The Anderson Brothers Complete Series

by Kristin Coley

  Once we were on the elevator, I stepped in front of the doors. They opened directly into her apartment, and I wanted to make sure I was in the line of fire should anyone be there. When the doors opened, I took a quick look around, assuring myself the room was empty.

  My inspection noted the spectacular view from her top floor apartment, as well as the state-of-the-art kitchen. Her furnishings surprised me, though. They were casual and comfortable. All the fabrics looked warm and inviting. The space felt intimate and nothing like the sterile feel of my condo, or the temporary apartment I had in her same complex.

  I set the bags of groceries down, and as I turned around, she was standing right there. Before I could step back, she grabbed my shirt and tugged me closer.

  I never claimed to be a saint, and presented with those lips, I would gladly burn in hell for the chance to taste them. So I did.

  Chapter Six

  He didn’t hesitate this time. Our lips met, and it was exactly what I dreamed of. His lips were soft and demanding at the same time. There was no denying, he knew his way around a kiss. I’d had my share of kisses over the years, but I wouldn’t remember a single one of them after this. I found my fingers tangled in the gorgeous length of his hair, as he wrapped his arms around me. My lips parted for his, and our tongues met. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes, as our tongues dueled for dominance. He rubbed his hand along my back, and I arched closer. Our kiss seemed to last hours, one flowing into the next. When we finally broke apart, I rested my head against his chest, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of his breathing.

  “I would say that was unexpected, but it would be a lie,” he said, with a sigh. I chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. There was no denying a kiss like that. We had lit the fuse the first day, and it had been a slow burn, till the dynamite finally exploded.

  The heavy pressure of his hands settled on the curve of my waist right above my hips, and I looked up at him. “Ready for dinner?” I asked, staring into his heavy lidded eyes.

  “Well, the sampling of dessert has me starved,” he answered, with a wicked grin. I pulled myself away from him reluctantly and started to unpack the groceries.

  “I have to admit to being curious about what we’re having,” he said, helping me.

  “Fried pork chops, collard greens, and cornbread,” I answered, clicking on the gas stove.

  “Are you serious? I wondered when you put the collard greens in the cart, but I wasn’t sure. I haven’t had that, since before my grandmother died,” he told me, a look of excitement on his face.

  “Our cook was Southern. Daddy loves good food, and so do I, thanks to her.” My smile was reminiscent thinking about Gertrude. She had been a sturdy, no nonsense black woman. She had stayed with us for over two years when we had lived in Georgia. We moved so much, it was next to impossible to find someone that would stay with us, but Daddy managed to keep us in Georgia that long, probably only because he didn’t want to leave her cooking. Once we had left, he had tried to get her to come with us, but she wouldn’t leave her grandbabies.

  Dinner was a success, as Beckett helped me prepare everything. At one point, I shook my cast iron skillet at him in warning when he questioned how I seasoned the collard greens. “Don’t make me use this,” I told him, and he backed away with his hands up.

  The next few weeks flew by in idyllic wonder. I was blissfully happy, and spent any spare time I could with Beckett. It wasn’t unusual for us to bike around campus, or poke around in dusty antique stores. We added to Beck’s furniture collection with an old leather chair that reminded me of a pilot’s seat.

  He told me he wrangled a second interview and wowed them with his new suit. This led him to have to go out of town occasionally, and I realized how seriously I felt about him on one of those trips.

  He had called me from his hotel, and we talked for hours. When we had finally hung up the phone, I burst into tears. This was not me. I was not the girl that cried over boys, or needed to hear their voice to be happy. But suddenly I was. I missed Beckett. It was an epiphany moment for me, as I realized that I might just love him. It was the only explanation I could come up with.

  I was never one to beat around the bush, so when he came back I confronted him.

  “Hey, I missed you,” he said, coming through the door and picking me up. Before I could say anything, he had captured my mouth in one of his bone melting kisses. It was several minutes before I could form a coherent thought, and when I did it was a doozy.

  “I think I’m in love with you,” I told him, my words sounding like an accusation. His eyes brightened and a slow smile creased his face.

  “Well, that’s good, because I think I love you too,” he replied, sending my heart soaring and my head spinning.

  The thing about being in love for the first time, or anytime, was that nothing bad penetrated the glow of it. We lived in a perpetually giddy state. There were signs that something was off, but I brushed them off, not wanting anything to interrupt our bubble.

  Chapter Seven

  I had to tell her. I knew I did, but I was afraid. I was afraid of her reaction and her father’s. I had found myself caught by my own actions. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t go away. In fact, it only grew. A time bomb that would explode at the worst moment.

  “Tell me about your parents,” she asked one night, while we were settled on her couch.

  “My dad was a Marine,” I laughed. “That is the absolute best way I can describe him. He enlisted at eighteen and loved it. He was discharged when I came along. I was a bit of an accident.” She shifted around to look at me. “My parents weren’t married,” I explained, and I grimaced before admitting the next part. “My mom was a soldier bunny. Specifically, Marine.” She looked confused. “Women that intentionally hang around military bases to catch soldiers. A lot of them want to get married and then leave their husbands after they get papers. My dad didn’t marry my mom, but they did have me. My mother signed away her rights to me, after I was born. My dad left the Marines to raise me properly.”

