Whatever Will Be: Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Cora Brent

  He says nothing, perhaps waiting for me to continue speaking. I watch one mile marker pass. And then another one.

  Trent steers the vehicle to the right lane and then slows down, veering off to the shoulder where we keep slowing until rolling to a bumpy stop. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on the dashboard. Then he cuts the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his upper body so that he’s facing me directly. There’s nothing bashful about Trent, yet he becomes sweetly cautious when he moves his hand to my face. His palm cups my chin. His thumb brushes my cheek.

  “I see you, Gretchen. Believe me, I see you.”

  My eyes close and right now I would surrender completely but Trent withdraws and restarts the engine. He eases carefully back into traffic while I lean into my seat and examine his profile.

  Trent doesn’t need me to tell him he’s gorgeous. I’m sure he has no trouble attracting attention. Maybe that’s not all he wants.

  “I think about you a lot,” I tell him.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “You are one of a kind.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re honest and in the world as I know it, honesty is nearly extinct.”

  “That’s sad. You should spend your time inside a different world.”

  He removes his eyes from the road long enough to give me a pointed stare. “I’d like to spend my time inside yours, Gretch.”

  There’s a flare of fire in my belly and a pleasant ache between my legs. I swallow hard. “In that case, I’m extending an open invitation.”

  He chuckles. “Why did you used to be afraid of me?”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you.”

  “You’d run away and slam the door whenever you heard me coming.”

  “Did that hurt your feelings?”

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you. I just didn’t like you.”

  “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Oh, I’ve definitely changed my mind.”

  We’re both quiet for a few minutes, simmering in the aftermath of this significant breakthrough.

  We like each other. We want each other. Now what?

  Trent eventually clears his throat and asks if I miss the city.

  I shake my head. “I don’t miss it at all. I never thought I’d live in Lake Stuart again but that’s where Jules wanted the girls to be raised. That aside, I think no matter where else I go, my home will always be there. I just need to finish cutting my city ties and retrieve the rest of my stuff from my apartment. There’s not much. I’ll sell the few pieces of furniture and I can pack the rest into a small U-Haul.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He says this with finality.

  “Trent, I really wasn’t trying to suggest that you needed to solve this problem for me.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You won’t even need to pack. There are companies that will do that for you. Pack everything, label everything, and bring it wherever you want them to bring it.”

  “That’s some real concierge level service. I’m sure it’s pricey.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You mean not by your standards.”

  “That is what I mean, yes.”

  I’ve always felt superior to women who yearn for some prosperous man to take care of all their needs. That’s never been my plan. It still isn’t. But I can’t deny the rush of comfort that comes with knowing Trent means what he says and he’s more than capable of coming through. Having one less thing to worry about would be nice.

  “Okay. I’ll give you the address and my key.”

  “I’ll arrange for it to be done next week.”

  I playfully punch his thigh. “Careful. I’m beginning to think of you as my fairy godmother.”

  He looks my way and his eyes take a quick tour of my body. “Make a wish, honey, and I’ll grant it.”

  This guy sure knows how to get a girl’s heart beating faster. One glance from him and my panties are ready to liquify.

  Partially to distract from an overpowering surge of hormones that can’t be satisfied right now, I reach into the front slip pocket of my purse.

  “You feel like listening to some music?”

  “What is that?”

  “Abigail Fisher’s Greatest Hits.”

  He snorts. “Not really my style but the stereo is all yours.”

  I flip open the case and a piece of paper falls out, just like it did the last time I opened it. I’m shocked to see Abigail’s familiar handwriting and realize this is the exact same note I found inside eight years ago. This CD was one of Jules’s treasures. It must have been or else she wouldn’t have kept it on top of her dresser. There’s writing on the back on the note. I can see the marks bleeding through. I turn it over and find some hastily scrawled numbers that mean nothing to me. Jules must have needed to remember them for something and grabbed the first piece of paper she could find to jot them down.

  I’m careful not to scratch the CD as I pry it out and push it into the correct slot. Abigail’s ageless voice fills the car.

  “Our past and our future.

  Kissed by the moon.

  Fate undivided.

  Whatever will be.”

  Trent cracks up. “Shit, talk about overkill on the cheesy lyrics.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trentcassini.” I emphasize the way the twins say his name as all one word.

  “Ah, don’t start. I’ve tried to get your nieces to just call me Trent but they are attached to Trentcassini.”

  “I’ve become very attached to you too.” I’m no longer talking about his name.

  Trent shifts in his seat. He gives me a penetrating look, clearly trying to decide if I’m being sincere or flippant.

  When he reaches a conclusion, he transfers his hand to my thigh.

  He keeps it there for the rest of the drive.

  8

  Gretchen

  The prison visiting room is an off-putting shade of beige and dotted with small round tables keeping company with cheap chairs. Uniformed guards wearing masks of boredom amble slowly around the room while others stand at the exits.

  There are always a wide range of families here; emotional wives, mewling babies, fidgety toddlers, sullen teens. Two years have passed since I last saw my father and a brief appraisal determines that he looks healthier than ever. Naturally, alcohol and any other vices are prohibited so that makes his choices easy. He simply has none.

  “You look great, kid.” He folds me into a vinegar-scented hug and my cheek scrapes against the harsh fabric of his orange jumpsuit.

  To my surprise, he’s cheerful and he’s glad to see Trent. He pumps Trent’s hand with enthusiasm as if this is a family reunion.

  I wait for my dad to become tearful and mention Jules but he’s content to grill Trent on the condition of the upstate New York real estate market. Trent gives him short answers and throws me a puzzled look.

  A baby at a neighboring table begins to wail.

  “Here, give him to his Daddy,” commands a heavyset man whose arms are mottled with tattoos. The baby cries harder.

