Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  "Brandon!" she cried and raced down the hallway.

  Close up, Susan Petersen looked a lot younger than her husband, although some of it might have just been their personalities. With his bright white hair, stodgy glasses, and stooped posture, Ray looked to be well over seventy, maybe even seventy-five. Susan, on the other hand, had an appearance of youth that couldn't just be erased by time alone. Her skin, a tawny color that belied years in the garden, and shoulder-length wavy hair that was still more light-brown than gray, made her look no more than her mid-to-late fifties. She would have strongly resembled a sparrow, chirping down the hall and around her family, had it not been for the clear blue eyes that matched her foster son's. Ray Petersen might have held his foster son at arm's length, but Brandon was clearly the apple of Susan's eye. I was thrilled to see it.

  "You," she said fondly as she grabbed Brandon around the middle with a warm embrace.

  Brandon smiled and pressed a kiss into Susan's mussed hair, but I could see the mirth in his eyes as he hugged his foster mother. That is, until he looked to Ray, who was staring grimly at the two of them.

  "Are you finished?" Ray asked.

  I frowned. What a grump.

  Susan stepped back, but continued to pat Brandon over the arms and shoulders, even reaching up on her tiptoes to fix his hair where it stuck out from under his backwards bill.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. "This is such a surprise!" Then her warm yet sharp glance turned to me, as if she had just realized I was there. "And who do we have here, Bran?"

  Brandon turned to me with a grin and pulled me in front of him.

  "Susan," he said as he set his hands on my shoulders. "I want you to meet someone really special. This is Skylar Crosby, my girlfriend."

  Susan quirked her eyebrows at Brandon, then looked at me with open curiosity.

  "Girlfriend?" she repeated with obvious awe. Her infectious grin transformed her face. "Well, well, well. It's very nice to meet you, Skylar. My, you are a lovely little thing, aren't you? Look at all that beautiful hair! Ray, could you imagine if these two had kids? Beautiful, just beautiful."

  Blue eyes or green?

  I pushed the guilt away and focused on the situation at hand. "It's lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Petersen," I said.

  I reached out to shake her hand, but she pulled me in for a tight hug instead.

  "Does your wife know you've got a 'girlfriend'?" Ray asked behind us.

  Brandon jerked his head to his foster father. "Really?"

  Ray crossed his arms. "Does this one know about the mess you're in right now, Bran? Trying to divorce a woman who won't have it?"

  I blinked between them and noticed immediately the way that Susan's spritely demeanor shuttered when her husband spoke.

  "Ray," she hissed. "No need to throw that wet blanket on the evening!"

  "She knows everything," Brandon said evenly. "And she also knows that it's almost over."

  "I've heard that before," Ray grumbled before turning down the hall. "Well, come on then," he called to the three of us. "Chicken's on the table and getting cold. Hopefully we'll have enough."

  "Oh, hush," Susan said as she shepherded Brandon and me to follow Ray. "There's plenty," she assured me as we turned into the kitchen.

  She wasn't lying. Along with a massive roasted chicken, there was a large bowl of buttery mashed potatoes and a salad that would have obviously fed a lot more than just her and Ray. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Susan was expecting us. But when I saw her beaming at Brandon, I realized that his tendency to prepare for visitors who might stop by wasn't unique; it was a learned trait from the woman who helped raise him.

  "This looks amazing, Mrs. Petersen," I said truthfully as she set out two extra plates and silverware around the small kitchen table. It was the kind of spread that would rival Bubbe's Sunday brunches.

  "Oh, honey, you call me Susan," she said with a wink. "We're casual around here. And help yourself before Brandon eats it all up."

  "I'm not that bad anymore," Brandon protested even as he spooned a mountain of potatoes onto his plate.

  "No, you're not," Susan agreed. "Used to be you'd eat everything at the table plus whatever I had left in the fridge." She looked pointedly at me. "If the two of you have kids, you'll have to have a separate savings account for this one's son."

  My stomach immediately clenched again at the second mention of kids, so I focused on unfolding my napkin across my lap.

