by Noelle Adams
His brows drew together. “I can stay until Friday. Then I really need to join my nephew and his family.”
“Then Friday it is.”
***
The next morning, Cyrus woke up with his right arm nearly numb and something hot and heavy pressing into his chest.
His crisis instincts automatically triggered, he jerked his eyes open, on guard and ready to face a possible threat.
He let out his breath as soon as he oriented himself.
His first fully conscious thought was to wonder how it could possibly be comfortable for Brie to sleep smashed up against his side like this, with her upper body resting on his chest. He certainly wasn’t very comfortable. The arm he was using to hold her against him was prickling from lack of circulation. He was painfully stiff from having her weight trap him in place for so long. And he was way too hot, her little sleeping body generating heat like a radiator.
He needed to adjust—to give himself some space, to stretch his stiff limbs, to renew blood flow to his arm.
But Cyrus didn’t move, except to use his free hand to gently stroke Brie’s hair, which was spilling all over both of them.
After they’d had sex the evening before, he’d gone to sleep with Brie curled up against him in this position. He couldn’t believe neither one of them had rolled away during the night. He’d never had the urge to hold someone like this before.
Brie’s cheek was pressed against his bare chest, and the spot where their skin connected seemed to burn. Her steady breathing raised and lowered her back slightly, and her hands instinctively curled around his shoulder and side. Her loose hair was tousled and beautiful, cloaking them like a blanket.
He really was very uncomfortable. But it was Monday now, and he only had four more mornings to hold her this way.
It was troubling—this urge to hold her. As troubling as his desire for sex with her so often, which had genuinely surprised him with its continued power since he was well past that stage in his life.
He’d thought he was anyway.
Friday. He’d given himself until Friday to enjoy her, to indulge in the kind of pleasure and companionship that was otherwise impossible in his life. To get her out of his system.
He was afraid it wasn’t working.
The realization finally prompted him to move from his position in bed. He gently tried to extricate himself from her sprawled body on top of him, but she clung tenaciously in her sleep, her unconscious self insistent on cuddling. He tried to roll her over, but his numb arm was still trapped beneath her. And before he could free it, she just rolled back and snuggled up against him once more.
She mumbled incoherently as he eased her body up to retrieve his arm. He did so successfully but only to find that Brie had contentedly curled up farther down his body with her head resting on his belly.
Cyrus shook out his numb arm, chuckling softly over the absurdity of his dilemma. But when he felt tenderness swell up in his chest from the sight of Brie sleeping on his stomach, he shook his head silently and rolled his body away.
Brie made a wordless grumble and groped out for him again.
“Sorry,” he murmured, gently pulling her up so her head was on her pillow. “I have to get up.”
She was barely awake. She mumbled something like “M’okee” and folded up in a little ball.
Cyrus left her to walk into the bathroom. He adjusted the water temperature in the shower less hot than normal, trying to cool himself down and jolt himself out of his groggy softness.
When he got out and dried off, he brushed his teeth. He stared down at Brie’s toothbrush right next to his. Her hairbrush lay next to the sink with her makeup bag and a few bottles of lotions and creams. Since they’d decided to extend their time together, she’d gone home yesterday evening to get an overnight bag with some things she would need.
He stood in his bathroom with his toothbrush in his mouth and tried to process how he felt about it.
It was an invasion of his privacy, a raid on his personal space, a disturbingly intimate blow to the comfortable, isolated lifestyle he’d maintained for so long.
And he liked it.
He liked the sight of her toothbrush next to his, Brie sleeping in his bed.
It was an absurd, irrational response. He knew better. He’d been lonely a long time, so perhaps that explained it. He’d cling to anyone, anything, who could help fill the void.
But he’d never wanted any other woman around all the time, even back when he’d had a social life.
He’d been acquainted with Brie for only eight days, and they had no future. His life was in England. Hers was here. Both of them understood that this was just temporary. It was the only reason Cyrus had been able to let himself go the way he had. Had there been a possibility of a future, he never would have taken so many risks.
He wasn’t foolish enough to overlook the way he was becoming attached to her. He knew it would be hard when he left. He knew he’d need some time to get over her absence in his life. It would be worth it though. He felt alive again.
It had been so long since he felt that way.
When he heard the phone ring and saw it was Benjamin, he reached to pick it up. It was early, and his nephew didn’t normally call at this time.
Benjamin was calling with an invitation to join him and his mother for a visit to the cemetery. Lucy’s oldest son Michael, Benjamin’s brother, was buried there.
Cyrus felt his heart drop. He didn’t want to go to the cemetery to visit his nephew’s grave. It made him think of a host of things he didn’t want to think about. He’d rather stay in his bubble with Brie and not let the rest of the world in.
But he accepted the invitation anyway. He didn’t believe in indulging himself at the cost of his family.
He got dressed quickly and told Gordon to let Brie know he’d be back before nine. Then he drove out to the cemetery, where he found Lucy waiting, standing next to Benjamin and his wife Mandy, with their infant son in her arms.
