by Reinke, Sara
He took a swallow of beer. “How do you know?”
“Because I love Brandon. Are you going to tell me you love Tessa?”
“I am, yes, and I do,” he said, meeting her gaze. When she rolled her eyes, it stung all the more. “Quoi? You think you have a monopoly on feelings, Lina? You’re the only one who can fall in love these days?”
“No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just…I’ve known you a long time, Rene, and I’ve never seen you fall in love with anybody. You’re just…you…” Her voice faded and she averted her eyes.
“What?” He frowned. “I’m what, Lina? Don’t be shy. Whatever it is, just come out and fucking say it.”
Lina’s eyes flashed angrily. “You’re still in love with your wife,” she said, startling him. “Yeah. You’ve told me about Irene. You don’t remember? You’ve given me earfuls over the phone during several of your ‘I-can’t-get-addicted’ drinking binges. You told me about her and the baby. And I’m worried that you’re trying to get that back with Tessa, all of the stuff you lost with Irene.”
He blinked, as shaken as if she’d physically struck him. “Thanks, Lina.” Shoving the beer bottle at her, he turned, walking back through the door into the motel room. “Thanks a hell of a lot.”
“Rene, wait.” She hurried after him, but when she hooked her hand against his coat sleeve to stay him, he flapped her away. “Come on, Rene. I didn’t—”
He slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room.
Chapter Twenty-one
Is the baby all right? Brandon asked Tessa, his brows lifted, his eyes round with worry. She sat against the edge of the bed while he knelt before her, draping his hands against hers at her knees and looking up into her face.
Yes. She nodded, brushing his knuckles lightly with her thumbs, struggling to smile at him in reassurance. I can still sense it and everything feels okay. I think I would know somehow…sense something different…if the baby was hurt.
He reached for her neck, tugging lightly against the high collar of her turtleneck sweater. Rene had bought it to help hide the bruises—dark violet splotches against the pale skin of her throat that formed ghostlike impressions of Martin’s hands. She tried to shrug away from her brother, but he eased the collar back enough to catch a glimpse.
Jesus, Tessa. Brandon leaned forward, drawing her into his arms. She tucked her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes against the sting of tears. I’m so sorry, he whispered helplessly in her mind. All of this time…all of these years. I wish you had told me. When he sat back, his eyes were hurt and confused. Why didn’t you?
“There was nothing you could do,” she said, cutting her gaze to her lap, knotting her hands together.
Nothing? Brandon hooked his fingertips under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His brows had narrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown. I would have killed that son of a bitch if I’d—
“And that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything,” Tessa cut in. “You would have gone after Martin and then the Grandfather would have gone after you. It’s not like you didn’t have enough trouble living in the great house and I…” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. There was no undoing it. I was stuck there.” She brushed his hair back from his brow and smiling sadly. “Kind of like with you and Caine.”
His eyes traveled along her face, from one bruised and battered place to another. “It’s all right,” she told him. “We’re safe now—all of us. You, me and the baby. They can’t hurt us anymore, Brandon.”
I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you, Brandon said. If Rene hadn’t been with you…if he hadn’t found you and Martin… He stood, forking his fingers through his dark hair, his expression strained. I don’t know what I would have done, he said again.
He walked away, standing before the closed drapes, his arms folded across his chest, his back to her. His posture was rigid with stress and, as always, it amazed Tessa how Brandon could communicate so much so well—all without saying a word. He was blaming himself, probably delivering a mental reaming and she rose to her feet.
Brandon… she began gently.
None of this would have happened if I’d just stayed in Kentucky, he said without looking at her. If I’d just gone through the goddamn bloodletting like you asked me to, like everyone fucking wanted. If I hadn’t run away, Lina’s life would still be normal, not like this—fucked up and on the run…Caine and Emily wouldn’t have followed me…you wouldn’t have, either. He turned, pained. Martin wouldn’t have done this to you.
