Sparks

by Talia Carmichael

  “You should.”

  “No, Wilbur. Come in.” Bernie elbowed Tomas in the side.

  “It’s Bur, now. And I will.” Wilbur smirked.

  The name niggled something in Tomas’s memory. Bur bent and picked up a battered guitar case. He sauntered in like he owned the place. Wilbur paused next to Tomas and looked up at him from under lowered lashes. The look coming from him didn’t look playful or innocent like Bernie’s. Bur’s look was pure devilment and challenge.

  “Do you all practice that look?” Tomas demanded, looking at Bernie.

  “No. We have it in common. He’s the mischief-maker of us. Cut it out, mid-bro.” Bernie slapped Bur on the back of the head.

  Bur raised startled pale green eyes. “Haven’t heard that in a lot of years.” His eyes went slightly glassy, and emotion filled them. In that moment, to Tomas, Bur looked exactly like the Bernie he knew.

  Tomas glanced between the two of them. “I’ll give you some time,” he said.

  “You take a moment,” Bur said. “Bernie needs you. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

  Bur went down the hall, unerringly finding the living room. Tomas frowned after him, then turned back to Bernie. Bernie looked lost. Tomas took his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. He sat him on a stool and got a bottle of water. Opening it, he held it to his lips, and Bernie drank shakily. Tomas put down the bottle and rubbed his back. Bernie leaned on him, sighing.

  “I can send him away.”

  “No. I want to see him. Haven’t seen him in almost nine years,” Bernie whispered.

  Tomas thought about the number and Bernie’s age. “Since you were fifteen.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  Bernie looked miserable. “It’s complicated.”

  “What about your other brother? You don’t talk about him, either.”

  “Dillard. Haven’t seen him since we were sixteen,” Bernie said softly.

  Tomas couldn’t even imagine it. “What about your parents?” He figured if Bernie had brothers he didn’t know about, there might be parents too.

  “Don’t wanna talk about them.” Bernie’s face was shuttered.

  “Bernie,” Tomas said in warning.

  “Not yet, Tomas. Not now. I need to talk to Wilbur… Bur,” Bernie said.

  “I’ll get rid of him. You don’t have to deal with whatever drama he’s bringing.”

  “I want to see my brother. I love him, no matter what. As for drama, that was what he was good at. Being the middle child, he liked nothing better than picking on Dillard and giving me hell for being such an overprotective brother. I missed him. Wasn’t much of a brother.” Bernie smiled sadly.

  “I’ll wait in the bedroom. If you need me to throw him out, call me. Promise me,” Tomas said.

  “I will. Thank you, Tomas. I’ll tell you everything soon,” Bernie said.

  Bernie hugged him, then stood.

  “He looks so much like me, despite the bad-boy rocker thing he has going. Glad he had his guitar. He always liked music. Wonder how Dillard is?” Bernie sighed, then went out of the room.

  Tomas headed out into the hall. He saw Bernie standing in the living-room doorway. Bur was looking out the window. Tomas continued to the bedroom. He closed the door slightly to give them privacy, but left it open enough that he could hear if Bernie needed him.

  Tomas sat heavily on the bed. Bernie had a brother… two identical brothers. Curiosity about why he chose to hide it filled Tomas, along with concern. Lying back on the bed, he crossed his hands under his head.

  Hope Bernie is okay.

  BERNIE studied his brother. His shoulders were back and his head straight. Bernie’s mind flashed to the frightened boy who had hidden behind him. Bernie pushed those thoughts away and focused on the man now standing before him. Wilbur turned to face him, his lips quirked in that uneasy grin, the one he’d had as a boy when he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. Bernie strode over to him and pulled him into his arms. Wilbur went stiff, then relaxed. His arms closed around Bernie tightly.

  “Bernard.” His voice was filled with tears.

  “Bernie. God, it’s weird hearing my name in that British accent.” Bernie looked at him.

  “What accent? You’re the one with an accent.” Wilbur’s eyes twinkled with that devilish spark.

  Bernie chuckled. “Come sit and tell me all you’ve been doing.”

