I watch him sleep long and creepily enough before I slip out of bed to use the bathroom and freshen up. I use the same spare toothbrush he left me from last time and splash my face a little to clean my eyes. I should really stop falling asleep with my makeup on. It’s hard to wash off, but I manage it. His towels aren’t on his sink, so I start looking for them in the cabinets below and on the side. No luck there. I go into the closet which is incredibly organized and looks like it was custom made—the cabinets a light blue, the carpet plain white, and his clothes seem to be organized by occasion. I think of doing it to my closet but would need time to do that.
After a while of looking, I feel weird walking around naked, so I pick the first drawer and toss on one of his undershirts. I’m not all that small, so it only drops to just after my ass. By now my hands and face are dry, so I keep looking out of curiosity. Why does he not keep towels out?
I find a drawer in the back, under the others, that seems like it could be for storage. I open it and don’t find anything but old tickets. I have a box of memorable stuff too, but they aren’t just tickets. The closer I look, even knowing I shouldn’t, I see they aren’t tickets at all.
They are attendance stubs. From rehab.
I look at each one and see how long he’s been going. Some are different, I guess from when he first started to when he now goes. I smile a little bit because he seems to be doing good at it. I know he is serious about getting better, and I never even wondered about him using again. I’m not sure why I trust him, but maybe it’s because I witnessed such a drastic addiction in my parents that I didn’t take it that way. I chalked his up to the grief from his father, and maybe that was a mistake because I shift through the drawer more and find something I know all too well by now.
A small plastic bag no bigger than a ring holder full of different types of party drugs.
My blood runs cold. My brain goes way too fast wondering if he has taken these. Or if he is still using. But I know those signs, and he doesn’t seem like it. I am so confused and wonder why I was snooping in the first place.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I jump and flinch at Brant’s deep voice appearing from nowhere. My hands drop the bag, and I stand quickly turning to face him so fast I get a little dizzy.
“I was just looking for towels,” I say, my voice quiet. Brant is obviously fresh from sleep, his hair messy and still naked from bed. His intense eyes are tired but critical as he looks at me.
“There weren’t any in the bathroom, I was just looking and found…”
“You could have asked me.”
“You were asleep.” I frown. I know I’m in the wrong, but it takes me a bit to remember that because I don’t know if those drugs are new or old. He told me he wasn’t using anymore.
“Why don’t you have towels in the bathroom anyway?”
He raises his brow at me asking him questions. I’m dodging the one I really want to ask because I don’t know what to do if I don’t like the answer. Or if I really trust him enough to believe him. I don’t know how deep that goes yet. We haven’t experienced anything together, haven’t done much more than date and have fun. It wouldn’t be a good idea to bring that up either.
“It… the housekeeper came this morning while you were asleep.” He stares at me hard for a few seconds. He must want me to explain myself.
“Well, I don’t know what to say. I just got curious about you,” I murmur.
Brant softens a little bit, and I look away from his eyes down his naked body. He shouldn’t be so perfect. I am forgetting what I was going to ask… he doesn’t move to put anything on until he is sure I am properly distracted. But not enough.
“What are these?” I take the bag between two fingers like it is poison pretending I don’t know what they are. They very well could be poison. Sure, I drank in college, maybe hit a blunt once or twice, but I was so afraid from what happened to my parents that I didn’t go beyond that. Even the first night I went to a party, I regretted it for days thinking I wouldn’t be able to resist doing it again. I obviously was overthinking it but back then—it was valid.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Cora,” his gruff voice calls out my name, and it makes me shiver. Brant puts on a pair of boxers before slamming the drawer shut. Now that he’s clothed, my mind has focused again.
“Brant, you aren’t obligated to tell me…”
“What makes you think that?” His eyes go back hard again narrowing at me as he steps closer. He is only two arms’ length away from me, and I can still feel him radiating onto me.
His thoughts, his aura… it latches onto me so quickly like I am its host, like the two are most compatible. I shake my head and drop the bag again, this time kicking the drawer shut as if it will put everything back away. It doesn’t.
“We are not exclusive, Brant. There is no label on it.” I breathe out and hold my breath, his eyes widen at me before his brows furrow down, and he grimaces.
“I told you what we are. I told you you’re my girl, that your mine…”
“This isn’t an old western, Brant. This is real life.”
“It seems inadequate to call you my girlfriend.” He makes air quotes, and I almost smile, but this is all too heavy.
I’m not all that better about going into this with him. He knows everything about me now, but I can’t have this conversation every time I see him near an unknown substance, and my mind runs off to the worst possible scenario. Part of me knows Brant and I are not compatible. We live two completely different lives and googling the Wilde family got the better of me—sixty billion dollars split ten ways. We come from two different worlds. Despite all that, when we’re together, it’s electric, a perfect combination of wit and charm that never dies away. It only builds on each other to make for a hell of a mind spin. With all that, I relax around him the same way. I don’t have to think of anything. I barely have to do anything except pretend I’m not crazy about him.
