Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  Brodan’s jaw relaxed. In fact, his whole countenance became curious. Some things I didn’t need included interest from a man of his mold.

  “Who’s Dean?”

  Not the question I’d expected. I answered without considering the implications. “My dead husband.”

  “I’m sorry.” And there they were, the consequences of saying such simple words. Pity. False understanding. So annoying.

  “Why? You didn’t pull the trigger, right?” My eyes narrowed. I’d been unable to learn graciousness with regard to Dean’s suicide.

  “No, but it can’t be easy. When did he die?” His tone held sympathy but I thrust it aside. Did he ask ’cause he cared? Curious?

  I didn’t care why he asked. How dare he pity me? For all he knew, I pulled the trigger. Sometimes I wished I had, then I would know why he was gone. I’d deserve the blame his family laid at my door. Most importantly, I wouldn’t get pity heaped my way. He had no right asking anything with sympathy or curiosity—whatever. I didn’t want to think about Dean. I didn’t want Dean here!

  I hated him in that instant. Dean, Brodan, I couldn’t tell who I lashed out at. “Ten months. What’s next? You gonna ask how? He shot himself in the damn head with his service pistol. You interested in the brand, model, caliber? A nine millimeter, Beretta, M9. No, I didn’t find a letter, so I don’t know why. Apparently I’m not important enough, even for that.”

  I slammed my hands on the armrests of my chair and shoved it away from the table. Ignoring the shock on his face, I all but ran to the backdoors, through the kitchen, into the foyer where I grabbed my shoes, out the front door and into my van.

  Down the driveway and onto the road, the headlights penetrated less than the stars and moon lighting the sky. I checked my mirror for any chasing memories trying to gain on me and beat my hand on the wheel with frustration. Trees, darker than the night, bordered the highway.

  The thirty-minute ride gave me nothing to do but reflect on my actions.

  From a rational perspective, I’d jumped down Brodan’s throat for things he couldn’t be held responsible for. He didn’t kill Dean, know Dean or even understand what it’s like to lose a spouse. But logical thinking has no place when your husband kills himself in the house you shared together, taking your dreams and plans with him and leaving behind only bitterness to dry you up from the inside out.

  No, Brodan wasn’t at fault for any of it. Not for asking me with concerned curiosity, not for wondering about my intentions toward his brother, not even for being so like Dean I couldn’t help but compare them.

  Why did I have to act like a nine-year-old? I jumped in with both feet, ready for a fight. Tore into him without a second’s pause. He didn’t force me to tell him I was attracted to him. He didn’t know the shape of his jaw and the muscles in his arms distracted me, put me on edge. How could he? I was just some girl his brother met at the hospital and now wouldn’t stay away from them.

  My anger drained away, replaced with embarrassment and more than a little sadness.

  I wanted friends, I really did. But I wanted them without strings attached from knowing me before Dean’s death, before I became a different person who lost her confidence in others. I’d hoped Ryan would be that friend. He seemed so engaging tonight, fun. The tension between me and Brodan, tighter than roping knot, never fazed him, if he even noticed it. Affable and easygoing…exactly what I needed.

  But if I wanted to be friends with Ryan, I’d have to accept seeing Brodan and I’d trashed any sort of relationship we could have had together with my snarling and snipping. If I let honesty run the show, though, I could admit our interaction left me a little disappointed. His shoulders looked strong enough to handle me…

  I shook my head, pulling onto my street. No, it was better having left him disgruntled. Better to have him hate me—it removed the temptations from my plate. I nodded in agreement and squared my shoulders.

  The tears didn’t come until I pulled into my driveway and realized my dishes had been forgotten. Casualties of war—a war I didn’t really mean to wage.

  My eyes stung and my chest burned.

  Stupid, dull, rude, egotistical man! I stomped into the house, trying to return anger to its rightful place. Dumb lasagna, anyway.

  The light flashed on my old-fashioned answering machine. I bet my entire month’s pay my mother’s voice would play once I pushed the button. She’d called about every ten minutes after Dean had died, checking on me, paging me at work weeks after. I pressed Play and turned into the kitchen.