  They sat on the couch. Bernie flicked off the TV. He crossed his legs under him, then turned to Wilbur. He smiled as he noticed Wilbur sat in the same pose. It was their talking position.

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” Wilbur said.

  “What happened when you left?”

  “No, what happened to you and Dillard when I left? With them.” Wilbur touched his hand.

  “Not now. Later. Tell me about you,” Bernie said.

  “You need to talk about it, Bernie. Let go of their control over you,” Wilbur urged.

  “Easy for you to say. You escaped!” Bernie lashed out.

  He went to stand. Wilbur gripped his arm and hand firmly. Bernie subsided.

  “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. I’m glad to see you, really.”

  “I know you are. That’s who you are, big brother. I could be anything, and you would accept me.”

  “Are you a criminal? If you are, we can’t tell Tomas. His brother is a cop.” Bernie’s stomach clenched.

  Wilbur laughed, leaning over against him. Bernie held him, baffled at the reaction. Wilbur straightened and patted his cheek.

  “I missed you, Bernard. You’re still worried about protecting me, as usual. Hiding things from your partner isn’t a good thing,” Wilbur admonished.

  “He’s not my partner.”

  “Really? That’s not what I got in the report. It told me a lot about you.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

  “I hate that you can do that and I can’t.”

  Wilbur wiggled his eyebrow. “I know.”

  Bernie swatted him, then frowned. “What report?”

  “The report the investigator gave to my solicitor.” Wilbur sounded calm.

  “You had me investigated? Ah hell, you’re in the mob. We definitely can’t tell Tomas. That’s not a good life. Christ, how can we get you out? I can help you. Hide you somewhere.”

  “Calm down, Bernie. I’m not in the mob. It warms my heart that you would want to save me if I was.” Wilbur sounded affectionate.

  “You’re my brother. Why wouldn’t I?” Bernie frowned, confused.

  “You still have that idealism. I’m glad, yet afraid for you that you have it.”

  “I’m not naïve. I know if you were in the mob, it wouldn’t be that easy to get out. I do know people who could help.” Bernie snorted.

  “Who do you know that could help me get out if I was in the mob?” Wilbur’s tone was curious.

  “Tomas has this assistant named Sheldon. He knows everything. He’s awesome. And he said if I needed anything and didn’t want Tomas to know, he would help me,” Bernie insisted.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To piss Tomas off. He likes irking him.” Bernie grinned.

  Wilbur laughed, then sobered. “I’m glad you have such good friends.”

  “Pash. Enough about me. What about you? What have you been doing? Where have you been?”

  Wilbur grinned wickedly. “Well, you remember how they said music would lead me to hell? It did. To a whole hella lot of money and success.”

  “Why do I suddenly feel uneasy? Oh, yeah. It’s the look you get before you drag me into trouble.” Bernie chuckled.

  “No trouble this time. Just a repayment for what you did for me.” Wilbur reached into his pocket and pulled out some papers.

  He handed them to Bernie.

  Bernie opened them, reading. He gaped as he read. “No. I don’t want it. I can’t take all that money. How the hell did you get it, anyway? You said you weren’t in the mob!” he cried.

&nbs
p; Wilbur laughed so hard tears filled his eyes. Bernie pushed his shoulder. Wilbur cleared his throat, wiping his eyes.

  “I’m not in the mob. Repeat it with me slowly,” Wilbur said.

  “Then explain this. No one comes to a brother they haven’t seen in years with papers giving them fifteen million dollars.” Bernie smacked him in the chest with the papers.

  “They do if the brother sacrificed himself, giving them all his allowance he’d saved so they could get away. If I hadn’t, I would have surely died,” Wilbur said, his tone heartfelt. “It’s because of you, Bernard, that I am who I am today. Thank you.”

  “I wasn’t much of a brother. I didn’t protect you. Or Dillard.” Bernie lowered his head.

  Wilbur shifted next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “You did.”

  “I didn’t.” Bernie touched his back.

  Wilbur flinched away.

  Horrified, Bernie drew back his hand and scrambled away. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t like your back touched.” He fell onto the floor.

  “It’s okay. You just startled me.” Wilbur reached for him.