“He would have hurt me anyway,” Tessa said. “He never needed a reason, Brandon, just like Caine never needed any to bully you. He’s a monster, just like Caine was. Just like you always said. And I never would have been brave enough to leave him if it hadn’t been for you.”
I never would have met Rene if it hadn’t been for you, she thought, closing her mind momentarily so Brandon wouldn’t overhear.
I should go, Brandon said. It’s getting late and we’ve been on the road all day. You need to sleep. The baby—
“Wait.” Tessa caught his arm. “There’s something else, something Martin told me.”
Brandon raised a curious brow. What?
“He said the Grandfather murdered Grandmother Eleanor,” she said and when his eyes widened in surprise, she nodded. “When he was choking me, he said that’s how Eleanor died, and then later…once Rene had him tied up, I asked about it and he told me. He said his father had witnessed the entire thing. Do you think it’s true, Brandon? Do you think the Grandfather could really do that? You know how much he loved Eleanor.”
Brandon’s brows narrowed slightly. I don’t think the Grandfather has ever loved anyone in his entire life. I don’t think the son of a bitch is capable. He shook his head. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he killed her. Frankly, I don’t give a shit either way.
Tessa bristled at this. “What the hell does that mean?”
Nothing, he replied. It means I’m tired and I need to go to bed before I say something I’ll be sorry about later. He moved to lean forward, kiss her cheek good night, but she startled him by giving him a shove.
“No, don’t do that. Don’t just make some smart-ass quip and then walk away or play it off, like you did that day in the dance studio years ago.” When he clearly didn’t remember this, to judge by the bewildered look on his face, her frown deepened. “You’ve had a problem with Grandmother Eleanor since we were sixteen years old, ever since she gave me that green sapphire pendant for my birthday. I know you were angry about that, jealous even, but—”
What? Brandon interrupted, his eyes widening again. I wasn’t jealous. Or angry, either.
“I saw you in the foyer,” Tessa said. “When Grandmother Eleanor must have told you she was going to give it to me. I was standing on the staircase and saw the whole thing—the way you reacted, how you pulled away from her.”
Brandon moved to walk around her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
“I know you think she slighted you by giving it to me,” Tessa said, stepping directly into his path, blocking his way to the door. “I know you’ve acted angry with her ever since. But she loved us both, Brandon.”
Tessa. He locked gazes with her. You don’t know what you’re talking about. So just leave it alone.
He brushed past her, but she grabbed him by the sleeve, wheeling him forcibly about to face her. “I will not!” she exclaimed. “I think it’s high time we talked about this, Brandon—that you deal with it. It’s not fair for you to be angry with Grandmother Eleanor.”
You want me to deal with it? He frowned, jerking his arm away from her grasp. You don’t think I’m being fair? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Tessa. You don’t know anything—only some half-assed conjecture about what you think you saw that day on the staircase. And you’re wrong. You’re dead fucking wrong.
�
��Then tell me what I saw.” He kept trying to get by her; she kept preventing him. “Tell me, Brandon! I want to know. If you’re not mad at Eleanor for giving me the necklace—if you’re not jealous—then what have you been pissed about all these years? What did she say to you? Tell me!”
Get out of my way, Tessa, he told her with a frown.
“Not until you tell me,” she shot back.
I mean it—move, he said, and when he sidestepped, she cut him off.
“Tell me, Brandon. I want to know,” she said. “Tell me!”
It should have been you! Brandon snapped. Are you fucking happy now, Tessa? Grandmother Eleanor told me what happened to me—getting attacked, losing my hearing, getting my throat slit—it all should have happened to you!
And in her mind, he showed her, opening up his memories, letting them replay inside of her head like her own. Through Brandon’s eyes, she saw Eleanor on their sixteenth birthday, their grandmother cradling his face between her hands and leaning forward to press her full, cool lips against the corner of his mouth.
“Beautiful Brandon,” she murmured, smiling as she stroked her hand against his cheek, her fingertips trailing down to trace along the scar at his throat. Brandon hadn’t been able to hear her voice, but he’d read her lips; her words whispered through his mind, soft and intimate. “Such a pity, what happened to you. Such a waste.”
