Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  I grunt as I sit up.

  “Not funny, Adelaide.”

  “I would disagree with you there. You should’ve seen yourself.”

  “I don’t need to see myself. I was the one who ended up on the floor.”

  She ignores me and continues to talk. “Arms flailing and your face all scrunched up in anger as if it’s the cot’s fault.”

  She’s laughing in hysterics and reenacting the scene now.

  I glare at her.

  “Thump! Ahhh! Son of a bitch!” she says in a deep voice, mimicking me as she flails her arms around like a damn jellyfish.

  I stand up fully and look down at her.

  “Are you done yet?” I ask her.

  “I guess so, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

  Jesus, did she really just call me that?

  I ignore her. I roughly push the cot back toward hers and plop my ass back in bed, my back facing her.

  I hear her let loose a random giggle here and there until she finally falls back asleep.

  With her asleep, I let her breathing wash over me again until I drift to sleep alongside her.

  The next day, I go through my daily check of the village to make sure everything is alright and that there are no threats.

  As I walk around, some of the women make me stop, wanting to talk.

  “Hello ya mume,” they all state before telling me the news around the village.

  I don’t know what the hell they’re calling me, but I just go with it.

  As I continue, more and more of the women are calling me by the same name.

  I become curious on what it means.

  I look for Adelaide once I’ve finished my rounds.

  She’s checking a patient who has a rash.

  “Is he going to be alright?” I ask after they were finished.

  She nods. “Yes. It’s nothing serious. He just needs to put the cortisol cream as I directed him and he’ll be good as new. Everything still safe and sound in the village?”

  She’s smirking at her last statement.

  She may not think my rounds are all too important, but she’s also a little clueless that there are assholes out there that would be more than happy to use her for a nice, big ransom.

  “Everything is fine.”

  I think about how all the women kept calling me ‘ya mume’ and decide to ask her about it.

  “What does ‘ya mume’ mean in Swahili?”

  She stops what she’s doing and looks at me.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just…the women in the village today kept calling me that, and I can’t figure it out. I figured you would know.”

  A bright red blush appears on her cheeks, and she gives a small smile.

  “They’re just messing with you, Ford. It’s just a joke they’re playing on the new guy in town.”

  “Even still, what does it mean, Adelaide? If I’m the butt of a joke, I should know what the heck they’re making fun of me for.”

  “I wouldn’t be bothered with it,” she answers as she continues to blush.

  It must mean something embarrassing if she won’t tell me and keeps blushing like a fool.

  “Adelaide, what are they calling me?”

  She hesitates for a brief moment.

  “Fine. It means The Husband in Swahili,” she explains.

  I stare at her.

  Why would they be calling me that all of a sudden? Is it because I’ve been hanging around Adelaide so much?

  Some of them have seen the flirtatious banters we’ve had.

  Still. What man wouldn’t flirt with her?

  “Why are they calling me The Husband all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not a big deal, Ford. Like I said, it’s just a joke.”

  She turns away from me to continue what she was doing before I asked her about the so- called-joke.

  I have to admit, even if I don’t know why they’re calling me ya mume all of a sudden, my chest puffs out a little.

  Adelaide is mine, and the village women recognize that.

  Hell yeah, they can keep calling me The Husband.

  Adelaide sure seems happy with that name as well.

  She may be blushing, but her smile and the way her eyes light up tell me all I need to know.

  Adelaide is definitely pleased with the name the village has given me.

  I smile a little to myself. With the happiness, though, comes the logic to ruin it.

  Being with Adelaide seems too good to be true.

  No way can a woman like her be okay with the shit I’ve done in my past.

  Add on the fact that anyone I come to care about dies and there isn’t a logical woman out there who would be willing to stick with me.

  Hell, I wouldn’t even choose to be with me, but I’ve got no fucking choice.

  Plus, what’s going to happen when her tour here is done?

  The happy bubble we’re in right now won’t last long. A guy like me doesn’t belong with a woman like her once we go back home.

  I also have a job that requires me to put my life on the line constantly to protect my charges.

  She has her own career she’s fully dedicated to at the moment, and that doesn’t appear to be changing or slowing down any time soon.

  In reality, Adelaide and I would be the most unlikely couple to last once my job as her bodyguard ends and her job here with Doctors Without Borders ends.

  If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t be inclined to bet on us.

  Fuck!

  I stomp out of the room to get away from Adelaide. I can’t risk getting closer to her, and I sure as hell can’t risk her getting too attached to me.

  I have a job to do. I’m her bodyguard, and that’s all I can be.

  June

  I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how long it will be until he’s home again.

  I just hope he’s okay.

  It’s a silly thing to worry about. If there’s one thing I can count on when it comes to Carter Abraham, it’s that he can take care of himself.

  He’s strong. A protector. The kind of man who can come out of anything on the right side of it, even if he has to put up a fight.

  Which doesn’t stop me from worrying. Not in the least.

  Because if there’s one thing I can count on when it comes to Lawrence Abraham, it’s that wherever he goes, trouble follows—and then it’s Carter’s job to mop up the mess left in his twin’s wake.

