by Tessa Teevan
“Oh, yes, of course. A pretty girl came in some time later. We had a bit of a crowd that night, people mingling… You know how Saturdays get.”
I nod. Half the people I know love swanky hotel bars on Saturday nights in the city.
“So her only seat of choice was next to him. I barely turned around and then they were gone. I just happened to catch a glimpse of his arm around her shoulder. She seemed to be helping him stumble. Then, last night, I was working the desk and he asked me if I knew who the ‘angel in red’ was. I hadn’t a clue who she was; I’d never seen her before. When I told him so, and regretfully told him I could not share the guest list for the party, he got agitated then proceeded to the bar.”
“I see.”
She grimaces. “I suppose that’s why you’re here,” she says with a sigh. Then she checks her computer before programming a keycard. “Here you go. I hope you find him in better shape than he was last night.”
As the elevator climbs, I think about what Tabitha said. A number was undoubtedly done to Branson. And by Branson.
I’ve seen him at what I thought was his lowest. It wasn’t after he served Megan with divorce papers. It wasn’t even after he’d caught her cheating on him.
The lowest I’ve ever seen him was the day he learned that his younger brother shipped off to army boot camp. God, even though it was eleven years ago, I can remember that day like it was yesterday.
I’d just taken my macroeconomics final and was looking forward to summer break even though my dad had already planned for me to intern at Wellington Enterprises. Before, however, Branson and I had planned on spending two weeks in Puerto Vallarta, basking in sun, sand, and sex.
Instead, it all came crashing down with just one call.
I didn’t think my high could’ve been shattered, and I was so wrong. Even though Branson wasn’t supposed to meet me at the airport until the next day, I didn’t think anything of it when I fished my ringing phone out of my pocket and saw his name flashing on my screen. But when I pressed the phone to my ear, the sound of sobs and slurred words greeted me.
“He’s gone, Shane. My fucking brother is going to war. He’s going to die because of me. I’ll never fucking forgive myself. I should sign up. I deserve to die instead of him.”
By the time I understood exactly what he was telling me, I was already in my car on the way. So, instead of Mexico, we spent two weeks holed up in his apartment in Nashville—him binge drinking and me making sure he didn’t drink himself to death and trying to make him understand that just because Knox joined the Army didn’t mean he was going to war.
After two weeks and Branson missing the first day of his own internship, his father showed up and demanded he get his head out of his ass or his future was on the line. That’s the day the Branson I grew up with went away. I’ve only seen mere glimpses of him since.
The next summer, Branson was engaged to Megan, and well, now that he’s divorcing, I guess you can say that’s history that will be better off once it’s buried. In all of that time, the only person who heard from Knox was Cohen, who was too young to understand what was happening in the family.
Branson, on the night of his engagement party, took me aside. For a guy who was celebrating his engagement, he looked less than thrilled. Haunted. Resigned. He was almost a stranger to me. I caught only a glimmer of his old self when he handed me a file.
“This is an expense account, and the money comes directly from me. I want…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “I need you to find him, Shane. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to hear from me. I won’t contact him. I’ll respect that; I just need to know he’s okay. He might be bigger than me, but he’s still my little brother. Regardless of if he believes it, I love him even if it has to be from afar. Hire a private investigator, no expenses spared. I don’t want to pry. I just want to know where he is and that he’s well.”
It was the most candid I’d ever heard Branson. I agreed, and for the next ten years, until Knox’s convoy ran over a roadside bomb, we knew where he was at all times.
Still, I could see the battle raging within Branson. He wanted to be at peace, knowing Knox was fine. He warred with himself, wanting to go to him, to explain, to bring him back into the family. But he knew he couldn’t. Or he was too stubborn and he wouldn’t.
Over the years, I think that peace turned to resignation. I think the battle resulted in a wall being built, shutting off Branson’s emotions, turning anything left over into drive for his work. He became unemotional and callous, and the passion he ever exhibited was in the boardroom, where he hoped to one day be CEO.