  "Susan!" Brandon chided as he caught my strained expression. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare Skylar off."

  "Brandon, you've met my grandmother," I said. "This is nothing."

  Brandon conceded the fact, and started serving everyone chicken.

  "So, you've met Skylar's family too?" Susan asked innocently, although she didn't bother to mask her clear interest. "Are you from Boston too, dear?"

  I shook my head as I accepted a chicken wing onto my plate. "No, New York. Brooklyn, actually."

  "And what brought you up here?"

  "Skylar just finished law school at Harvard," Brandon said proudly.

  "And is that how the two of you met?" Susan asked, blinking between the two of us. "At a Harvard event?"

  Brandon glanced at me and grinned. "No. We met by chance one snowy night. Skylar got trapped in my house in a storm. It was kismet."

  The heat in his eyes caused my heart to thump just a bit louder. Susan blinked cheerily between the two of us, the dimples in her cheeks growing deeper. Ray just took a bite of his chicken and looked bored until Susan elbowed him in the ribs.

  "Ow!" he cried, rubbing his side irritably.

  "Do you remember what it was like to be in love like this?" Susan asked still beaming at us. "Just look at them."

  Ray did, but his look was more of a glower. Brandon caught it and set his fork down on his plate.

  "Why don't you just spit it out, Ray?" he said.

  Ray mirrored his foster son by setting his fork down on the table too. "All right, then, I will. This is ridiculous. You're getting involved with this young woman when you've got a whole host of things to clean up in your own life, most of which I have to read about in the gossip columns. It's embarrassing."

  "You read the gossip columns, Ray?" Brandon teased with a raised brow. "That is embarrassing."

  "That's not what I meant!" Ray barked. "The point is that I'd like to know when you're going to get your act together and make something real of yourself."

  I balked. What the hell was going on? Brandon, for his part, just rubbed a tired hand over his face and groaned.

  "And, there it is," he said. "That's right. I've accomplished exactly nothing my life. You know, besides building two of the most successful businesses in New England."

  Brandon slouched in his chair and laid a heavy arm on the back of my seat. I had a clear vision of what he must have been like as a teenager, going head to head with Ray on a nightly basis. Susan just took a bite of chicken and chewed it for a very long time.

  "See, this has always been your problem, Bran––" Ray started.

  "Here we go," Brandon said under his breath as he sat up again to eat.

  "That's right, and I won't stop saying it. You think that money means the same thing as real accomplishments. You took that brain of yours and capitalized on it, getting embroiled with that ridiculous family along the way, instead of making real contributions to the world like I know you're capable of."

  Ray finished his diatribe and bent to keep eating while Susan just looked on sadly.

  "It's a waste," Ray mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. "Always has been."

  Brandon exhaled forcefully out of his nose, while Susan bit her lip sympathetically, clearly having watched this exchange countless times before. I, however, hadn't, and it was infuriating.

  "But he does make real contributions!" I burst out.

  All three other heads at the table swiveled toward me. A flush immediately bloomed across my face, and
I took a deep breath. This wasn't how I'd wanted to play the first meeting with Brandon's parents, but I couldn't sit by silently.

  "I'm sorry," I continued, trying my hardest to ignore Ray's hard stare.

  He was formidable in his own way, but I'd also been raised by Bubbe, not to mention having grown up in New York City and attending the most rigorous law school in the world. I could handle a few hard looks, and I could dish them out too.

  "I just can't sit by and let you call Brandon a waste," I said.

  "Skylar," Brandon said, reaching for my hand under the table. "You don't have to do this."

  "Yes, I do," I told him, and caught an approving glance from Susan. I turned back to Ray. "Do you know what Brandon does for this city? He uses his money, his time, for so much good. His firm basically fully funds an entire pro-bono center at Harvard for low-income families. He gives away millions of dollars every year to charities, including an outreach program that scouts gifted kids like him from disadvantaged neighborhoods and gives them access to the kind of educational experiences he got from you two. And then, of course, there's his lab."

  Ray frowned, but perked up visibly. "Lab? What lab."

