by D. M. Burns
My voice is muffled by the confines of my face burial until two large claws snatch me up off the floor like a cradled baby. Channing falls into the chair holding my deadweight in his arms. I deflate into his chest. He’s warm and solid and his heart thumps strongly underneath my cheek.
“You need to snap out of it, sunshine.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tipsy still.” I whisper.
“You can’t bullshit me. Your superhuman talent is exuding happiness. That’s a gift that you possess and I miss it.” He lets out a long sigh then rests his chin on top of my head.
“Sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow.” No, I won’t but I’ll be the best me that I can be without him, Brogan. “You go eat and I’m going to jump in the shower.”
Channing stands effortlessly with me in his arms. He sets me down in front of him gripping both of my arms and then leans in, face level with me. His molten silver eyes swirl with what seems like concern. I try to look away, but he shakes me gently jolting my attention back to him.
“You’ve lost enough weight, Brea. I get that you're trying to deal but it’s not healthy. I’m telling you now when you get your southern sweet ass out of that shower, we’ll eat together then whatever you find on TV we’ll settle in for, yeah?” Without warning or permission, the tears swell up in my eyes. “Shit.” He mumbles and his jaw ticks out just like Brogan’s.
“I’m so sorry, Channing. I know you don’t want to hear it but Jesus…” I breakdown under his sturdy arms. “I’m trying to hold it in and keep it to myself. I’m just… I love him so much that it hurts so bad right in the middle of my chest, and I don’t know how to turn it off. I really wished I could because the void is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, an empty constant ache.”
Those tears finally spill over, running down my face in hot streaks. My hand automatically rubs the center of my chest where the wound can be found, and it aches like infection has set in. My episode turns into one of those ugly crying spells. Where you sniffle just to keep the snot from running down your face.
“You jolted it out of me. Blame yourself for this outburst.” I try to chuckle through the seriousness of the moment, but it falls flat. He tugs me forward wrapping those large arm-cannons around me tightly. I bury my face into his heated chest while clinging to him like a lifeline. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck… It’s alright, Brea.” He kisses the top of my head. “It’ll get better with time, I promise.”
“How do you know?” I mumble out.
“Let’s just say it’s a gift I have.” He rubs my back up and down. “The sunshine has to shine again soon though.” I nod into him. I sure hope he’s right because this kind of hurt is turning everything cold and dark around me.
“Speaking of gifts, whatcha get me?” I giggle.
“Turn around and look on the wall where your old TV used to be.” I turn my head and my eyes bulge out.
“OH MY GOD…. It’s huge!” It’s a brand-new big screen TV that almost covers half the wall. “WOW.”
“The words every guy loves to hear.” He busts out laughing and I can’t help it, I do too.
“Thank you so much,” I whisper. I want to ask him how he done this without me knowing but I’m sure it involves a certain Italian restaurant owner named Mr. M.
“You’re welcome, sunshine. Now, go hop in that shower so we can watch some Chevy Chase.”
chapter 5
channing
Staring out of my living room window, I tilt the bronze liquid of choice back. Swallowing the harsh substance while welcoming the burning sensation that I hope dulls that leftover shit taste out of my system. My eyes are fixated on nothing at all because the only thing that I can see is Brea’s lovely face as it crumpled and broke down earlier.
Sitting up in my chair, I brace my elbows on my knees twirling the glass around with my fingertips. Right before her tears made a salty escape, her sweet lips expressed despair that I felt in every word that her broken whispers gave life to. The sorrow was alive, overflowing from her tiny frame. That much was abundantly clear. Disturbing depths of my mental status from mere memory. I know how she feels because my heart is attached to her while she mourns the loss of another that happens to be my brother.
I’m not an uncaring fucker. Especially not when it involves her, only her. I knew this would happen. I’ve seen it all before, but I never knew it’d affect me so profoundly. Swear to Christ, if I hadn’t witnessed the end result that comes for her by choosing him, I would’ve hand-delivered her myself over to him tonight. If that other Creed held the cure instead of ultimately destroying her, it’d be a done deal by now.