I’m unsure what to glean from his voicemail. He’s still a drunk, apparently, but he’s met his future wife? Not exactly a good combo, especially if she knows who he is. I thought things were looking up for him, so why the booze binge? Not that I’m a fan of failing marriages, but theirs shouldn’t have ever happened in the first place. Its foundation was deceit and never stood a chance. Knox is back in the family fold and Megan’s signed the divorce papers, so I have to find out what’s bothering him now. Or who.
Reflection makes me realize that, while I’ve seen him at his lowest, I wouldn’t know what his highest even was. And, as his cousin and closest friend, I make a vow to change that.
I’m mentally making plans as I bear down on his door. I could knock to inform him of my presence, but where’s the fun in that? I open the door, half expecting him to surprise me and be awake, dressed, and ready to take on the day.
I’m not surprised.
A dark lump of a form is lying on the floor, and from the stream of light coming from the window, I can see he’s still dressed in last night’s clothes. Rubbing a hand over my face, I contemplate my next move. Channeling my own mother from the one and only time she found me hungover, I cross the room and fling the curtains open, allowing the light of the winter sun to blast throughout the penthouse suite.
He doesn’t move.
Apparently, his hangovers take deeper root than mine, because that move had me flying out of bed in an instant.
I try the next thing: pouring water over his face.
I get nothing. Same when I stick a pen in his nose and draw a line on his forehead. What the hell is going to wake this guy?
And then it hits me.
I lean down and whisper in his ear. “Branson…” I say, drawing his name out. “It’s Megan.”
He jumps up so fast that the top of his head hits my chin, knocking me backward. Pain sears through me, and when I sit up, rubbing my head, Branson’s staring down at me with wild eyes. He blinks, once, twice, and his demeanor changes.
“Shane?”
“The one and only.”
“Fuck. Sorry. God dammit, what did I drink last night? I just had a nightmare that Megan was whispering in my ear.”
I could tell him that was me. But I don’t. Because if hangovers cause Megan-like nightmares, maybe that’s exactly the excuse he needs to not get hammered.
“What are you doing here?”
I cross to the minibar and glance inside. Of course, nothing is left except for a tiny bottle of Jäger, which Branson hates. I grin to myself, grab it and a bottle of water, then sit on the edge of the bed. I hand Branson the water then the Jäger.
“Dude, seriously?” he says, eyeing the bottle with disgust.
“Hair of the dog, buddy. Your fault for blowing through everything else.”
He shrugs, toasts me with the bottle, and chugs the entire thing. “Ugh. Why? Why would anyone make liquor that tastes like black licorice? It’s disgusting,” he says with a wince. “Now that that’s outta the way, asshole, why are you here?”
I open my phone and play the voicemail. Once the beep signifies the end of the message, Branson groans, rubbing his eyes and plopping back on the pillow.
I don’t move. “Spill.”
He opens one eye and looks at me in disbelief. “Since when do we do girl talk?”
I hold my ph
one up. “Since you called and gushed over my voicemail. Now, spill or I’m calling my mom and telling her you’re sick.”
“Your mother hovers,” he says.
“Exactly.”
That’s all it takes to get Branson to spill. Except he’s been wasted the past two nights, so he doesn’t remember all that much. But what he does? To him? It’s profound. According to my cousin, he met the one woman who has the power to save him yet remembers nearly nothing about her or if he’ll ever see her again.
I hate the similarity in our situations and almost wish it was alcohol and not my idiocy that ruined my one perfect evening.
Once I get him up and out of the hotel, so we can go run his hangover off, I start to wonder what was going on in the universe two nights ago, and how did two cousins meet two women who seem to have changed everything?
