questioning only if the investigating officer is able to find credible witnesses and/or evidence to corroborate the claims of sexual abuse. We never want to question a suspect until we’re sure we know what he or she did.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Brooke stressed.

  “I know,” Nate said. “Which is why I expect this case to be closed without charges ever being filed.”

  “What if the kids lie?” Neve asked.

  “An officer from the child-abuse task force, one who is trained and experienced in interviewing children, will be conducting all the interviews.” He broke his serious tone with a small smile for Brooke. “Your principal is playing hardball, insisting she be allowed to be a part of any police proceedings that take place in her school. Apparently she thinks like Neve.” He reached over to give his sister a teasing poke in the thigh. “Says none of her students would dare lie in front of her.”

  Go Liz! While the students loved their principal, Liz made sure they maintained a healthy level of fear of breaking her rules. Lying held the top spot on her well-enforced list.

  “You have people looking
out for you, kiddo,” Nate said with a warm smile. “What you really need now is a place to lie low while this all works itself out.”

  “She can stay with me,” Neve offered.

  “Great idea,” Nate said sarcastically. “She’ll be a lot safer three doors down from where she’s living right now. Then I’ll have to worry about both of you.”

  “Hey,” Neve argued, never willing to admit when Nate was right. “We can sneak her over. No one would know.”

  Nate ignored his sister. “What about going to stay with your parents?”

  Absolutely not. “No.” That was a terrible idea. The last possible option she would ever consider. It’d make her a captive audience, forced to listen to her mother praising her two perfect daughters and lamenting about how her oldest had turned out to be such a disappointment. She’d be lectured and scolded for winding up in her current predicament, her every move and decision for the past eight years, since she’d moved out from under her mother’s control, scrutinized and criticized. No. Jail would be preferable.

  Okay. Maybe not.

  “Think before you speak,” Neve said to Nate. “Brooke is most definitely not going to stay with her horrible parents.” She turned to Brooke. “Don’t worry, hon, we’ll think of something. If only Mom and Dad weren’t away.”

  Neve’s parents always went out of their way to make Brooke feel like a part of their family. But they were currently on a monthlong anniversary cruise.

  “What about friends other than the brat?” Nate pointed at Neve, who made a face and stuck out her tongue at her brother.

  “I’d hate to drag any of my colleagues into this mess.”

  Shane shifted his position on the couch. She turned to see his brilliant blue eye looking at her through thick black rectangular-framed glasses as he quietly offered, “You could come home to New Jersey with me.”

  “Absolutely not!” Neve cried out.

  “I have to agree with her,” Nate said. “Sorry, Shane. While the police officer in me thinks, since no charges have been filed, that’d work as long as you have a working phone and could get Brooke back here right away if we need her, the big brother in me won’t go for it.” He sat back in his chair, crossed both arms over his puffed-up his chest, and made his most intimidating face. “Make no mistake: I very much consider Brooke a sister.” He leaned forward for emphasis as he added, “And I am very protective of my sisters.”

  “He’s not kidding,” Neve said. “He’s a total pain in the ass.”

  Shane missed Nate’s show of big-brotherly intimidation because while Nate and Neve talked, around her, like they tended to do while making decisions they deemed to be in her best interest, Shane had kept his eye focused on Brooke the entire time, watching, waiting for her to speak, like he cared what she had to say.

  “With all the trouble you get into,” Nate went on, “apparently I’m not a big enough pain in the ass.”

  Finally Shane spoke up. “What do you think, Brooke?”

  What did she think? She thought he looked tired and uncomfortable, like he needed to lie down and rest. And she wanted to forget about everything currently going on in her life and lie down with him. She traced a full-color tattoo on his forearm, a bald eagle wrapped in an American flag. “You have tattoos,” she noted, several of them visible thanks to his short-sleeved shirt.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about them or show them to me? Why keep them hidden?”

  He shrugged, looking down at her hand, which he still held in his. “Not sure how you’d feel about them.”

  How did she feel about them? Turned on. They looked sexy on his muscled arms, like they belonged there. But while tattoos may have gained acceptance in mainstream America, her mother would have a fit if she dated a man with visible ink. Yet, as much as Brooke strived to please her mother, Shane was so much more than his tattoos. And hadn’t she learned long ago that a man’s appearance, especially a clean-cut, upper-class, polished one, was in no way a reliable indicator of his true character?

  “They look good on you.” Really good. “I like them.” The ones she could see all appeared to be in good taste.

  “So what do you say?” Shane asked. “You’ll come home with me until things calm down?”

  She wanted to. To take care of him and spend time with him. To learn more about the extent of his injuries and the prognosis for his recovery. To lie in his arms, all night long.

  Except they had so much to talk about, like why he’d waited so long to call her. And if her picture hadn’t wound up on Facebook, would he ever have gotten in contact with her? Had he changed his mind about them revisiting the girlfriend-boyfriend thing? Had he found someone else? Did he no longer even want to be friends?