  “That’s terrible,” Livie declared. “What woman would abandon her child like that?” I smiled at her outrage on my behalf.

  “I think it was probably for the best. I don’t think she would have been a great mother,” I told her, with a relaxed chuckle.

  “How can you be so casual about it?” she asked me, puzzled.

  I shrugged. “I’ve always known it, and I didn’t miss her. I had my dad and grandparents. I never really felt the lack. How about you? You talk about your dad, but you never mention your mom.”

  Her face became distant with my question, and I regretted it instantly. I knew her father refused to talk about Livie’s mother, but I had hoped Livie would open up to me about her.

  “Never mind. I don’t want to bring up bad memories,” I said, trying to get her back. She shook her head, “No, it’s okay,” She paused and then started talking.

  “I’m not used to talking about her. My dad.” There was a sigh. “It hurts him to talk about her, so I never bring it up. I get what you mean about not missing the parent that’s gone. My dad has been my world for as long as I can remember. My mom died when I was three. I have a couple of vague memories of her, the smell of her perfume, mostly. But I don’t remember what it was like when she was alive, but my dad does. He never got over losing her,” She smiled slightly. “Don’t get me wrong. There have been women, since my mom died, but never anything serious or anyone he’d introduce me to. She was the love of his life. You know their parents disowned them for being together?” she told me with a disbelieving laugh.

  I shook my head, I had no idea. “Really?”

  “Yep. I asked my dad once why I didn’t have grandparents and he told me. My mom was black and my dad is white. You would think these days it wouldn’t make any difference, but their parents were old school. Racist,” she admitted, with a shrug. “My parents met in college, freshman year, and were completely inseparable. They decided to i
ntroduce each other to their parents, already anticipating it would be difficult. But I don’t think they thought it would be that bad.” She shook her head. “They wanted nothing to do with them. My dad’s parents cut him off and refused to finish paying for his schooling. My mom had a scholarship, but her parents wouldn’t speak to her. That was the last time they spoke to their parents. Her parents even refused to come to her funeral.”

  “Wow. That seems a bit harsh,” I said, shocked by her story. I thought mine was bad, but for her grandparents to turn their backs on their children and grandchild seemed excessive.

  “My mom was a nurse,” Livie said proudly. “She finished school and supported my dad when he wanted to go into business for himself. She died right before he made his first million.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked, curious. I figured a car accident or something.

  “A drug addict killed her in the parking lot of the hospital,” she said baldly, shocking me yet again. She gave me a sad smile. “He was strung out and looking for a hit. He cornered her next to her car. When she didn’t have anything, he stabbed her with a broken piece of mirror.” My look of horror must have caught her by surprise, as she shrugged and continued. “He actually brought her inside to the emergency room. That moment was his rock bottom. The doctors didn’t actually know how he had the strength to get her inside, much less run across a parking lot carrying her. It wasn’t enough, though. He’d nicked her carotid artery. She bled out before they could save her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I managed, thinking what a hell of a way to die.

  “Again, I don’t really remember her, or the events. Daddy told me when I was older. He used that first million to open an addiction rehabilitation center. The man that killed my mother manages it.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, completely surprised by the information.

  She nodded. “My father is a faithful man. Not many know this, but he reads the Bible every morning. The man that killed my mother was truly sorry. My father has a huge heart and believed forgiveness was the first step in healing. He got him in a rehab center and then had him manage the one he built. The man may have taken my mother’s life, but he’s saved many more as an addiction counselor.”

  “That is incredible. I don’t know if I could have that strength,” I whispered, hugging Livie close. Part of me knew I would lose her when the truth came out, which caused me to cling to her even harder. I didn’t want to imagine a world without Livie in it, and could only imagine how her father had felt.

  “What happened to your dad?” she asked me, abruptly.

  I sighed and looked at her. “September 11th, 2001.” Understanding dawned on her face at the date. “I was eleven, and he felt it was his duty to re-enlist. I went to live with my grandparents and he was killed in Iraq nine months later.” I paused here gaining control over my emotions. I hadn’t been that boy for a very long time, but thinking back to that day brought me right back to him. “My grandfather was never the same after my dad died. My grandmother said there was no pain like that of burying your child. When I was fourteen, my grandfather passed and my grandmother changed. It was too much for her. To lose her son and her husband. She hung on until I graduated high school. I’ll never forget the night she died. She looked at me with the saddest eyes and told me she was proud of me and so sorry she wouldn’t meet my children.” A tear spilled down my cheek, as I finished. “She died that night.”

  Livie reached up and kissed the tear from my cheek. “She loved you. I wish I could have met her.”

  I kissed her gently. “I wish she could have met you.”