  I turned to Brandon, who seemed to be trying his hardest to melt his large form into the floor. His features, tinged pink, were set in stone. I couldn't tell if he was pleased, embarrassed, or angry. Maybe a bit of all three.

  "He should know," I said to him.

  Brandon waved a hand around the table. "You're on a roll," he said, refusing to meet my eyes like an embarrassed teenager. "By all means, keep going."

  "Brandon, you hush. You've found someone who's proud of you," Susan said as she beamed at me. "And I, for one, enjoy hearing all of this, since you don't tell me a thing about it. Continue, dear."

  So I did, with a grim glance at Brandon, whose expression I still couldn't read. "Okay, well, he has this workshop on the top floor of his house." I turned back to Ray, who looked utterly confounded by this revelation. "You'd probably love it, Dr. Petersen. He makes these...I don't even know what to call them. Contraptions. Inventions. Amazing things he could sell, but he doesn't, because he's just interested in building them for the sake of building. Brandon, you should show him those drawings in your bag."

  I took a deep breath. Brandon sad nothing, but his hand squeezed mine tightly and didn't let go. Okay, that was a good sign.

  "Whatever you want to say about him, you can't call him a waste, Dr. Petersen. Your son––"

  I tripped over the word, not sure if I should say that or not to a man who had never fully adopted Brandon. But the word fit. Ray Petersen was the closest thing to a father that Brandon had ever had.

  "Brandon," I clarified, "is one of the most brilliant, accomplished, contributing people I have ever met, by any standard. And that's all there is to it."

  I finally looked up to the stone-still man next to me. Brandon's expression had barely moved, but now his eyes glowed, glittering, cerulean jewels of gratitude.

  "Thank you," he mouthed silently.

  I just smiled back. Then we both turned to Ray and Susan, who were staring at us with mutually dumbfounded expressions, although Susan's had more than a tinge of pride in it as well.

  "Well," she said finally. "I guess that is that. Brandon, you hold on to this one. And I hope you can show her the same kind of support she's giving you."

  Brandon kissed me lightly on the forehead. "Oh, I plan to," he said, although his eyes never left mine.

  He bent again to his food. With a quick glance to Ray and Susan, I did the same, willing the insistent flush to fade from my cheeks. Sometimes I really hated my Irish blood.

  "And what does Miranda say...about...this?" Ray finally broke in again, pointing a long finger at me.

  Brandon set his fork back on his plate. Mid-bite, Susan followed suit.

  "This is a person, not an object on a goddamn shelf, Ray," he said, nostrils flaring. "So you can start by speaking to her with the respect she is afforded therein."

  "Cut the lawyer speak, Bran. You know what I'm talking about."

  "Well, to start, it's none of Miranda's damn business. We've been legally separated for over three years. She doesn't get to dictate my personal life anymore."

  "Hasn't stopped her before," Ray put in.

  "Well, I'm stopping her now," Brandon snapped. "Besides...sometimes you can't control when you fall in love. Isn't that right, Ray?"

  I couldn't quite suppress the smile and the warm feeling his words caused in my chest. Ray opened his mouth, then shut it tightly while Susan gave him a sly smile.

  "I see," was all he said before taking a mouthful of potatoes.

  "Anyway, Skylar is only one of the reasons I wanted to come by tonight," Brandon said before another awkward lull hit the table. "I have some news. And I wanted to share it with the three people who are most important to me."

  All of us looked up curiously. This was new to me too.

  Brandon took a deep breath. "I've been approached by some DNC representatives. They've asked me to run for office next year. For Mayor of Boston."

  Susan raised both hands to her mouth in surprise, dropping her fork on her plate with a clink. Ray, of course, only had a hard stare as he processed the news. I, however, felt like I couldn't move. Mayor? Right now Brandon looked more like an off-duty construction worker than one of the most influential people in Boston.

  "Oh," Susan said, eyes clearly gleaming with pride. "Oh, my. My Brandon? Mayor?" She looked to Ray, grabbing excitedly at his shirt sleeve. "You know what will happen, don't you? He'll win––just look at those dimples. And soon it's going to be the White House."

