Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1)

by Nicole French

  I didn’t have to think twice. I pulled my hands from his grasp and framed his face with them, stroking my thumbs over the defined, raspy lines of his cheekbones and delicate, fine lines around his eyes. I wouldn’t change a thing. He really was a work of art.

  “Of course,” I said emphatically. “Of course you do.”

  Brandon grunted slightly, then reached over to unclick my seatbelt before hauling me forcefully onto his lap. Before I could protest, his lips were on mine, taking what they wanted and suffocating any remaining speech. I could do nothing but respond as my arms went involuntarily around his neck, clinging to the hair that curled under his cap and yanking his coat collar. His arms were like a vice around my waist; his fingers clawed at the fabric of my shirt and the waistband of my jeans. We couldn’t get close enough.

  Suddenly the car pulled over and stopped, and with a discreet cough, David stepped out of the car. Red-faced, I scrambled back to my side.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” I whispered as the side door was opened.

  Brandon narrowed his eyes at me and shook his head. “I don’t know what it is about you, Red,” he said as he stepped out of the car.

  He took my hand and helped me onto the curb. David nodded at us both, although I noticed he averted his gaze. After he drove the car away, I turned to Brandon.

  “You’re the incorrigible one, you know that?”

  He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me tightly against his body, forcing me to stand on my toes.

  “You just make me do things I wouldn’t normally ever do,” he said as he leaned in for another kiss. “Like scandalizing my driver.”

  A brief peck turned into another, several-minutes of mingling of lips and tongues before he pulled away, breathing heavily.

  “Come on, Red,” he said, turning to walk up the steps of his house and yanking me along behind him. “Let’s go inside where I can make you do some things too.”

  ~

  Chapter 30

  I was late. It had been a long week of studying and midterms. After completing my hours at the clinic, I had gone for a long swim and ended up falling asleep on my bed when I got home after my shower, a towel still wrapped around my wet hair. Brandon had tickets for some kind of play downtown to celebrate the end of midterms. The exams had forced me to cut short a number of dates and cancel our last weekend together completely. If his eager texts throughout the day were any indication, he was very ready to have me to himself again.

  I was supposed to meet him at the theater at six forty-five, but I’d woken up at five after six. In record time, I had thrown on one of my many black dresses and a pair of ballet flats, pinned my hair up as best as I could manage, and dashed out the door, coat in hand, to catch the train downtown.

  I was just emerging from the Downtown Crossing station with ten minutes left to get to the theater when my phone rang angrily in my purse. Thinking it was Brandon calling to see where I was, I pulled it out.

  “I’m almost there, I promise,” I said as I walked as quickly as I could over the cracked downtown sidewalks.

  “Skylar? Skylar, are you there?”

  Bubbe always had a tendency to scream into her phone, convinced that no one could actually hear her through the tiny microphone. This time, however, her voice was laced with a frenzy beyond her usual technophobia.

  “I’m here, Bubbe. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  A car horn blared behind me as I jaywalked across Winter Street in order catch the light and cross Washington. The theater was still three blocks away; I couldn’t be bothered to obey traffic laws if I was going to make it before the curtain rose.

  “What’s that?” I asked again as I skipped around other pedestrians and turned left toward the theater. I hadn’t been able to hear her over the traffic. Just over a block away, Brandon’s blond waves shone, bright like a beacon among a sea of gray and black overcoats as he scanned for me in the crowd. I waved my hand high, but I was too short for him to spot from this far away.

  “It’s your father,” Bubbe repeated. “He’s in the hospital.”

  The words rang out cold and clear, causing me to stumble and almost fall. My pace forced me to continue walking forward, but I slowed so I could focus on the conversation. “What? Why? What happened?”

  “Something happened at the track. I don’t exactly know, honey, but he came home the other night with a black eye, you see—”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?” I snapped uncharacteristically at my grandmother.

  It had been nearly two months since I’d last seen them, but she hadn’t mentioned anything like this in the several times we’d talked since then. Ahead, Brandon caught sight of me and waved, pointing at his watch to indicate the late time, but I ignored him as I continued walking slowly. This was too important. Curtain could wait.

  “He said it was nothing!” Bubbe insisted. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Okay, so what happened?” I demanded, willing myself to stay calm.

  “Well, he stormed out of the house this evening when I confronted him about it, all up in arms about it. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call from some goy doctor at Maimonides Hospital, tellin’ me my son is in the ICU with his liver beat to a pulp, half his body broken, and unconscious. I don’t know what happened, Skylar, and that’s the truth.”

  At the words ‘ICU’ and “unconscious”, I stopped moving completely, unable to feel sensation in my legs. Brandon watched as I grasped ineffectively for the top of a mailbox, barely able to catch myself before my knees buckled completely.

  “Skylar!” he yelled as he started running toward me. But I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see anything as the world around me blurred.

  “Bubbe?” I whimpered into the phone.

  “Just come, Skylar,” she was saying. “I don’t know what to do. I’m at the hospital now, and they’re bringing him into surgery, for what, I don’t know. We need you here, bubbela, okay? I can’t do this without you.”