  I tossed my keys on the counter, grabbed a glass for cold water to cool my conflicting emotions and started drinking.

  Ryan’s voice, altered by the machine with static, filled the room. Choking on a swallow, I almost missed his message saying he was sorry he missed my leaving but would love to have me join him for a Fourth of July barbecue the next day.

  Fourth of July barbecue? Was that something friends did together? I’d forgotten the holiday.

  His call calmed me down. My breathing lost some raggedness and my face didn’t feel quite as flushed. A friend should make you feel better, right?

  In my bedroom, I undressed and pulled on my oversized t-shirt. I’d never sleep with my mind entertaining all the scenarios that could take place with Brodan being there. From his staring at me with an awareness that could cause my clothes to jump off, to me beating Brodan over the head with a grill spatula because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. Another possibility could be that Brodan’s absenteeism would lead to a great time with Ryan, minus strain or oversensitivity. The latter seemed the least likely.

  I decided to read in bed until I started to feel tired, Unfortunately, all my novels featured women who’d never really faced loss and whose main concern was what size bonnet to wear to the ball.

  I threw the unlucky book to the floor and stared at the ceiling.

  The next two weeks loomed before me.

  Chapter Five

  “Maggie, do you want pop or juice?”

  Earlier that morning, when I’d returned Ryan’s call, he’d been adamant about not knowing if Brodan would be home. I’d agreed to attend the barbecue because it sounded nice to celebrate a holiday I’d almost forgotten, and I wanted to see Ryan. But I couldn’t seem to lose the dragons flying around in my stomach with the possibility of seeing Brodan again. Even if he did show up, I’d just have to make sure to stay away from him. I could handle this. I had to.

  Never mind that my face flushed and heat surged through me with memories of the night before.

  When Brodan walked through the door onto the patio, I forgot the question Ryan had posed about a drink. My mouth dried up and I tried licking my lips with a cotton-ball tongue. Danged if he didn’t have some idea my statement about being attracted to his type rang true.

  “Hey, Brodan, you’re here. I have an extra burger just in case.”

  “Of course I’m here, it’s my house…not that I’m being egotistical.”

  I shot my gaze at him, surprised he’d throw my words in my face. Yet I couldn’t really blame him. I’d been a brat.

  Our gazes clashed, his guarded and unreadable. With a shrug, he looked away first. “Ryan. I thought we could try a game of chess, if you’re up to it? We don’t have to eat for a while, right?”

  “Chess? That’d be great.” Ryan turned to me. “Do you like chess, Maggie? It’s kind of a family thing.” His eagerness sped his words along.

  It sounded like a great idea and I said as much. Ryan smiled.

  Brodan retrieved a box of games from the outside cabinet hugging the house wall. I avoided staring at his backside with all the strength a mouse could muster and breathed easier when he stood up from his bend.

  I sat in a lounge chair near Ryan, close to the table.

  Brodan sat across from me. I almost wished he’d sat beside me, his distracting looks facing someone else. Unprepared for his hands’ captivating presence, I stared, done in by their shape and apparent strength.


  “Where did you learn to play, Maggie?”

  I jolted at Ryan’s question and took my time meeting his eyes, unsure how much I should share. “My husband taught me when we were kids.”

  “Husband?” Ryan’s curiosity hung from his tone as he leaned toward me.

  Brodan, setting up the board, slowed down.

  A rushing in my ears meant I was having another blushing episode. I cursed my fair skin, which so easily showed embarrassment, and struggled to think of my next reply. “Well, not anymore. He, um, died last year.”

  Ryan’s expression turned grave. Great. I no longer remained the possible friend but rather someone whose husband had passed away. He rested his fingers on my arm. “Maggie, I’m sorry.” First time I’d experienced true solemnity from the normal jokester. And somehow, for some reason, his sympathy didn’t anger me. Instead I wanted to cry. No one else had just looked at me and said they were sorry—without the questions or the pitying looks. I might promote him to best friend if he kept it up.