I’m still just worried that it may come at a cost.
“I didn’t know that… I didn’t know you felt that way.”
He makes a ‘duh’ face, and I almost giggle. But I don’t.
“So… this is yours? You aren’t saving it for a friend?”
His lips play with a smirk, but it doesn’t come through. I step closer and look up into his eyes. When he looks down at me, I am frozen in place by him. This zap between us is undeniable, and I don’t know if I want to escape it either.
“No, I’m not saving it for a friend. It’s mine.”
I swallow back the possible doom of this going badly. Brant doesn’t look like he has been using, or maybe I just haven’t been around it in a while.
“You… I thought you got clean.”
“I am.”
“Why do you have it?” I cross my arms like it will stop my heart from hammering out of my chest. I rub my clammy palms on his shirt wrapped around me. His scent is on it, and in front of me too. I’m surrounded, and I don’t even try to escape.
“To make sure I don’t use again.”
I am sure he sees how confused I am and exhales as he rolls his shoulders.
“You need to explain that.”
He moistens his lips. “I see it every time I come back from a meeting. When I think about using, I see it in the middle of every meeting stub and remind myself how long it took to get out of it. If I even take one of those pills, I would start from the beginning again. Right now, it’s eighty-seven to one.”
“For what?” I whisper.
“One pill to how many meetings I’ve been to.”
I nod in understanding. I feel a sense of relief because I wasn’t sure what I would do if he has been using. Am I in too deep to walk away, and how much would it hurt if I did?
“Oh.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” He peers down at me, and I twist my lips. It’s odd how well he can read me already.
“It’s your house, Brant.”
“Does it m
ake you uncomfortable?” His voice hardens, and I flinch at him. His fingertips brush my arm, raising my skin at the contact. I blink and swallow back the nervous lump in my throat.
“My parents… it isn’t…” I’m never lost for words. This stuff is too much.
“Cora, does it make you uncomfortable?” he whispers, his heat is so close to me now, his warm breath across my face.
“Yes,” I say so softly, I barely hear it.
Brant moves around me, pulls open the drawer and digs around. Then he is back up and stalking out of the closet into the bathroom. He flushes the pills down the toilet and trashes the bag.
“Brant, why did you do that?” I cry out. He exits the bathroom, and I follow. He turns so fast I stumble, and he catches me in his arms.
“I don’t want it here if it makes you uncomfortable. I would rather have you here. You just said it makes you uncomfortable. And I would rather have you here, comfortable in my house with me.”
“But you just said that it helps you.”
His hands tighten on my upper arms as he shakes his head. “Not as much as you do.”
“I can’t be your… your saving grace, Brant. Always wondering what I’m doing or not, um, not leaving you if I wanted to because I’m afraid you’ll use again,” I stutter.
“It isn’t like that. Not with you. I hadn’t written a song in a year before I met you, and I haven’t thought about doing that shit either.”
“I know you say that, but…”
“Cora, believe me. I’m asking you because if we’re together, this is something you have to take on. That’s just the reality of it.”
I blink and look into his eyes past everything to see the true him hidden there. I know only I get to see that.
“You’re stronger than you let yourself think. You want all of me? You have to be strong. So, what will it be because I can’t play this game down the line not now that I’ve had you, and I’ve fallen for you. And I know you’ve fallen for me, too.”
“I do want… I do want to be with you, Brant. But I’m…”
“Too chicken shit?”
“No,” I snap.
“I’m not running from this.”
Brant cups my cheek and tilts my lips up to his. It’s a whisper of a kiss. “Promise me,” he whispers.
I nod. “I promise.”
We trade a pinky promise for a kiss that means much of the same thing. I do mean it, but I don’t know if I should have kept my fingers crossed to feel less guilty about lying.
19
Brant
Just when I think I’m getting somewhere, I get pulled back about fifteen steps.
Cora is the only one who does this to me. I was with a woman for three years I thought I would marry back when I was twenty-six or twenty-seven. But she took a job in international relations days away in Australia. It was effectively the end of our relationship. Maybe I should have guessed she would leave at some point with that as her career. When she did, I think I only missed her for a week. After a month, I forgot to call and check on her. We may have loved each other, but we weren’t in love, we were only comfortable.
I’m incredibly uncomfortable with Cora in a sense that I can’t stand not knowing what to do. Not knowing which way she’ll swing. But I know now, going back to my family estate, the only place I seem to know everything at… I know I’m in love with her.
I know I love Cora because nothing with her will ever be comfortable. I’ll always be learning about her, getting used to her, catching what she throws at me and throwing it back. She is so beautiful and smart, I feel out of my league. How long has it been? Maybe four weeks now… I chalk it up to being a musician and wearing my heart on my sleeve, my emotions always open and ready for me to express. But I’ve never been one to close off before. Mom always says I’m an emotional man, and all my emotions are telling me I love that woman.
That’s why it hurts so much that she lied.