  Strong hands grasped at me from my elbows, pulling me off the mailbox and into his arms. My head tipped back to find a face furrowed with concern, large blue eyes pools of worry. I breathed a little bit easier. Brandon.

  “I’ll be there, Bubbe,” I said with more conviction than I felt, but I could only look at him. “I’m on my way.”

  ~

  “Skylar, I can get us there in an hour if you just let me take you on the plane.”

  Brandon had convinced me at least to return to my apartment to pack a few things before leaving for New York. Nothing about my dad’s condition would be improved by getting there an hour earlier, he’d said, and we both assumed I would be there for several days. At least it was spring break. I wouldn’t have to miss classes to help with Dad’s initial recovery.

  “That’s really not necessary,” I said as I stuffed another two pairs of jeans into my suitcase.

  I looked around my room, which, between my frenzy to leave earlier and my hurry to pack as quickly as possible, looked pretty much like a tornado had gone through my closet and blown everything onto my bed. I tried to think if I had forgotten anything, but came up empty. I clambered onto the bed and sat on my suitcase in order to zip it shut.

  “Skylar,” Brandon said with more than a little irritation. He leaned around me to help press the bag down while I zipped. “Please. I’d like to help.”

  “You are helping,” I said absently as I fastened the extra buckles. “I closed this bag a lot faster than if you weren’t here.”

  He huffed. “Stop it.”

  I slid off the small suitcase and started packing my messenger bag with the files I would need while I was gone, along with my computer and cell phone charger. I’d have to miss my regular clinic hours this week, but there was no help for that. I’d do the best I could from Brooklyn.

  “It’s a misuse of company resources,” I said as wrapped up my computer cord. “I’m sorry, but it’s ridiculous. You can’t go flying your girlf
riend home at a moment’s notice on a company plane. You and I both know that every spare cent in your company is under a microscope because of the IPO. Don’t be stupid.”

  “It’s my fucking plane, Skylar!” He grasped my hands in between his and forced me to face him. “I don’t know what’s going on with your dad, but come on. Let me help however I can.”

  “It’s not an emergency,” I bit out, unable to help the welling of tears that came up at the thought of dad in surgery. “He’s in the best care now. He’ll be fine until the morning—that’s what the doctors said. I just need to get there tonight so I’m there when he wakes up. The bus will be fine.”

  Brandon shook his head and pushed out a frustrated breath. “Jesus Christ, you’re stubborn. All right, fine. But if you insist on driving, we’ll take my car. David can drive.”

  “You don’t have to come—” I started to protest, but I couldn’t get another word out before my mouth covered with a kiss that started out frantic but progressed into something softer, slower, and sadder by the end. When Brandon finished it, he stayed close, his forehead touching mine.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “Let me be there for you, will you?”

  Unable to be kept at bay any longer, tears fell freely down my face. Brandon immediately wrapped both arms securely around my waist, holding me up as I collapsed into his chest.

  “Shh, shh,” he crooned gently in my ear, brushing my hair back softly as I cried. “Let it go, baby. I got you.”

  He had me. In a moment like this, a moment where the foundation of my life seemed like it was cracking in half, his strength was everything. It was all I could ask for. It was all I could possibly want.

  ~

  We left within the hour. The Mercedes cruised westward out of town, flying stealth among the myriad other travelers on the road. Between the built-in TV monitors in the back of the seats and the gorgeous man who insisted on holding me securely against him for most of the trip, it was a far cry from the Chinatown firetraps I usually took home.

  Not that I was particularly enjoying any of it. After it became obvious that I was in no mood to talk, Brandon had been content to let me ride in silence, urging me to relax against his chest and stream a movie via the car’s internet hotspot while he answered emails on his phone. I made it about an hour into the most recent superhero flick before the hypnotic vibration of the drive eventually lulled me to sleep.

  “Skylar. Baby, we’re here.”

  I sat up in rush, yanked out of a dream in which I had been prosecuting Tony Stark for reckless endangerment. Brandon set a hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the bright lights of Maimonides Hospital. I blinked and shoved a hand through my hair before I checked my watch. It was just after ten-thirty. David had made good time.

  “You all right, babe?” Brandon asked as his strong fingers worked to loosen the kinks in my neck from sleeping on his lap.

  I leaned gratefully into his touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

  David opened the door and I reluctantly scooted away to exit the car. Brandon followed, and then turned to his driver.

  “Pick us up sometime after dinner. I’ll let you know what room we’re in, all right?” He turned back to me. “What sounds good?”

  I shrugged. As the reality of the situation set in again, my appetite completely vanished. I couldn’t have cared less about eating. I just wanted to see my dad.

  Brandon muttered something else to David, who nodded and walked back around to the driver’s side of the car. I felt a hand at my back as Brandon guided me toward the entrance of the hospital. I hadn’t been able to contact since Bubbe had turned off her cell phone again—or forgotten to charge it, most likely—so I had no clue about my dad’s current state. As we approached the information desk, I was terrified of what I might find out.

  We were directed to a recovery ward in the ICU, where I had to wait outside for the on-call doctor to arrive. Brandon left briefly to get me some tea from the general waiting area, then returned to sit with me on the cold leather bench.