Benjamin had gotten a job in an architecture firm in Savannah a few months ago, so the family had moved here from California. Cyrus knew Lucy was thrilled to have her son and grandson so much closer.
Cyrus felt a pain in his chest at the sight of them, and it didn’t go away as they walked slowly over to Michael’s grave.
They didn’t stay for very long. Lucy put flowers on the grave, and they stood around, sharing a few thoughts or memories. Lucy teared up, but she didn’t really cry, and Mandy kept reaching out to touch Benjamin’s back as if in support.
Benjamin had grown his beard back, although it wasn’t as long and straggly as it used to be. He was a big man with dark eyes and a gruff voice, but Cyrus knew emotions ran deep in him.
Benjamin had gone years without talking to his extended family. Because of him. Because of Cyrus.
The pain in Cyrus’s chest intensified.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Brie would think if she knew how he’d behaved with Michael, with Benjamin, with all his nephews at one point or another.
He’d told her that he’d been a dictator, but she hadn’t seemed to really believe it.
She would believe it. If she ever knew who he was for real. She’d believe it, and that soft, admiring look in her eyes would be gone for good.
After about a half hour, they started to leave. Lucy gave him a hug. Then Mandy did. Then Benjamin did.
Cyrus returned all their hugs, but he felt a resistance rising inside him, an armor he’d always used when life hurt him too much. He needed to get away from them. He needed to be alone.
He sat in his car and pretended to work on his phone until the others had driven away. Then he got back out and walked to Michael’s grave again, standing stiffly and staring down at the gray, chiseled stone marker.
Starting in high school, Michael and Benjamin had spent their summers working for Cyrus in England. Lucy had thought it was a great opportunity for the boys, and back then Cyrus had been hoping that all five of
his nephews would be part of Damon Enterprises eventually.
As it turned out, only Harrison had wanted it.
But it was during one of those summers that Michael had died in a car accident. Another victim of the Damon curse, the papers had said. Tragedy followed tragedy. Michael wasn’t the only one to die in the accident. A girl with him in the car had died as well—the sister of Marietta, Harrison’s wife. And Marietta herself had been terribly injured.
They’d found out years later—far too late—that Michael had been drunk.
All of it was Cyrus’s fault. Michael had been a wild, foolish boy, but he’d been rebelling against Cyrus. Just as Benjamin had been rebelling when he cut himself off from his family for years.
Cyrus was the one who had pushed the boys into rebellion with his impossibly high standards and his ruthless pressure.
He’d thought he’d been doing what was best for them—using his influence to make them into good, strong men. But he’d only succeeded in pushing them away, pushing them into bad decisions.
He didn’t want Brie to know. Ever.
He didn’t want her to ever look at him with knowledge in her eyes, with disappointment, with disillusionment. She thought he was good and giving and worthy.
He wasn’t.
He stood over the grave, not moving a muscle until after nine o’clock. He glanced down at his watch and knew Brie was expecting him back at the house. She would have woken up by now. Gordon would have told her he was returning soon.
Cyrus didn’t move. He kept staring down at Michael’s grave, his chest hurting so much it was clouding his brain.
When Harrison had fallen in love with Marietta and they’d found out the truth about the car accident that had killed Michael and her sister, Cyrus had done everything possible to put an end to the relationship. He’d seen how much they loved each other, and yet he’d thought they’d be better off apart anyway.
He’d almost destroyed Harrison, whom he loved like a son.
That was evidently what he always did to the people he loved.
At ten o’clock, his body was aching from standing motionless for so long. He was too old to do this sort of thing. He needed to sit down, relax, walk off the stiffness.
Instead, he called Gordon.
“How are you, sir?” Gordon asked. “Are you on your way back?”
Cyrus didn’t answer the first question. “No.”
Gordon paused. “Miss Brie has been waiting for you.”
Cyrus felt physically ill. He could picture her waiting—hope and trust and laughter and deep empathy in her eyes. “I think it’s probably best if you tell her to go home.”
There was an even longer pause before Gordon answered. “She will be… confused. I told her to expect you by nine, as you said.”
It felt like ages since that morning, when he’d thought he’d just be gone an hour or two and would return to spend another day with Brie. “I know. Tell her plans changed.”
“When will you be back, sir?”
“I don’t know.” He hung up then because Gordon was making him feel guilty and weak.
He needed to move, to walk, to stretch, but he didn’t. His back hurt intensely, but he almost welcomed the pain.
He was Cyrus Damon. He’d never been anyone else. And Cyrus Damon had forged his place in the world a long time ago.
The universe didn’t allow do-overs. You paid the price for the decisions you’d made, and wanting a different future didn’t mean you could actually get one.
Of all people, Cyrus didn’t deserve one.
He didn’t even deserve the last few days he had remaining with Brie.
He stood at Michael’s grave until after noon, until his back and legs had clenched up so badly he could no longer stay on his feet. He went back to his car then because he physically had to sit down, but he still didn’t drive home.
He didn’t want to return to the house to find Brie gone.
He didn’t want to return to the house at all.