BY THE time I make it back to Atlanta, mental warfare has taken my brain over. One half thinks I should’ve stayed, while the other commends me for not sticking around to find out what else Shane may have lied about. There’s a niggling thought telling me that every moment we spent together was genuine, regardless of if he didn’t want me to know he was more business executive than pool boy. But he’d had more than one opportunity to spill the beans, and he didn’t. How do you start a relationship based on a lie?
Ugh. I’m fooling myself. It’s an excuse, I know it is, and yet I keep telling myself his lies meant more than work. His very minor, not-that-big-a-deal omission. Because let’s be honest. That’s what it was. It’s just… I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that I’m willing to give up what could be a great thing for work.
Still, I can’t be too mad for whatever reason I decide to claim. I no longer have the virgin tag hanging over my head. And now that I know who he is, I can avoid him. It shouldn’t be all that hard. Atlanta’s a big city, and it’s not like he’s going to be waltzing into WC any time soon. It does kind of put a damper on my love for swanky bars around the city for fear out of running into him, but with work being crazy, I doubt I’ll have time to go out anyway.
Netflixing by myself just got a whole lot sweeter.
When I let myself into my apartment, the outline of a small person causes me to jump and shout in alarm. Said person pops up, and I switch the light on, shocked to see my sister on my couch.
“What are you doing here?” we echo in unison.
“You tell me!” Once again, that comes from both of us at the same time.
I place my hand on my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. “Ariana, why are you in my apartment?”
She chews on her lower lip. “Well, after the other night…you know, I didn’t want to go to Florida. But I didn’t want Benjamin to find out I was still in town, so I knew I couldn’t go to my apartment.”
“But he doesn’t live there?” I question.
The one true gift my parents gave Ariana—besides me, of course—was their insistence that she and Benjamin not live together until they were married. Something I’m truly grateful for. And he seems to avoid her place whenever I am around, so I try to be around as often as I can.
“He has a key. Plus, I wouldn’t put it past him to drive by just to make sure I’m not there. He’s the last person I want to see, so I thought, with you being down in Florida, hooking up with your mystery man, I’d be safe here.” Her eyes narrow. “I’ve explained. Now, it’s your turn. Why the hell are you home already? You sounded ecstatic over the phone.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes even though my heart’s hurting. I still can’t believe I formed an attachment so quickly.
“It…didn’t work out.”
Sympathy washes over her face. “But you said it was good… You wanted to do it again.”
I nibble on my lower lip, wondering what I can say to get out of it. I just wave a hand as if I haven’t a care in the world. “It’s no big deal, Ari. Promise. Shane had to leave, so I figured I’d come home, too.”
“Shane?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
“Oh, um…” I struggle to come up with a lie. “It’s actually funny. He’s, um, an old acquaintance from college and just happened to be vacationing down there at the same time as me. One thing led to another and… Well, I’m no longer a virgin.”
Ariana tilts her head and peers at me, the pad of her index finger tapping against her chin. “But I thought you said he was the pool boy.”
Drat. I never was a good liar, which is why I never lie to her. Fortunately, Bryan’s been teaching me the art of poker. I hope my face isn’t as readable as it is when we play. “Oh, it was just a joke. He was, um, a swimmer in college. We were having a couple of drinks, and I joked that a fantasy of mine was sleeping with the pool boy. He volunteered.”
I hate lying to her. I really do. It’s just…. Now that I’ve already lost him—or, well, run away from him—I don’t want to share the memory of him.
Her ponderous look turns into a delighted one. “So, what happened? Why are you home early?”
“Oh…well, Shane got called back to the city for work. I felt like my mission was accomplished and decided to come home and hang out with you.”
“If you were bummed after his leaving, your first time must’ve been better than mine.” Her nose wrinkles. Then her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I just said that!”
I laugh and then loop my arm through hers. “For years, you’ve never told me about that night. Now that I know how it goes, you’re finally going to spill. But first? Wine.”