  “It isn’t!” Bernie shook his head, pounding his fist on the ground.

  Wilbur slid down on the floor next to him, rocking him. Bernie held him.

  “Bernie?” Tomas’s voice rumbled down the hall.

  “I’m… okay,” he replied.

  Glancing at Wilbur, he hugged him tight. Wilbur rubbed his back.

  “Triumvirate,” Bernie whispered in his ear.

  Wilbur glanced at him, startled, his hand stopping. “You remember that?”

  “Of course. Do you still have it?”

  Wilbur shrugged out of his jacket and pulled up his shirt. Bernie raised a shaking hand and traced the tattoo identical to his own. It was the last thing the three of them had done together before Wilbur left. Wilbur lowered his shirt.

  “Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you come to find me?”

  “I want you to have the money, Bernie.” Wilbur was insistent.

  “No. I don’t need repayment for helping my brother out.”

  “Think of it as a payment to you for being the first investor in a brand.”

  “What brand?”

  “Me.”

  “You always like to make things more complicated than they need to be. Just give me a straight answer to my questions,” Bernie grumbled.

  “I have answered you.” Wilbur sounded affronted.

  “You haven’t.”

  “What haven’t I answered?”

  Bernie ticked them off. “How’d you get so much money? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you come to find me?”

  Wilbur answered ticking them off. “As I said: music, Britain, music.” He paused, guilt filling his face. “I didn’t know you weren’t being taken care of. I’m sorry for that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bernie frowned.

  “After my first platinum album, I had my solicitors contact them,” Wilbur paused, lowering his head. “I wanted to set up a payment to them, to take care of you and Dillard. I didn’t want you all to ever want for anything. I knew money wouldn’t make up for love, but it’s all I could offer. I couldn’t come back. Couldn’t face them, even for you or Dillard. So I set it up that they would get money every month to give to you and Dillard to take care of you both. I set it up, then just left it, not wanting to know anything else.” Wilbur raised furious eyes. “It wasn’t until about three months ago that I got a letter sent to my personal address. My security went crazy, since no one is supposed to know where I live. Hell, since I’ve retired, I’m not in the news that much anymore.” Wilbur gripped his hands. “Until that letter, I didn’t know that they hadn’t been doing what I said, that they had used the money for themselves and not you or Dillard. Where is Dillard? The report had no info on him. Couldn’t find him at all.”

  Bernie tried to process what he’d said. “You gave our parents money for me and Dillard?”

  “Yes,” Wilbur whispered.

  Bernie closed his eyes and gulped. When he thought he could speak, he opened his eyes and looked at Wilbur’s worried gaze. He smiled softly.

  “I know you did it for us. But Dillard left the year after you did. He didn’t even tell me he was going. He was just gone. I don’t know where he is.”

  Wilbur’s face went determined. “We’ll find him. I’ll get my investigators on it.”

  “Okay.” Bernie’s throat was tight.

  “Do you still play the piano?” Wilbur sounded wistful.

  “Not for a long time. You were always more into music than we were,” Bernie said.

  “I’d like to hear you play the piano, and Dillard on the sax.”

  “You on the guitar. Is that the same one?” Bernie pointed to the case.

  “Yeah. I have lots of them, but this is still my favorite.” Wilbur patted the closed case.

  Bernie smiled. He and Dillard had worked odd jobs and pooled their allowance for a year to get the guitar for Wilbur. Bernie could still remember his face when they had given it to him. The smile faded as other thoughts filled him, of their standing up to stop it from being destroyed. Bernie pushed the thoughts away.

  “I’ve never heard of you. What music do you play?”

  “Of course you haven’t. I bet you still only listen to classical.” Wilbur smirked.

  “I’ll have you know I’ve heard live music. There’s this restaurant, Bacchus Sloan, that has various bands. And they have concerts in the park.”

  “What were the names of some of the songs?” Wilbur still had the smirk.

  “I don’t know. But it was good. So, what’s your kind of music?” Bernie butted his shoulder against Wilbur’s.

  “Ever heard of TrebleBur?”