  Before I could reply, Brodan asked, “What happened?” As if I hadn’t just yelled my head off at him the night before with the details. Unprepared to be the center of attention over a topic I hated discussing, I tried to gauge Brodan’s thoughts with my peripheral vision.

  Ryan shooshed his brother. “Brodan, we don’t need to know the details. Loss is loss.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what your problem is with Maggie, but it’s gotta stop. You have to quit antagonizing her.” Without hesitation, he shot us each a look of astonishment. “Both of you. Just get along, okay? Maggie, you don’t have to answer anything about, well, anything. Brodan won’t ask you anymore and neither will I.”

  “Ryan, calm down. You just got out and you don’t need to go back in so soon.” Brodan folded his arms across his chest and regarded Ryan’s feverish coloring with concern.

  In mounting horror, I viewed the conversation and my throat closed. My shocked gaze met Brodan’s. The conversation had carried on well past the point of no return without one word contributed from my side. Dean’s death had more power than I should have given it.

  I frowned at Brodan, hoping he could read suspicion in the act. Apparently, he hadn’t told Ryan I had a crush on him. I didn’t know what to make of that.

  His deadpan expression didn’t budge. For just a moment, I pretended Brodan reached his hand across to hold mine and squeeze it with reassurance.

  Instead, I got nothing.

  Jerking my gaze from his, I waded into the situation with Ryan, incapable of bearing another misunderstanding. My emotions seemed to be in control at the moment. “No.” I leaned into the table, looking at Ryan. “Brodan’s not at fault, by himself anyway.” I glanced at Brodan and back to Ryan. “I just jump to conclusions quickly. I hate thinking about it, let alone talking about it.” I cleared my throat, turning my gaze to my hands. “I’ll answer the questions you ask once, then no more.”

  “Dean—” I swallowed, “—killed himself.” Forcing a carefree expression to move into my face, I looked at Ryan, smiling. “I play winner.”

  Uncertain, he moved his last player into place.

  “You want to ask how, right?”

  Ryan glanced at me, frowning. He shook his head.

  “No, really, it’s okay. Let’s get it out now.” I pulled my rubber band from my curls, retamed them and squished them into control, binding them once again. “Dean didn’t love me, or anyone. He tortured me and monopolized most of my life, in and out of the military, before marrying me and killing himself two years later.” I scoffed at myself. “Apparently all I was good at was providing for him while he played video games and refused to leave the house. It wasn’t the best marriage.”

  Ryan hmm’d under his breath.

  Brodan’s silence screamed louder than anything. He raised his damnable eyebrows at me before turning to start the game.

  Damn you, Dean. Damn you.

  Both men gave me my privacy and ignored me for a moment.

  I leaned back in my seat. Their enthusiasm was captivating. I didn’t expect Brodan to be cunning in his game nor Ryan to be aggressive. Pawns and rooks whizzed around the board, desperate to capture the king. The two men attacked on their turns. Brodan, Ryan, Brodan, Ryan.

  Engrossed in the match, I fought to ignore the charisma Brodan exuded. I failed. Trapping a knight and locking up another pawn, Brodan glanced at Ryan. He smiled! A real, honest smile, which showed straight, white teeth framed by full lips, and his laugh, deep and hearty as stew, warmed me to my toes.

  The game had never appealed to my competitive side. Although a contest of wits, chess had always been slow and tedious. Dean had considered each move longer than five minutes on each turn. I’d hated sitting around so long. But I’d done it for him.

  If I were honest with myself, I’d realize telling the boys had taken a large weight off my chest. Cathartic to have someone listen to me. I was half-tempted to tell them more.

  They sped through the game. Each move completed before I had fully registered the last.

  “Checkmate, big man!” Ryan crowed in delight, lifting his hand in salute.

  “Well done, Ryan. Your rook is persistent.” Brodan flicked his king over before lifting his own hand and smacking against Ryan’s with a high five.

  “Ready, Mag?” Ryan glanced at me, setting the board up for the next round.