  “Skylar?” he asked as he slid his arm around my back.

  I took a sip of the tea. It was terrible: cheap Lipton’s garbage that tasted more like hospital tap water than anything else.

  “Skylar,” Brandon tried again, finally getting me to look up at him. “I have to ask. Who did this to your dad?”

  I swallowed. I knew I was going to have to answer this question eventually; I was actually surprised he’d been patient enough to wait nearly four hours. Brandon had overheard the one conversations I’d had with Bubbe on the way down; he had undoubtedly gathered that Dad’s injuries weren’t just by accident.

  I sighed. This wasn’t the kind of thing a man like Brandon Sterling wanted to be involved with—a family trapped by a gambling addiction and an obligation to small-time mobsters. This was my fault. I’d selfishly ignored what was going on with my dad for the last two months. I’d wanted to live in the fantasy of being with a man like Brandon for just a little bit longer. If I didn’t know anything, there was nothing to tell. And if I didn’t tell him anything, Brandon wouldn’t feel obligated to get involved (since I suspected that was just the kind of guy he was). All he needed was for Victor Messina to figure out my connection to him and the two-bit thug would be asking for a lot more than just what my father owed.

  But now my dad was paying an immense price for my self-imposed ignorance. Now I couldn’t lie.

  “My dad’s…in trouble,” I said slowly after taking another large sip of my tea. I sighed. “He likes the track too much. He was able to stay away for the last few years, but it looks like he fell off the wagon. Really hard.”

  Brandon grimaced knowingly and nodded with obvious understanding. “Ah. So he owes some heavies, and they fucked him up for it.”

  I nodded. Unable to meet his eyes, I resorted to taking another sip of my terrible tea. “Looks that way. I don’t think I should tell you much more.”

  Brandon frowned. “No, you should tell me everything.”

  “No,” I insisted vehemently. “You know what I mean. You really shouldn’t know any more.”

  His eyes widened as the underlying meaning of my words hit home. He twisted his mouth around for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of pressing the matter. Then he brightened.

  “Give me a dollar,” he said. “You could hire me, and then we’ll have attorney-client privilege.”

  I smiled wryly. “Pretty sure defending me would qualify as attorney misconduct, Mr. Sterling.”

  “Please. No one in Massachusetts has ever been disbarred for sleeping with clients. If that were the case, there would be no more public defenders in the Tri-State area.”

  I snorted. “Well, regardless, I don’t want you anywhere near this,” I insisted. “These guys are bad news, and the last thing you need in your life is a scandal, especially with your IPO on the line.”

  Brandon started arguing against my logic, but was interrupted by the squeaks of rubber soles on tile that signaled the arrival of the doctor. We both stood up from the bench at her approach.

  “I mean it,” I told him, then stood to greet the doctor.

  “Ms. Crosby?” she asked with a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Carraway.”

  I nodded. “Hi, nice to meet you. This is my—”

  “Boyfriend,” Brandon cut in. “Brandon Sterling.”

  I rolled my eyes at his alpha-behavior, even if I did like him introducing himself that way. The doctor raised her eyebrows briefly in recognition of the name. Great, all we needed was my dad’s doctor to be a Forbes magazine fangirl.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to worry.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling, but visiting hours are over. Only immediate family is allowed right now. You’ll have to wait here or in the lobby,” said Dr. Carraway firmly. As Brandon started to argue with her, she held up a small hand and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Hospital rules. No exceptions.”

  I turned to Brandon and tiptoed up to kiss him on the c
heek. “It’s fine. You can go to the hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ll wait for you here—” he started to protest again, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and shook my head firmly.

  “I don’t know how long I’m going to be, and I don’t want to feel rushed into leaving him,” I said. “Please go. I’ll call you when I’m done, okay?”

  A few light creases deepened substantially on his forehead as he glanced between me and the doctor, clearly frustrated by his inability to step in and fix everything. Finally, he sighed and gave up.

  “All right,” he said. He leaned down to give me a quick but thorough kiss. “Call me as soon as you’re ready to go. I’ll have David come get you.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll need to go home anyway and take care of Bubbe, and I’m not making David schlep me all the way to Flatbush. He doesn’t know the area, and he’ll get lost on the way back. The last thing you need is for your driver to be carjacked.”

  He scowled. “I don’t want you taking the train home by yourself this late at night.”

  “I’ll take a cab,” I conceded.

  “Skylar.”

  “Brandon. I promise. Bye.”

  He examined me for a moment, his eyebrows pushed together in concentration. Finally, he brushed his knuckles lightly over my cheek and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “All right. But call me when you’re home, all right?”

  I watched him walk down the hallway toward the exit until Dr. Carraway cleared her throat behind me. I turned and allowed her to walk me into the ICU.

  Dad lay in a room full of curtained off hospital beds, each of them bearing people in various degrees of acute pain or recovery following surgery. All of them were attached to several different machines and IV bags, and a constant stream of beeps and hums echoed throughout the large room. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could sleep with such a racket, but by some miracle, Dad and most of the other patients appeared to be completely out. It was good thing too, because at the sight of him, I choked back a deep, immediate sob.