Her declaration of love to that undeserving little asshole wasn’t the killer, even though it should’ve been, but no. It was the pain coursing through her body that I have no control over. I can’t make it stop. I can’t make it go away. I can’t help her manage that. She’ll have to move past him on her own. And after seeing that shit, I’m not so sure she’s equipped for the challenge.
Witnessing that level of an emotional slip and desperate turmoil seeping from her beautiful royal blues shifted something inside of me today. I never understood what it meant before when I’d overheard people talk about carrying around their loved one’s burdens, but that changed tonight. Fuck… I get it.
My eyes land on the candle placed in the middle of my coffee table. I bring the burner to life then out. On again, off again. Emotional flame of aggression. Then I switch that energy out into the room and all the candles flame to life around the room. Filling the backdrop with a blood-red tent that’s embraced by my angry attitude. I hold my head back and stare up at the ceiling, breathing deeply through my nose.
My body temperature is boiling from that emotional scene earlier. Hell, it makes no sense for me to drink right now. Because no matter how much alcohol I consume my body will burn through it like fuel to a powerplant. That’s what happens when my anger grows. It’s like a forest fire raging aggressively inside of me. Igniting with an intensity that has the potential for monumental destruction to anyone that should be so careless to cross me.
Standing abruptly, I move for the bar only to catch a glimpse for the bright beams that love to hate me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s leisurely leaning against the wall entryway. The man that holds the heart of the woman I love.
Of course, he’s here relishing in a victory that’s anything but a fucking win. Whatever causes Brealyn to suffer in that capacity is nothing short of a brutal unrelenting and recurring beatdown. Losing her smile produces no winning results, period.
Do you even realize that she’s not your paired soul?
I slam my crystal tumbler down successfully shattering the glass sending see-through razor-sharp shards out into the open room. I release a heavy sigh and grip the sides of the polished bar top wood. My head cranes to the side where that whispered sound emanated from and I focus my fiery flames on him, but he’s gone. Am I losing my god damn mind now? My eyes scan the space as I turn in place to face my living room, nothing.
“Fuck.” I mumble on a chuckle.
Brushing my hands off on my sweats, I knock off the leftover glass remnants. It’s time for a workout session. It’s the only way I can simmer some of this boiling aggression out. Then I’ll shower and round back to Brealyn.
Snapping my fingers causes the candles to die out. I watch as the smoke slowly flows up clouding the room. I plan on helping the sunrise high in the sky with an eye-blinding effect. It’ll take some time and effort but her future is bright. She can’t see it yet, but I can.
My workout was exactly what I needed to get my temper in check. If it weren’t for that anger management ritual and release, my charcoal trail would extend the lengths of the earth. It’s a healthier outcome for the outside world that I visit the gym daily. That visual of burning bodies as far as the eye can see is a haunting sight but absolutely within my capabilities if I feel threatened or pissed off.
At some point, Brealyn is g
oing to need to come to terms with having to find a new place of employment. That five day a week work grind that revolves around The House of Creed and incidentally houses her literal soul reason for a broken heart, needs to be severed off like a rotting limb. If not, she’ll continue to suffer endlessly.
Just from what I can tell, she’s already dropped a good fifteen pounds and she didn’t need to lose shit. If anything, Brea needed to gain ten to fifteen before any of this started. Plus, she doesn’t smile anymore and that alone pisses me off.
If Brogan gave a shit at all, he’d have that red-headed side clown of his send Brealyn on her way. It’d save them both a lot of grief. It’s like putting down a racehorse with a broken leg, showing mercy if you're capable. But I know that white-eyed asshole isn’t going to do that, oh-no. He wants to maintain some type of hold on her. It’s his only way of making sure that he has ease of access. But it’s been my experience that misery likes company.