She should know by now that I can tell. I know by now that she is too smart to be underestimated. I don’t blame her. Seeing that stash must have been a lot. Not only that, but it probably reminded her what she might have to deal with. Hopefully, never. I mean I don’t plan on it. I asked her to promise she wouldn’t run because I’m not sure if I can take losing her. My dad was the first person who shoved me to it, she might be the second and the last. It’s that deep, that intense.
Things were off when I took her back home. And all day she didn’t say much to me either. I had to clear my head and keep from doing anything stupid, so I took a flight home even though I’ll be coming back in a few weeks for the Easter holiday, though I’m thinking I’ll plan a trip for everyone to our place in The Hamptons. In a perfect world, I would ask Cora to come, but I don’t even know how that conversation will go. I’m a little bitter she wasn’t honest with me, but I truly don’t know how much more I can ask of her. Knowing about her parents, I’m surprised she didn’t run in the very beginning.
Once I get home, the house is empty. I still have a key, but there is no one inside. Mom didn’t want a staff even when Dad insisted. The place is huge, and I don’t know how she keeps it so kept up on her own. The foyer is huge and swallows me up, decorated just how Mom likes with the light colors and curtains. Everything looks the same.
A smile plays on my face as I walk around the living room. She added some more family pictures on the mantle to include Mia in them. Now my eyes are only for Cora, but Alec really found himself a beautiful woman. That broody bastard—I used to call him that as a joke for his moodiness, but now it’s literal, and he always threatens to swing at me when I call him that.
I go into the kitchen to see if Mom has cooked something. She hasn’t thought to downsize since we’ve all left, and Grayson does live here when he comes back for leave. Otherwise, this twelve-bedroom, three living room mansion sits on ten acres of land mostly empty all the time. But it has been with us for a long time. We all grew up here, and it isn’t going anywhere.
I’ve scored big when I find a pot of chicken soup in the fridge, maybe my second favorite meal Mom makes, and biscuits. She has to have known I was coming. A look at the clock tells me she won’t be back for at least an hour since school lets out soon. I turn the kitchen television on and eat in the breakfast nook. My sweats make it too comfortable to just doze off once I finish.
Kitchen lights wake me up again, and I jolt in surprise at Mom staring at me.
“Mom…” I yawn and rub my eyes.
“You still fall asleep after you eat.” She beams at me.
“Only your food does that.” I stretch out and stand to hug her. She grips me so tightly I’m short of breath until she releases me.
She smiles up at me and looks the same as always. Her hair is still brown and long and shiny in waves, her eyes a bright mix of gray and green, and a face still soft and youthful. My friends always had something to say about my mom, but it’s not like they were lying. Sometimes her age shows in her smile and around her eyes. Dad would always tell me if you kept a woman happy enough, she wouldn’t age a minute from the first date. I used to think he was an eccentric, odd man. Now I just miss him.
“Not that I’m not happy, but what are you doing here? I’d have made something other than cold soup.”
I chuckle. “I warmed it up, and you know it’s my favorite.” I rub her bare arm in her sundress, and she reaches to grab my plates and put them in the sink, but I stop her. “I got it, Mom. And I just had some free time, so I thought I’d come by.”
“A busy rock star like you has time?” she teases.
“You know I only write songs and have my team do the hard work.” I smirk at her.
She giggles. “Your team.” And shakes her head.
“How was your day?” I sit on the couch behind the butler’s pantry with her.
“Fine. There’s standardized testing going on, so the kids hate everyone.”
I laugh. “Why do you still teach, Mom? You don’t have to work.”
“I bet you wish you had daughters so you could tell them that.”
She smiles. “I guess I’m only good for having boys.”
“I wonder why that is.”
“Jeffrey said there isn’t much science behind it.”
“What does he know?” I scoff.
“Um, he is a doctor, sweetie.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
“But we thought about adopting girls a little after Grayson was born.”
“You weren’t that old then.”
“I didn’t want to take the chance.” She laughs her full belly laugh, and I join her.
“You were tired of us rowdy boys.”
She nods. “More or less. When you have kids, you’ll understand.”
“You think I’ll have kids one day?” I arch my brow.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m an old man, my sperm count could be low,” I joke, and she laughs again.
“Your father was making children way into his forties. I don’t think so.”
I laugh, it is true. Dad was way older than Mom. I can’t remember how many years.
“You never felt weird with an older guy?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No, he didn’t look old even when he died.” Her eyes glaze over, losing some of their sparkle as she swallows.
I touch her arm gently and slide down to hold her hand. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She smiles sadly. “Me, too.”
“You doing okay?”
She clears her throat and sighs. “Yes, I am. The smell… his scent is starting to come out of the bedroom now. I went into his den last month. I hadn’t been able to before.”
I feel so sad for her. It’s hard to bare, but then I see how strong she is, and I lose some of the feeling.
Wilde About Brant - The Brothers Wilde Series Book Two Page 14