  "What's driving this?" Ray asked pointedly. "Where is this coming from?"

  I turned to Brandon. These were questions I also had.

  Brandon swallowed his food and took a breath. "Well, it's like you said, Ray," he said. "I want to do more than just stockpile money. They asked, and the timing seems right."

  "How can the timing be right when you're in the middle of a divorce?" Ray demanded. "And what about your companies? Are you going to run them and the city at the same time? Or will you be one of those politicians who doesn't care about obvious conflicts of interest?"

  I raised an eyebrow. Also valid questions.

  Brandon exhaled again through his nose. "Well, to start, I haven't actually decided to do it, and if I do, I won't be announcing anything immediately. And as for the businesses, well, I'd step away from the firm if I decided to run, and I'm in the process of divesting from Ventures anyway just to settle things with Miranda."

  "What?" I finally found my voice, clogged as it was in shock.

  For someone worth as much as Brandon, divestiture was an insane idea. It would require the liquidation of his shares in Ventures––essentially selling his business to the highest bidder. Depending on how long he took to do it (and he likely would not have long if he was trying to settle the divorce soon), he would take an enormous personal loss. Hundreds of millions, potentially.

  He squeezed my hand, then looked back to Ray and Susan. "Look, I've been asked, but I haven't answered. Because the truth is, this would affect all of you. The press will be interested in where I came from and who I spend my time with. So, I won't do this without your support. All of you."

  The three of us blinked at him, unsure of what to say. Brandon, to his credit, sat like a statue, waiting patiently for our responses.

  Finally, Ray cleared his throat. "If it's what you want...I suppose we support you. Is that right, Sue?"

  Beside him, Susan broke into a wide smile. "Of course, Bran. Oh! I'm so proud!"

  Brandon grinned at her, then looked down at me carefully. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

  For once, I wasn't blushing when the table's attention was on me. Instead, I felt numb, like my skin had lost all color. This was massive news, and I had no idea how to process it. We were just starting to find our footing again. What was I supposed to say?

  "I don't
know," I said softly. "I need to think about it."

  Brandon nodded sympathetically. "Okay, that's fair." Then he turned to Susan. "All right then. I believe we brought some dessert if anyone's ready."

  "Of course!" Susan said, bouncing up from her chair. "It's time to celebrate!"

  I offered a weak smile, but my insides felt like sawdust. Celebrate...was this news worth the celebration? I didn't know. I hoped so.

  ~

  Chapter 16

  After we finished dinner, Ray and Brandon adjourned to Ray's office to go over the ins and outs of his potential campaign. Ray was clearly not a man who liked changes or surprises, so when he demanded some extra time with Brandon, I wasn't surprised when Brandon gave me an apologetic smile and agreed. Although I still had questions myself and would have loved to take part in the conversation, it was clear that Brandon needed some time alone with his foster father.

  So instead, I allowed myself to be steered upstairs to tour the rest of the small house with Susan, who showed me the master bedroom, the bathroom, and the bedroom that had once been Brandon's.

  "I'm surprised you kept so much of it intact," I said as I walked around the room curiously.

  Half of the room had clearly been converted to a crafting space for Susan. A sewing table was set up next to several large shelving units filled with materials for assorted projects. I had glanced at them briefly, but that sort of thing was like a foreign language to me. Other than my musical abilities, I didn't really have a creative bone in my body.

  The other half of the room, however, still looked like the bedroom of a broody teenage boy. The extra-long single bed still had the faded blue-and-white plaid bedding and Star Wars-themed sheets. There was a desk, which Brandon had told me before used to be Ray's in his grad school days, which was piled with the clutter of Brandon's youth: stacks of comic books, sci-fi novels, an old boom-box, and a shelf full of CDs and cassette tapes. Old Red Sox posters hung over the bed, as well as a few pictures of a teenage Brandon in various baseball uniforms.

  I smiled as I drifted my fingers over the tapes, lingering on several different Springsteen albums. Brandon had told me the story about how Susan bought it for him when he'd come to live with them. If there was a soundtrack to Brandon's life, it was these tapes.