She met his gaze, wearing a sweet but melancholy smile. “I wish it had been Tessa instead,” she remarked. “A Brethren man should be strong—speak his mind and stand his ground, especially a Noble. Women don’t need to hear or speak to make babies, no matter their clan. And, in the end, isn’t that really all Tessa can ever hope to accomplish?”
At this, Brandon had recoiled, startled and dismayed, and that was what Tessa had seen from the stairs.
When Brandon snapped his mind closed to Tessa, it was like a heavy steel door slamming abruptly shut in her face. She stumbled back, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
Women don’t need to hear or speak to make babies, no matter their clan.
Eleanor’s words echoed in her mind, stabbing into her stunned heart again and again like the point of some cruel and relentless knife.
…in the end, isn’t that really all Tessa can ever hope to accomplish?
Her hands darted to her belly, to the baby growing inside of her womb. “Oh, God,” she whispered. Oh, God, is that all she thought of me?
She remembered Eleanor giving the necklace to her, how she’d smiled at Tessa’s surprise, and entertained none of Tessa’s sputtered protests. “Sweet sixteen is more special for girls,” she’d said.
But she didn’t think I was special, she thought, her eyes welling with tears. Not then, not ever…oh, God, not at all.
Tessa… Brandon reached for her, round-eyed and remorseful. Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to…I didn’t mean…
He tried to touch her, but she shrugged him away. “Get out.”
I didn’t want you to know that, he pleaded. I didn’t mean for you to see, Tessa. I was angry and I’m tired and I…it just slipped…
She pointed one shaking hand toward the door. “Get out, Brandon. Just…just go away. Leave me alone.”
Tessa… He tried to touch her again but she recoiled.
“Get out!” she cried. “Get out, Brandon! You get the hell out of my room!”
Tessa, please…
Again, he reached for her and this time she shoved him back. “Get out!” she cried again. “Just go away!”
Chapter Twenty-two
Rene ran damn near headlong into Brandon on the walkway outside of their respective motel rooms. Both men had been walking swiftly, their heads down, their minds clearly distracted, and when they bumped into each other, knocking shoulders and each stumbling sideways, they both blinked in mutual surprise.
“Oh, hey, petit,” Rene said. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
That’s okay, Brandon said. I wasn’t, either. You all right?
“I’m fine.” Rene glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of Brandon and Lina’s room. “Can’t say the same thing for your other half, though, petit.” When Brandon looked at him, clearly puzzled, he elaborated. “Lina and I just had a bit of a spat.”
Oh. Brandon nodded. Fair enough. Tessa and I just had one, too. What was yours about?
Rene shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Nothing really,” he said. “It’s just that Lina doesn’t seem to think I’m good enough for Tessa, that’s all.”
What? Brandon cut his eyes toward his door and then back to Rene. You’re kidding. She said that?
“Not in so many words, no,” Rene said. “But she didn’t have to. I understood her meaning perfectly well.”
Brandon glanced again, this time over his shoulder to Tessa’s room. Are you sleeping with my sister?
The dreaded question. Rene braced himself, straightening his spine and settling his jaw at a stern angle. He met Brandon’s gaze, fully expecting yet another confrontation, another rousing round of the same old “good enough to hire, not good enough to marry” bullshit he’d heard time and again his entire life. “I am, oui.”
Brandon looked up at him, his expression uncharacteristically unreadable. Do you love her?
“Yes, petit. I do. You can hit me if you want. I probably have it due. But that’s the God’s honest truth of it, Brandon.”
After a moment, Brandon shook his head and laughed soundlessly. I’m not going to hit you, Rene, he said. Jesus, I could hug you. I don’t know why Lina would tell you that you’re not good enough for Tessa, but she’s wrong. You’re more than good enough for her—you’re good to her. She needs someone like you. She’s needed that for a long time.
This caught Rene completely off guard and he stood there for a long, awkward moment, unsure of what to say.