  She glanced up at him.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Thinking clearheaded, rational decision making would probably be easier with a foot or two of distance between them, she stood.

  It’d be so easy to go with him—she rubbed Grandma’s pearls—to leave New York and the press and the untrue accusations behind, to go someplace new where she could relax while she figured out what to do with her life after the investigation.

  But at what possible cost?

  To be honest, she’d only met him in person one time. Yes, he’d been a gentleman, but still. Once she got into his car, he could take her anywhere. She’d be at his mercy.

  “You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Shane broke into her thoughts.

  She jerked around to face him. “Doing what?”

  “Thinking the worst. Worrying.”

  He knew her so well, because she’d been mostly honest with him in her letters and e-mails. What if he hadn’t been as honest in return? After all, he had hidden his tattoos.

  “I’m living with my parents at the moment,” he said.

  Right. He’d mentioned that. So there’d be no lying in his arms all night long. Too bad.

  He leaned in and whispered, “I know you don’t want sex. I promise to stay away from you.”

  Brooke wanted to clarify: “It’s not that I don’t want sex, it’s that I want more than just sex.” But Nate and Neve were watching.

  “And my ma may not look it, but she’s the strict one in the family, real big on no sex before marriage. If you’re worried about me putting the moves on you, don’t. I’d take on your pal Nate before I’d risk my ma’s wrath.”

  Truth be told, she found that rather disappointing, but quickly got herself back on track, remembering Shane loved to talk and write about his family, his mother in particular. His love and respect were obvious. But, “I couldn’t possibly impose. Besides, it’d be humiliating to meet your parents under these circumstances.” What would they think of her?

  As difficult as it’d be living life with the media camped outside of her door, monitoring her comings and goings, she’d been through it before and could handle it again. And she really should stay local to do whatever she could to clear her name.

  Shane reached into his back pocket, took out his cellphone, and started to dial. Before Brooke truly grasped his intent he said, “Hi, Ma,” and smiled. “Yes. I made it here safely.” He listened. “Ma.” He listened some more. “Ma, stop talking and listen.” She must have, because he said, “I asked Brooke to come home with me but she’s worried about imposing.” He looked at Brooke. “I know.” He held out the phone to her. “Ma wants to talk to you.”

  Oh, no. Definitely not. She shook her head and stepped back.

  He pushed off the couch with a wince, steadying himself with his cane. Just great. She’d caused him pain. To rectify the situation she immediately stepped forward and took the phone so he wouldn’t feel it necessary to take another step. “Hello, Mrs. Develen.”

  “It’s Patsy, honey,” Shane’s mom replied. “Everyone calls me Patsy.” Brooke liked the sound of Patsy’s voice, very warm and friendly. “Al and I—Al’s my husband in case Shane didn’t tell you—well, we’d both love to have you for a visi
t.”

  “Thank you, but I couldn’t—”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘impose.’ You coming home with Shane is most definitely not an imposition. It’s the answer to my prayers.”

  Why?

  After a few seconds of silence Patsy said, “He didn’t tell you why he needs to be home by Sunday, did he?”

  At the seriousness of her tone Brooke went still. “No.”

  “His best friend Tommy was killed in action in Afghanistan.”

  No. Not Tommy. Shane had written and spoken about his best friend often, with such fondness and affection. High school pranks, wild prom and graduation parties, joining the army and attending basic training together. My brother in every way that mattered. She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m so sorry.”

  Patsy added, “Shane was still in the hospital and couldn’t travel to the funeral. There’s going to be a memorial mass at our church this Sunday. He promised Tommy’s mother he’d say a few words. If he doesn’t go I know he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.”

  Shane watched Brooke through a narrowed eye. “What’s she saying?”

  Patsy continued, “I know my son. He feels responsible for whatever’s going on with you, and as long as he thinks you’re in trouble, he won’t leave your side. So you need to come home with him. Please.”

  Shane couldn’t miss Tommy’s memorial service. To be totally honest, she didn’t want to miss it, either. After watching hours of YouTube videos of fallen soldiers returning home in flag-draped caskets, of sitting in her living room crying with the families and loved ones, this was her opportunity to show her appreciation for a serviceman’s ultimate sacrifice in person, to pay her respects and actually speak her condolences to the family, to be present, an active participant. And finally, she could stand beside Shane and offer her support, in person, hold his hand or give him a hug or simply sit with him so he wasn’t alone, during what was sure to be a very difficult day, like a real girlfriend, even if he didn’t consider her one.

  Standing in her living room, all eyes staring at her to see what she’d do, Brooke decided to listen to her heart, to trust that Shane was the good man she believed him to be and that his mother was as nice as she sounded on the phone. Without giving herself time to reconsider or overthink or allow uncertainty to change her mind, Brooke said, “Of course I will.”