At this point, this is no longer about Brogan. Even though that self-centered little piece of shit can’t see past his own wants and needs, this is about Brealyn. Am I the only one that can see what this is doing to her? It’s evident that she’s struggling with this. She needs a clean break from everything Brogan Creed related.
I’d like to believe that I’ve given him the time he needs to come to terms with how things are. His stalking, touching, and lurking around is starting to piss me off. Hell, if it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have awarded them with the same politeness or patience. Quite the contrary. I’d have grilled them like a T-bone steak.
I’m at the point where he either does what’s best for her, or I’m going to send a heatwave up his spin that fries the corporate common-sense parts of his brain. He always pushing for the knowledge of what makes me so special. My baby brother is about to get schooled. Let’s just say it’s a spark unlike any other that motherfucker will ever experience.
Even though that thought has my lips tipping up into a smile, it’s quickly replaced with a frown. I can’t imagine anything else taking away from the light that’s left flickering inside of Brea. The sad fact of the matter is that if anything happened to Brogan, it’s likely to destroy my sunshine altogether. Do you see my dilemma here?
When I round the block the Westinghouse building comes into view and so does the red-headed assclown that is none other than Carson Brooks. I’ve been expecting this exuberant fucker to show face. Honestly, I’m surprised that it took him so long to bounce his happy ass my way.
My feet pound the ground as I close the distance between us. His jolly green eyes squint but he smirks at me as I slow my running legs to a brisk walk. This asshole works out as much as I do. I see him running all the time in Central Park. That shit helps to clear the mind, it’s therapeutic.
“Well, Carson Brooks… What do I owe this pleasure?” I stop in front of him and smile wide.
“Let’s cut the shit, yeah? What will it take for you to go away?” He clips.
“What happened to the bubbly inviting little bastard that I’ve heard and read so much about? It’s rumored that your Brogan’s lucky charm. The Leprechaun of four-leaf clover wishes, right?” I move around him for my building's front door.
“You swooped in and took that bastard label.” He says.
“Wow, gotta be real with ya Carson, this attitude you’re displaying has a more troll under the bridge kinda vibe to it,” I say. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“What the fuck are you trying to accomplish here, Channing?” He asks.
“I’m starting to get the feeling that you’re not jolly at all.” I chuckle as I push through the entrance and enter my building with the grumpier version of Bozo heating my heels.
“You’re the older brother. Aren’t you supposed to lead by example or some shit? Don’t you want to get to know Brogan? Or shit I don’t know, possibly have a relationship with him one day?”
Turning to face him, I’ve got to admire the fact that this pissed off festered little pimple popped himself off Brogan’s ass long enough to come across town from his bachelor pad of bimbo bitches to confront me. Either he has real genuine love for Brogan or a death wish. It’s safe to assume that both scenarios are a possibility at this moment. I cross my arms over my chest and look down at the little guy.
“Maybe you should take your ass back across town and ask your best friend the same god damn questions, yeah?” I growl while pointing toward the door's exit.
“The thing is that I know him. If I’ve learned anything about Brogan, it’s that he’s a begrudging motherfucker. Solid in his anger and slow to forgive but normally quick and swift in his payback, something that you’re sure to feel forever. That is if you survive the fatal fuckery he dishes out. Plus, not that this should come as news to you, considering Victor Malone’s prime example set out in front of your face like a god damn buffet, but Brogan is likely to carry his hate with him far after their done shoveling dirt over your cold dead body. In saying that, I was sorta hoping you were different for everyone’s sake and wellbeing around us.” He tilts his head studying me.
“Well, Carson.” I smile wide but step into him. It’s like looking down on a redhaired midget pocket troll. “The thing is, I am very fucking different. That wellbeing thing you speak of is hanging on by a thread, for you that is. I’ll bring the big top down on the fucking circus around you in a fierce spectacle of fiery flames. If you know what I mean.”