  I pull my robe around me tighter, relishing the feel of the pale blue satin against my skin. Ever since our child started growing in my womb, my body has entered a whole new world of experiencing sensation. Every cool breeze, every delicious smell, every pleasant sound seems to vibrate through my entire system with waves of pleasure.

  It’s been making me freaking insatiable lately, if I’m being completely honest.

  …god, I hope Carter comes home soon.

  The way that goodbye felt, I thought for sure it would last me for a while.

  And it did last me for a while—but that while has long since passed, and loneliness is creeping up at a surprisingly hasty pace.

  Spreading my limbs out on the bed like a space-hungry starfish, it begins to hit me just how well that goodbye served me.

  According to the unfathomably expensive-looking clock mounted to the wall by the bedroom door, it is now almost three o’clock in the morning.

  Which means I spent hours basking in the lingering glow of our evening of gentle, loving wondrousness.

  It’s an evening that’s been so wondrous indeed that only now am I beginning to realize that the wondrousness has been interrupted—and it’s yet to resume.

  Just how late are the bars here open, anyway?

  Bill’s Roadhouse—a Wheatfield institution since time immemorial—has a strict closing time of twelve-thirty, even on weekends. Rumor has it that some of the wilder places out in Omaha stay open until two some nights, but Manhattan isn’t Omaha.

  It’s supposed to be sophisticated a
nd cosmopolitan here, right?

  Where is he?

  So much for waxing poetic. That marvelous glow that kept me rapt on the bed for so long is taking in a new aura.

  An aura of suffocating anxiety. I need to get off of this darn bed.

  The city continues to buzz far below Carter’s bedroom windows. The faint, pulsing hum of traffic carrying who knows who to who knows where is starting to tie my stomach into knots.

  The feeling of my bare feet making contact with Carter’s plush bedroom carpeting has a calming effect at first. The moment I begin standing up, and putting weight on those feet, I almost topple over.

  It’s been an intoxicating evening, alright. And even though I had nothing to drink, I think the hangover’s starting to kick in.

  Oh, Carter.

  The intoxication could’ve lasted so much longer.

  Hours longer.

  Days, weeks…

  Months.

  There are nine of those in front of me now. This pregnancy is actually happening, but Carter just suddenly ending the celebration out of the blue…

  It just doesn’t feel right.

  Dragging myself to the en suite bathroom, I shake my head in disbelief at my own indignant thoughts.

  Carter didn’t choose to end this evening. It was interrupted by outside forces.

  June, come on, now. I scold myself out loud as I push through the bathroom door.

  It wasn’t some sinister outside force.

  It was family—and I encouraged him to do what was right.

  “Family comes first,” I mutter while mindlessly twisting both the hot and cold spigot handles over the massive marble sink.

  Rinsing my face, scrubbing vigorously with my hands, it suddenly becomes obvious.

  The warmth I felt for so long after Carter’s departure wasn’t just about my evening with him or the goodbye we shared.

  It was also about who I saw him being—somebody who was there for his family. Sure, it took some convincing on my part, but I could sense the urgency when he left.

  His concern for his brother was as clear as a South Sioux City sky on a sunny day. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. It’s powerful to see someone care for their family like that.

  And I guess it was powerful to see the way Carter obviously cares for his family.

  With my face now beyond rinsed, I let my hands fall to my sides and watch the water run quietly down the drain.

  His family.

  But what about me?

  The mother of his child?

  Who, by the way, is still not all that familiar with this behemoth of a penthouse and doesn’t feel very much at home here by herself.

  It’s like that whirlwind of confusion that marked my arrival in New York is coming back to life. Watching the spiral of water circling the drain, I’m astonished at how alone I feel.

  I need to talk to somebody—someone who cares.

  Since Carter has seemingly been swallowed by the vacuum of the city, I have precious few options.

  After finally turning off the tap, I totter back out into the bedroom to check that clock and make sure that it’s for real.

  The far-off traffic noise, a muted din that would usually be soothing, uncorks more fresh anxiety. Unthinkingly, I hold my hands lightly over my stomach.

  There’s that clock on the wall again. It’s past three now, and it ain’t the freaking afternoon, either.

  The feeling of aloneness and helplessness, which came on so abruptly, is still there, and it feels like it’s digging in for the long haul.

  Waiting for Carter is no longer an option—I need somebody to talk to, and I think I know who that somebody is.

  One more glance at the clock doesn’t change things. It’s still a couple minutes past three here in New York, which means that it’s a couple minutes past one back in western Nebraska.

  If he was at Bill’s Roadhouse tonight, he should just be wandering in about now. If not, he’s already asleep for sure.

  Life on the farm doesn’t allow for too many late nights, but I know my father feels like he’s earned the occasional night out with a couple beers and a few old friends. He will never hear a disagreement from me on that point.

  If I end up waking him up, then I end up waking him up. It’s not like I have a choice right now—it’s like I’m lost in a strange alien universe and the only thing that can save me is the sound of a familiar voice.