  “No. Isn’t Bur your name now?” Bernie asked.

  “Yeah, I go by that. TrebleBur was the name of my band. I’m retired.”

  “At twenty-four?” Bernie asked in shock.

  “Yeah. Not touring or performing that much anymore. Still write music now and then.” Wilbur shrugged.

  “I’m glad you followed your dream into music.”

  “I want you to sign the papers and take the money.”

  “I don’t need the money. Hell, I don’t even know what to do with that kind of money.” Bernie shook his head.

  “My financial advisors are ready to help you make more money. Take this from me, please. I couldn’t be there to take—”

  Bernie cut him off. “It wasn’t for you to take.”

  “I know. But with me and Dillard gone, it was just you with them.”

  “It wasn’t so bad.” Bernie shrugged.

  Wilbur gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him.

  “It could have been better,” Bernie admitted.

  “I know. Sign the paper for me,” Wilbur pleaded.

  “You don’t need to give me your wealth out of guilt.”

  Wilbur laughed, saying, “This isn’t even a drop in the bucket of my net worth. I’m not being self-sacrificing and giving it all to you. It is as I said. You were the first investor in Bur. So take the money and kiss me good night, and go snuggle with your man. I need to get to my hotel.”

  Bernie frowned, chewing on his lip. Wilbur held out a pen, waving it in his face. Bur’s face had the same obstinate one from their childhood.

  “If I don’t sign, what are you going to do?”

  “Put it in a trust for you until you do,” Wilbur said.

  “Stubborn prick.”

  “Bullheaded ass,” Wilbur countered.

  Bernie chuckled. “Fine. Give me that.” He signed the papers and shoved them at him.

  “Good. A portion will be deposited to your account, and the rest, the financial advisors will invest. They’ll contact you.” Wilbur put the papers into his pocket and stood.

  Bernie stood with him. “How long are you going to be in town?” He didn’t want to lose touch with him.

&nbs
p; “Until my house is built.” Wilbur’s lips curved in a wicked twist.

  “In England?”

  “Nope, in Mapson. Bought a nice piece of ranch land. Having it renovated and a new house built. Getting a few horses. If you can’t ride, I can teach you.” Wilbur was matter-of-fact.

  “You’re staying in Mapson?”

  “Yes, I am. I want us to be brothers again, and to find Dillard so we can be the triumvirate again.” Wilbur put his hand over his heart on his tattoo.

  Bernie put his hand over Wilbur’s. He shifted his hold and pulled Wilbur into his body.

  “I’m not losing my brother again.” Wilbur hugged him fiercely.

  Bernie cleared his throat. “And you’re not staying in a hotel. You’ll stay with me.”

  “Will your partner be okay with that?” Wilbur asked.

  “This is my condo. Well, I am renting it, sort of, from my friend Robert. You’ll meet him.”

  “You can just buy it from him now. Hell, buy a bigger place,” Wilbur pointed out.

  Bernie blinked, realizing he was right. He shook his head. “Not thinking of that now. Let me process all this change first. Where is your stuff?”

  “At the hotel. I can go get it in the morning, if you’re sure you want me to stay.”

  “I am. Let me show you the room.” Bernie led him to the other side of the living room and down the hall.

  He passed his lab and opened the spare room. Turning, he pulled some linens out of the closet and went to make the bed. Wilbur helped. Once done, they stood.

  “Was that a lab I saw? In the report, they said you were still into science.” Wilbur watched him.

  “Yeah. Enjoy doing it.” Bernie shrugged.

  “You pursued your passion too. I wonder if Dillard did?”

  “We’ll find him.” Bernie patted him on the shoulder.

  “Do you think he’s dead? Maybe that’s why there’s no trace of him.” Wilbur gripped Bernie’s hand, leaning his head on his chest.

  Bernie cupped the back of his head. “We would have felt it. No matter what, we’ll find him.”

  “Okay.” Wilbur nodded and stepped back.

  “Do you need some clothes to sleep in?”

  “Nah.” Wilbur’s lip lifted in a half smile.

  “Okay. I’ll give you something to wear in the morning,” Bernie said, turning to the door.