Her groan carries us to the kitchen, where I pour us both a glass of a fancy glass of red wine Cheyenne and Sawyer gifted me the night of my graduation party. That and the paid two weeks off. Seriously? Best boss ever.
“Lyss, I hate to say it, but I think I may need liquor for this.”
I grin, crossing the room and dig through my freezer until I come up with a bottle of tequila. When I turn back, Ariana has her hands over her eyes.
“Lucky for you, sis, I got ya covered with the good stuff.”
She shakes her head. “I’m almost afraid to look.” Her fingertips spread slightly. Then she breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. If it was vodka, I was going to hurl.”
Okay, this I have to hear.
I grab two shot glasses from my cabinet and my salt shaker and set both items in front of her. “Since I hadn’t planned on being here this week, we’ll have to forgo the limes.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before Ariana grabs the bottle, twists the top off, and presses it to her lips. I’ve never seen her like this. Ever. It’s a bit unnerving, and even though tequila sounds fantastic, I think I’ll stick with the wine, just in case this turns into a shitshow.
After several gulps, she finally comes up for air without so much as a cough.
“If it’s really that bad, Ariana, you don’t have to tell me. Seriously. I love you, but I don’t want to be holding your hair when you’re puking later on.”
This is when my sister giggles. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard her giggle before in her life, and it’s infectious. So I start giggling, and pretty soon, we’re both hunched over, laughing like squealing pigs. It’s not a pleasant description; it’s not a pleasant sound.
Ariana stands up straight, her arms holding her middle. She hiccups once, twice, then brushes her hair out of her face. “Okay, okay. I’m going to tell you this one time, and if you ever tell anyone, I will… I will… I’ll tell Mother you need her help finding a nice man to settle down with. The bluer the blood, the better.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “My God, Ariana. How long have you been hiding that devious bitch under all that princess poise?”
“It’s the tequila. It brings out the bitch in me.” She pauses to study me. “Or perhaps it’s you.”
“Then, from this day forward, you’re getting margaritas and me every Friday night!” I declare. “Okay, stop stalling and spill.”
“Well… God, this is embarrassing,” she mutters. Then
she grabs for the tequila.
But I snatch it up. “Switch to the wine, Ari. I don’t want you passing out before you’re done.”
“Ugh. Fine! I was dry. Like….so dry it hurt when he put it in, and it hurt. I tried not to cry, but when he shoved in, I felt like he was tearing me apart. And he’s not even that big!” she exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, I know people say it’s not always magical the first time, but I hadn’t expected it to be like that.”
I cringe, feeling almost guilty that my first time was a complete one-eighty on the experience level from hers. “Didn’t you guys do any foreplay?”
She bites her lower lip. “No. Um… I don’t even know why I said I was ready. Don’t get me wrong. He didn’t coerce me or anything. I just felt like it was time to take the next step, you know? I just didn’t know it’d be like that. I was so embarrassed. And then he got mad that I wasn’t wet.”
I can’t help the snort. “Honey, making you wet is his job.
“But…” She stops when I wave a hand.
“Ariana, yes, we’re dry at different times in our cycles, but every woman is different. Even if you’re drier by nature, you should get wet when you’re aroused. It’s science. Biology. He should’ve ensured you were ready before he ever even tried.”
“He blamed me for it, you know?”
“Yeah, well, he’s a dick.”
She snorts, and I wonder if this will be our breakthrough.
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her, “it takes two to tango. You were a virgin and he should’ve taken care of you.”
“That’s what the nurse told him. I swear to God I’ve never felt such vindication.”
Just as I am about to take a sip of wine, her words stop me. “The nurse?” I ask. “What nurse?”
“This is why I was laughing. Oh, it’s probably so horrible of me, but well, after a minute or so, it started to get easier. It didn’t hurt anymore, and I could feel the liquid. Benjamin went to move positions and started screaming. I sat up and saw his penis covered in blood. At first, we thought it was from me, but no. I wasn’t bleeding. He was.”