Keeping my tone hushed so the bystanders of my building are none the wiser but I get my point across. My eyes glow out in a red bloody sea swarming around with hateful and harmful intent. Carson wisely stumbles back a few steps. I don’t blame him at all for his reaction. It’s scary for those that think they know but in reality, have no fucking clue for who or what they're dealing with. Last I checked, Carson is not my anything, friend nor foe. Which means, his ass should go, now.
“Now, let’s get something straight, Mr. Brooks… Had Brogan showed the slightest bit of interest in me instead of the corporate kill, things might’ve turned out pleasant but there not. So, before you come back to my neighborhood again, it’s best you remember that. This wasn’t my doings. We’ll all simply have to adjust to the way things are.” I turn and head for the elevators leaving his ass to stand there staring at my back. I need a shower but the little green goblin surprises me when he calls out.
“Why do you feel it necessary to bring a literal definition to that bastard birthright terminology down on yourself? I don’t buy it.” He says.
This asshole has balls made of steel. I’ll give him that. I jab the elevator button with much more force than what’s needed but this guy is pissing me off.
“Wouldn’t want to disappoint any of the opinions you all have force placed on me, now would I?” I toss out.
“Oh, there’s no chance of that… Especially if you continue to pursue Brealyn. That much is guaranteed.” I turn a demented smirk his way. He’s toeing the line of fire, literally. “But you’re not a dumb motherfucker. I don’t have to tell you that it’ll seal your fate with ever having any type of relationship with Brogan, period. That’s a death sentence, brother or not. He’ll live his life with a nasty craving to own your financial soul while slowly bleeding you dry. One drop out of that lucrative IV at a time and rightfully so.” He runs his tongue over his top teeth then shakes his head.
“You gotta point to make, ass-clown?” I growl while taking another slap at the button.
“We both know he could’ve already ruined you if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Brogan’s a good man; just a lonely one with no family, Channing. That’s something the two of you, stubborn bastard’s have in common. Break the cycle, you dick. Fix this shit. Grant would’ve wanted you too. Hell, he would’ve expected it from you as the older brother, the god damn leader by birthright. Just like he would’ve wanted to raise you two brothers together had he known you existed. He was a damn good man and some of that had to filter over inside of you. So, why don’t you shock the shit out of
me and everyone else by making Grant proud.”
My head cranes around slowly but the ingrown aggravating asshair is already stomping his way out of the lobby, probably off to the nearest circus convention. Hell, I make a mental note to check and see if that shit is in town. I’ll take Brea.
The door pings and I step in jabbing out at my floor number while grinding my teeth together. Thanks to Bozo the asshole, my mind wanders over to how things might’ve turned out for everyone had I actually been raised with both my dad and brother at my side. The better question is, would that have changed a damn thing past, present, or future tense?
chapter 6
BROGAN
Pushing the stack of papers out of my way, I lean my elbows into my new war room table that had to be replaced after Channing’s forehead became one with the wood grain. Smirking at that thought, I link my fingers together while studying the business suits gathered around me.
My attendance was required as Wong Chen, one of the co-founders and incidentally the CEO of Highlight Investments, requested I be here. I’m not sure why at this point because I don’t head up foreign affairs. Hell, we all know that I’m the least friendly bastard occupying this building. It’s safe to say that Wong Chen and I aren’t BFF’s. It’s a mystery to me why he wanted me here.
Lance Roth, one of my four side suit partners, set this deal up. It goes without saying, I've reviewed the proposal. Lance is slick with details. Being more aggressive with contractual lingo, the guy always covers his ass as well as The House of Creed. This is a lucrative deal for everyone involved. If everything goes well this transaction will expand our presence in China.
Brealyn’s marketing campaign launched earlier this week and it was nothing short of brilliant. Even if that woman were sporting a unibrow coupled with that ridiculous no shaving religious belief, I’d be fucking impressed with her skills and hard work, period. The commercials and billboards for Lockleer Horizon Residential Luxury Homes alone have generated massive sales and the potential client listings continue to grow.