  Brodan looked at me, his expression light with amusement. “Yeah, Mag, ready for a trouncing?”

  My name on his lips for the first time topped my reasoning. I reacted before thinking, grinning back. “I’m always ready to teach a lesson.”

  Ryan and Brodan erupted in laughter, Brodan’s gaze met mine and he winked. A butterfly fluttered in my stomach. I glanced at my hands, then at his. I had nowhere to focus my gaze.

  This side of Brodan would be harder to hold back from than the last one I’d met.

  Ryan turned the board to face me. A few moves in and Brodan made a sound, I assumed having to do with the game. It was enough to distract me and I missed a move of Ryan’s. Something a person doesn’t want to admit to one’s competitor.

  I studied the small figurines. Ryan had clear dominance in our game.

  Confused between where to go and where I’d been, I glanced again in Brodan’s direction. He tilted his lips up, understanding my predicament and incapable of helping me. Not that I needed his help.

  I had the sudden urge to prove myself. Placing my glass on the table, I sat up and focused.

  Ryan’s queen stood two squares closer to my line. His king protected behind her to her left. My scanty army, five snatched by the opposition thus far, appeared meek and ready to fall any moment. If it had been my choice, the king would have gone, leaving the queen to deal with the game on her own.

  I spied a path he’d be unable to escape. Boldly, I moved my last knight forward two and over one trapping his rook, queen and a pawn.

  Ryan whistled softly through his teeth. “Okay.” He moved a pawn on the far side of the board, into my rook’s hands. I recognized a distraction tactic when I saw one.

  I debated tackling the pawn or taking out the queen. If I took the queen, who had a much more versatile makeup, I would be limiting his team in a significant way. However, if I followed where he led me, he would be capable of opening a spot for his queen to escape. With Dean, I’d been expected to play courteously. He had always been a poor sport when he lost.

  Throwing caution to the wind, remembering Ryan wasn’t the one who resembled Dean, I nabbed his queen. I bit my lip to control the apologies Dean would have expected.

  Ryan laughed. Brodan sat up and watched the game a bit closer.

  From there, the game moved with more speed. I had never realized how liberating it could be to throw caution to the wind and play, to try out strategies and see if they’d work. To not worry about the consequences. It was only a game after all.

  Too soon, Ryan held me in check. I had a hard time escaping, which two moves la
ter shoved me into checkmate.

  Ryan offered a half smile. “Well played, Mag. A few more times with us and we won’t be able to guess your moves.” He stacked the board again, players finding their spots. When he finished, he slid the board to between Brodan and me. “You two try. Brodan, I’m warning you. She’s feisty.”

  “Actually, could I use your restroom?” I stood up from my chair. Both men nodded, distracted as they pulled the board between them. The game would most likely be over before I made it back.

  Escaping to the bathroom, I locked the door behind me. The toilet made for a comfortable seat to sit and think.

  I had no idea what the heck I was doing. I had come to see Ryan, hang out with Ryan, but instead had waited anxiously for the chance to see Brodan. Whether he and I had a good moment or bad, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him or when I would see him again.

  The man would not be good for me. Especially with his tattooed forearms and scuffed work boots. Every muscle bulged from real work, not pencil pushing. His button-up shirt, opened at the neck, revealed dark hair curling above a white collared tee, reminiscent of the hair dusting his arms and wrists.

  Dang it, Maggie! If he’s not good for you, quit thinking about him! I hated to admit it, but I had a point. I stood from the toilet. Not having needed it for more than an excuse, I walked to the sink and washed my hands.

  Okay, no more thinking about Brodan. I’ll just have to come up with a reason why I don’t want to play him…Maybe I have a headache from not enough sleep.

  Rejoining them, I realized I didn’t have much to worry about. Ryan and Brodan were immersed deep and the pace had slowed exceedingly. The time seemed right for me to take a walk, stretch my legs.

  I could feel Brodan watching me wander to the edge of the deck. His expression sent a tingle of wariness down my spine. Suspicion warred with understanding. He didn’t look away when I met his gaze. If anything, his expression darkened.