Finally he had no choice. His head was pounding, he was weak from going without food and water all day, and he couldn’t seem to straighten up his back. He managed to drive home, shocked when he saw Brie’s car was still in the driveway.
He just sat behind the wheel, staring at it in a pained daze.
After a few minutes—he had no idea how many—someone was opening his driver’s side door. It was Brie, he realized, reaching down to pull him out of the car.
“Oh my God, Cyrus,” she was murmuring hoarsely, helping him to stand up. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
There was absolutely no way for him to explain.
He still couldn’t stand fully upright because of the clench in his back, but he managed to limp into the house with Brie at his side.
Trying to sound like his normal self, he saw Gordon waiting in the entryway and said, “I’m fine. I just need some coffee.”
“Not coffee,” Brie said, turning his face so she could look at it. “You don’t need caffeine right now.” She looked over at Gordon. “Maybe some water first.”
Cyrus tried to object to this overruling of his wishes, but he simply didn’t have the focus or energy.
“What’s wrong with your back?” Brie asked gently.
“I was standing in one place too long. I can just walk it off.”
“You don’t look like you could walk very far. You need to lie down. Oh wait, I know. You should get in the hot tub. That will definitely help.”
“I don’t care for hot tubs.”
“I don’t care what you care for. You look terrible, so you need to do it anyway.”
Cyrus wasn’t going to have this. He deserved to be in pain, and he certainly wasn’t used to anyone bossing him around, making him do things he didn’t want to do. He needed to put Brie in her place even if it meant hurting her feelings.
He opened his mouth to do just that. No sound came out.
“Here’s the water,” Brie said, taking the glass from Gordon’s hand as he approached. “Now drink this and don’t be ridiculous.”
So despite his intentions, he ended up drinking the water. Then he ended up soaking in the hot tub, which felt so good on his painfully tense muscles that he kept having to stifle embarrassing moans.
When he’d drank two glasses of water, Brie handed him a glass of white wine instead, taking one for herself as she climbed into the hot tub beside him.
Cyrus closed his eyes, feeling better but trying to remember all the resolutions he’d come to that morning about Brie.
He couldn’t have her. No matter how much he wanted her, he couldn’t have her.
Brie stretched out a hand to gently rub his sore neck. “Do you want to tell me what happened this morning?”
He didn’t want to tell her. He couldn’t tell her. It would reveal far too much about his real self, the self he didn’t want her to see.
She was massaging the tight muscles just at the nape of his neck. “Gordon said you went to a cemetery?”
And that was enough. His mind clouded with the release of tension and a warm relaxation from the water and the wine, Cyrus started to tell her. He avoided as many details as possible that might give away his identity, but he told her about the accident, about Michael dying, about the ways he’d pushed his nephew into rebellion, into tragedy.
He rambled on and on. He never talked so much. He certainly never opened up this way—with anyone.
He just couldn’t seem to help it at the moment, like the last cord holding back his will had snapped.
Brie listened quietly, occasionally asking a question. She didn’t pull away. She kept rubbing his neck, his shoulder, the back of his head, as if she were trying to caress away his tension.
Finally, he’d told her everything—laid himself out for her to judge, for her to hate, for her to walk away from.
She tilted her head down to nuzzle his shoulder. “Oh my God, Cyrus! How could you possibly think all that was your fault?”
“D
idn’t you hear me?”
“Of course I did. You made some mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. You’re not responsible for the decisions of other people. And you’re certainly not responsible for car crashes when you weren’t behind the wheel.”
“I just told you—”
“I know what you told me. I get why you feel guilty. It’s totally natural. I’m just telling you there’s nothing real underlying the guilt. So standing in one place for hours today until you were about to fall over just to punish yourself is completely irrational.” She eased close enough to press a soft kiss on his jaw. “I think you know it too.”
For the first time, a flicker of insight and irony pierced through the bleak daze of his mind, letting him see himself as if from outside, letting him realize how foolish he’d been acting. He looked her in the eyes, seeing her expression softening with what might have been relief.
She smiled at him. “How’s your back?”
“It’s better.”
“Good. Let’s get out. I’m kind of hungry. I haven’t had much to eat today, and I know you haven’t had anything.”
So they got out, showered, changed into comfortable clothes, and went into the lounge to eat a very late lunch or a very early dinner. They drank more wine, and afterward Cyrus was feeling so much better, so relaxed and exhausted, that he could barely sit up straight.
Somehow—he had no idea how it happened—he ended up sprawled on the big couch with his head in Brie’s lap. She was stroking his hair and his face with a tenderness that made his heart ache.
He wondered faintly if she was putting pieces of his identity together but then realized she was so young that she probably hadn’t been old enough to follow the news when Michael’s accident happened.
She was so much younger than him. He shouldn’t be letting her do this to him, shouldn’t be letting her make him feel so good.
He could barely keep his eyes opened.
“Why did you stay?” he mumbled, unable to hold back the question.
“Because I knew something was wrong. You’re far too much of a gentleman to send me away like that if something hadn’t been seriously wrong. And Gordon looked worried. I wasn’t going to leave if something was wrong with you.”