Martin would have killed her if it hadn’t been for you, Brandon said. Then, with a pointed look that let Rene know he still wasn’t buying the whole “the jack slipped while changing a flat tire” story, either, he added, I don’t know the truth about your hand, but I suspect something else happened—something that put you and Tessa both in danger—and you took care of it. You took care of her.
He glanced again toward Tessa’s door. She probably hates me right now… he said, his brows lifting, his eyes growing sorrowful.
What? Rene interjected mentally, because Brandon’s gaze was averted; he wouldn’t have been able to read his lips or realize he was speaking. No, petit. Don’t be silly. Why would you say that?
She’s pretty pissed, Brandon said. I told her something…something about our grandmother that I shouldn’t have…something I didn’t mean to.
“That one mamère she thinks hung the moon?” Rene asked and Brandon nodded. “What about her?”
Nothing. Brandon shook his head. Never mind. You’ll probably find out from Tessa soon enough. Anyway, she’s pissed at me, and I deserve it. I hurt her. He forked his fingers through his hair, shoving it back from his face. I didn’t mean to. I was angry, too, and it just came out.
He looked up at Rene. I keep fucking things up, so thank you for taking care of her. She needs that right now. She needs you.
Rene had been ready for Brandon to rip into him. The last thing he’d expected was this—Brandon’s earnest candor, his approval. He found himself choked up, as ridiculously on the verge of tears as he’d been with Lina moments earlier, only this time because he was touched, not hurt.
You really think that highly of me petit? he asked.
Of course I do. Brandon looked surprised by the question. You’re my friend, Rene.
Rene hooked his hand against the back of the younger man’s head and drew him into a brief, one-armed embrace. Thanks, petit, he thought, closing his eyes. I needed that.
When Rene walked into the motel room, he found Tessa curled up on the bed, her back to the doorway, her narrow shoulders trembling visibly. He could hear her sniffling mig
htily against tears. She didn’t look back or otherwise acknowledge his entrance, but when he lay down beside her and draped his hand across her waist, she caught his hand, sliding her fingers between his own.
“I ran into Brandon outside,” he said. “He told me you two had some kind of argument…?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said simply, still without looking at him.
“C’est juste,” he said. That’s fair. He felt her stiffen against him despite this, anticipating some sort of lecture, perhaps a well-intended but ineffectual attempt to empathize with her. “Say, have I ever told you about Baldy Bertie?”
She sniffled again and canted her head slightly to glance over her shoulder. “What?”
“Baldy Bertie. Have I ever told you about her?”
Tessa offered a feeble, somewhat tearful laugh. “No.”
“Ah.” Rene snuggled closer, drawing her against him. “Baldy Bertie was the nickname for Miss Florence Bertram, the head librarian at the Thibodaux Public Library when I was a boy. All of the kids called her that because she had this bald patch on her head right about here…” He touched the cap of Tessa’s head with his hand.
“Stop trying to make me feel better,” Tessa said, shaking her head to dislodge him. “She did not.”
“Hand to God, pischouette, I’m telling the truth. She looked like a goddamn Benedictine monk or something. This was back in the days before Rogaine or hair plugs, anything like that. She’d try to comb the rest of her hair over and hide it, but it never did any good.”
He smiled somewhat sadly. “Back then, my mamere worked at a local grocery store, and when she’d go to town for work in the summers, she’d bring me along with her, drop me off at the library to keep me out of trouble. I’d stay there until midday, then walk or hitchhike home for lunch and chores.
“I didn’t have many friends growing up,” he remarked, his mind turning momentarily to his childhood nemesis, Gordon Maddox, and the gang of boys who would often join in his bullying. “So I never minded spending so much time at the library. Aside from all of the books, they always had other things there for me to get into, like these self-illuminating little stereo viewers that looked sort of like cameras, only you used them to look at pictures, not take them. They showed you things in 3D, the way they’d look in real life, if you were right there in the middle of them, and the library used to have all kinds of slides with pictures of big cities, foreign countries, national landmarks, that sort.