  I tasted the salt of my own tears on her mouth and a desperation I had never known came over me. I kissed her hard, and she met me, equally fierce. The fire raged through both of us. Emotions from the past, combined with our newly discovered love. We burned the bitter taste of our sorrow away with the heat of our passion.

  As we lay tangled in the bed, I felt my guilt creep in. I hadn’t told her the truth. She didn’t know why I was there, and I was afraid when it came out, she would never forgive me.

  Two weeks later the end came.

  I got the call from the local police station saying the man stalking her dad was spotted in the area. I immediately headed to where I knew Livie would be. She was just walking out of her Econ class when I saw him.

  I had saved her father’s life instinctively. I saved Livie’s, because I couldn’t live in a world without her in it.

  I woke up in a hospital bed, a sense of Deja vu washing over me, as I saw Mr. Martin at the foot of my bed.

  He shook his head, “There are some things that can never be repaid. This is one of them.”

  “Livie?” I asked, my mouth drier than the Sahara, but I had to know.

  “She’s fine. Well, she’s very upset with me for having sent you to watch over her, but she’s alive and the assailant has been arrested. Again,” he said, with an angry scowl. I winced at the realization that Livie knew why I was there. She wasn’t in the room, and I had a bad feeling.

  “You saved my life. Which I’ll forever be grateful for. But you also saved the only thing in the world that matters to me. My daughter. And that, I cannot describe to you how that makes me feel.” I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes, and I nodded.

  “I have a feeling,” I said, fighting back tears of my own. I might have saved Livie that day, but I had lost her in the same moment. “Where is she?” I asked, a bit desperately, not even caring if my reaction was appropriate.

  “She wanted to get away. I sent her to a private island in the Caribbean. I’ll be joining her shortly. I’d like to ask you to join us, once they release you.” I nodded in agreement. I had a feeling about the kind of welcoming party I would be receiving from Livie, but I had to try and explain.

  A week later, I was on the Martin’s private jet, heading to the island he had rented out for a month. I knew I was risking everything with this. My career, her father’s respect, but I had to do it if there was even the slightest chance I could win Livie back.

  When I arrived, I was escorted to an airy bedroom overlooking the ocean. While I wanted to find Livie immediately, my injury insisted that I rest before hunting her down. I was told Mr. Martin had left for a business meeting, but would be returning two days from now.

  I found her in the garden, her feet resting in the waterfall that spilled over into the pool. She had a hibiscus flower in her hair, and she seemed like part of the scenery. A beautiful island girl enjoying a peaceful moment.

  “Livie,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. She turned at the sound of my voice, and I could see the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, “No, you don’t get to be sorry. You led me on! Was it nothing more than a joke to you? My father told me what he told you so you’d talk to me. Did you laugh? Were my emotions a game to you?” The pain thrumming through her words were like glass through my heart. They hurt more than any gunshot wound.

  “NO! Never. I love you, Livie,” I said desperately. “It was never a game. I didn’t know how to tell you.” She shook her head, crying, “No, no. no, no,” over my words and I stopped talking.

  “You were only there as a favor to my father. To win him over. To win his affection,” she cried, and I heard the fear I hadn’t seen earlier. That I had only pretended to be with her to get to her father.

  “It wasn’t like that,” I told her, trying to grab her hand. She jerked it away, her eyes accusing me of crimes I hadn’t committed.

  “IT’S ALWAYS LIKE THAT,” she screamed at me, sobs spilling from her throat. I grabbed her finally and pulled her to my chest letting her cry it out against me. I felt her slipping away, as the tears stopped. I knew breaking her trust had been the worst thing I could do. She was nineteen and couldn’t trust my heart when she didn’t even know her own. She had been hardened by people seeking her to gain favor with her father. And no matter what I said, she couldn’t see past that right now.

&
nbsp; She pulled away from me, and I stood there memorizing her features. I had no idea if we would ever have a chance together, not after this.

  “You need to leave,” she said, after a while, her words steady. She blanked her expression so no emotion would seep through, but I could see it in her eyes. The pain was killing her.

  I nodded, unwilling to force her to deal with my presence when it hurt her.

  “I’ll go, but you need to know that I love you. That was never a lie. Nothing after that first meeting had anything to do with your father. I don’t know if you can ever believe me, but it’s the truth.”

  I walked away then. A boat on the island took me to the nearest city with an airport. I flew back to Dallas and threw myself into work, hoping to forget that I had left my heart in Livie’s keeping.

  Chapter Eight

  Present Day

  I fell into my seat, once he walked out. The rush of my emotions made me dizzy. The hurt was still there, even after all these years. The cutting pain of betrayal, tangled with the innocent joy of first love. I wanted to throw my paperweight at him, even as I fantasized about ripping his shirt off. After all these years, I still hadn’t forgiven him, which made no sense. I had forgiven my father quickly, for his part in it. Even knowing he was responsible for Beck being there and promoting him for his actions. He had never known the truth of my feelings for Beck though. That was a secret I had kept from everyone. Another little known truth was that I hadn’t been with anyone since Beck. Not for lack of trying, but when you had felt desire like that, anything else seemed paltry in comparison.