  Tears are threatening to well up in my eyes as I prepare to enter the dark abyss of the hallway outside the master bedroom. The size of this apartment seems majestic when Carter’s here, but it’s beyond overwhelming when I’m alone—or, at least it is tonight.

  The hallway isn’t as dark as I anticipated—there’s a low light coming from a nearby metal wall sconce.

  Follow your instincts, June. They rarely lead you astray.

  My instincts lead me through a doorway on my left. Overhead lighting—probably hooked up to a motion sensor—switches on as I enter to reveal a sizable home office.

  Across from me is a picture window with a stunning view, but the desk in front of the window—with a desk phone—is of much more interest to me.

  Traffic noise comes through the window as I sit down in the big leather desk chair. This time it does sound soothing—even more so as I dial the number I’ll always know by heart.

  After I dial, the ringing starts immediately, and calm sweeps over me. My newfound sense of calm recedes a bit as the phone keeps ringing, though.

  Oh, well. My dad is sleeping soundly, but just dialing the number and hearing the ring is enough to make me feel so much—

  “Hello?”

  The groggy yet instantly familiar voice coming through the receiver summons those long-threatening tears right down my cheeks. A couple brief sobs also escape as I cover the mouthpiece and try to compose myself.

  “Dad…”

  “Junebug…why are you calling at this hour? Are you okay?”

  With a deep breath, my last sob evaporates, and I’m finally able to talk.

  “Dad, yes, I’m okay.”

  My dad waits for more of an explanation, but gives up after a couple seconds.

  “Well, that’s good. I’m just happy to hear from you, Junebug. It’s been a long time since I’ve known life here without you. It’s like a whole new world, and to be honest, I don’t much care for it.”

  I take another deep breath to fight another round of tears. Thankfully, this one doesn’t materialize.

  “I know, Dad. It just…couldn’t last forever.”

  “I’m well aware of that, June. And I’ll get used to it. Are you ready to tell me why you’re calling at…what time is it there?”

  “Dad, I-I don’t know if I can go into all the details.”

  “There’s no need, Junebug. Just stick to the ones I need to know. If there’s anything on this Earth I trust, it’s your judgment. But…should I be worried?”

  “No, Dad. There’s nothing for you to worry about…”

  “Is there something for you to worry about, then?”

  There’s the question, laid bare, that’s been eating at me since I glanced at the clock.

  “Tonight…out of nowhere…he left.”

  At the worst moment, I’m suddenly unable to speak. I hear my dad sighing.

  “No, Dad,” I continue, regaining my voice, “not like that. He left me alone here at his place. It’s really nice, but…”

  “What do you mean he left you alone? At his place? Did you have a fight?”

  “No…”

  “Is he galivantin’ around town with someone else?”

  “Just his brother.”

  Another, slightly different sigh comes through the phone line.

  “I think I might need some more details after all, Junie.”

  “Supposedly, there’s some kind of problem—those are details I’m not sure of—and he had to go meet his brother…at a bar of all places, and it was like four hours ago, and he’s still not back.”
/>
  My last few words are overtaken by sobs, and my father stays silent.

  “It was supposed to be a special night for us. And it was, but then…”

  “But then what, Junie?”

  “But then…it was just over.”

  “What was just over? Some plans you had? What are you really upset about?”

  As upset as I feel, I don’t know if I can answer that question clearly.

  I can try, though.

  “If he’s just willing to run out on me tonight, and just leave me in this huge, strange place…what does that mean about our future?”

  “How did he run out on you, Junie? What did he say?”

  “He said…goodbye.”

  “So, he did leave you.”

  “No, he actually said see you later, and he blew me a kiss. And I’m at his place, remember. And…I had to convince him to go. But he never came back.”

  “It’s a long leap from a few hours to never, Junebug.”

  “Does this all sound ridiculous to you?” I ask in a soft voice. I’m sure it does sound absurd, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “It doesn’t at all, Junebug. These things you feel—that everyone feels—around people that they care about…in that way, well, it’s the most powerful thing in this world. It gets out of control real easy, and it can get hard to get a hold of, darn near impossible…”

  He sounds convinced of everything he says, but he sounds so calm.

  “But I’m talking about this situation, Dad—the one that’s happening to me right now.”

  “There’s a time I woulda said the same thing, June...”

  “When?”

  “Back when I was first courtin’ your mother.”

  Darn, I should’ve known that subject would come up. I’m emotional enough already.

  “Not courtin’, sorry,” he continues, “This was after we had first gotten married, in fact. Your mother was working at the five-and-dime…”

  “The one that closed down last year?”

  “Yep. Changin’ times and all.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep, before you were born. She worked behind the soda counter, and I had the farm, of course. She had the second shift, and she’d get home at seven-thirty every night, without fail. And I’d wait for her all the way out front by the rural route.”

  “Every night, huh?” I allow myself a bit of a smirk. It’s a cute image, but it soon makes me sad for a myriad of reasons.