  I pull two folded pieces of paper from my purse and set them on the table.

  “I was worried about you, Dad.” I say this partly so he’ll quit firing questions at Trent.

  He scratches at his oily gray hair. “Nah, you shouldn’t worry about me, Gretch. I was having some stomach trouble but that’s been sorted out now. I get the gluten free meals and they’re actually damn good.”

  My face grows hot. “I meant I was worried about how you were dealing with Jules’s death.”

  His shoulders drop. “That was a shock. Got called down to my case worker’s office right after breakfast. Man, you don’t expect to outlive any of your kids, that’s for damn sure. But I was told it was quick so that’s good. She didn’t suffer. And everyone’s been really great around here, even let me out of kitchen work for a couple of weeks. Hey, where’s Dan-O at today?
I thought he was staying in Lake Stuart. Why didn’t he come visit? He never comes to visit.”

  A man three tables over calls my father’s name. There’s a woman sitting at the table too and her pinched face reminds me of my mother. My father waves at them with enthusiasm.

  “Hey, Wayne! So that’s the wife, huh? Nicely done.”

  He gives the couple a thumbs up and then feels the need to explain to us that Wayne was married only recently. This is the first visit by Wayne’s new wife, whose name is Leslie. Leslie is from Vermont but she has moved to Syracuse to be near Wayne. Wayne is eligible for parole in eighteen months. Leslie will be waiting for him.

  I shouldn’t have come here. I want to scream.

  Trent finds my hand under the table and winds his fingers through mine.

  “So you’re living in your old place,” my father says to Trent, returning to talk of Lake Stuart. “Seems like it was just last week your dad built it and moved to town. Thought he was going to turn out to be like the summer shitheads but he shaped up to be all right and so did you.”

  Trent is unsure how to respond but he regards my father with obvious distaste.

  “I took a drive up to Rosebriar recently,” Trent finally says.

  I’m surprised. Trent has never mentioned this. I haven’t been up that hill at all since I was a child. I’ve never much cared about what I might find.

  “God, I miss that place,” my father says with more feeling than when he was discussing his dead daughter. “Those years were a real golden age.”

  “Looks like shit now,” Trent says. “It just rots away, year after year. Nothing but animals and shit and the stench of mold.”

  I can see the observation disturbs my father. I think this is why Trent said it.

  And I’m glad.

  I’m glad because that lost wonderland always meant more to my father than we did.

  “Your granddaughters drew these for you.” I push the folded papers across the table. “They’ve been shattered by their mother’s death. Their names are Mara and Caitlin.”

  He picks up the papers and appears hurt. “I know their names. You think I’d forget that? Jules said maybe when they were a little bit older she’d bring them for a visit.”

  “Well, Jules can’t do that now because Jules is dead.” The chair scrapes against the tile when I stand. “We have to go, Dad. It’s a long drive back to Lake Stuart and the girls need to be picked up.”

  He unfolds the sheets of construction paper and frowns. “What the hell are these pictures supposed to be anyway?”

  “Jules. They both wanted you to have pictures of their mother. They assumed you’d be heartbroken. Like they are.”

  I almost walk out without a proper goodbye but then I swoop in and give him a quick hug, only because I know Jules would have wanted me to.

  Once we’re in the parking lot, Trent slips an arm around my shoulder. I need more than that. I need some human contact from someone who isn’t a complete waste of oxygen. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze.

  “That sucked.” I press my face to his chest and inhale the spiced musk of his soap. “I have no idea how two disastrously selfish people like my parents made someone as wonderful as my sister.”

  He hugs me back and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “They made you too. So they did more than one thing right.”

  I want to kiss him so badly I can taste it. But the grim shape of the prison looms in the background and it’s a romance killer.

  I step out of his arms. “It’s time for me to buy you lunch now.”

  “Fine, but I’m paying.”

  “You seem to misunderstand what buying you lunch means.”

  He opens the passenger door. “We’ll arm wrestle for the check.”

  I smack his muscled ass. “You’ll lose.”

  We drive for ten miles before spotting signs for a restaurant that doesn’t specialize in supersizing fries. He wins the battle over the check when he excuses himself from the table and takes care of it in secret while I’m still digging into my Cesar salad.

  I pop a mint into my mouth. “I’ll get you back.”

  He passes me a slow, wicked grin. “I can think of a few other things you can do for me instead.”

  “You stared at my tits when you said that.”

  “I stare at your tits all the time. Haven’t you noticed?”

  We’re back on the road when I remember something I’ve been wanting to ask him.

  “What are your plans now that you’re back in Lake Stuart?”

  His face changes, becomes closed and wary. “Playing it by ear. Maybe I’ll buy a boat.”

  “Miami probably would have offered more boating opportunities.”

  He nods absently.

  I chew my lip, and then force myself to stop. “There are rumors that the brewery is on the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  He doesn’t sound interested. He sounds irritated.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  He frowns. “What for?”

  “Discussing the family business is probably painful.”

  “You mean because I was disinherited and thrown to the wolves.”

  I wince at the fury in his voice. Yet his tone also reveals something. Trent carries a lot of anger around with him. His motives for returning to Lake Stuart are not simple.

  “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he says.

  “You didn’t.” I touch his leg. “You’re good to me.”

  “That’s comical. I’m not widely known as a good guy.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve already classified you as one.”

  He glances down at where my hand sits just above his right knee and smirks. He also changes position slightly, which gives me ideas about what’s on his mind.

  “You’re beautiful, Gretch.”

  My hand crawls up his leg, traces the seam of his jeans. Trent responds with a low noise in the back of his throat and he tightens his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Fuck,” he swears even as he moves to give my hand better access. “Quit torturing me.”

  “No.” I can feel the thick, hard shape of him now. I stroke him through the fabric. “This is a rural area. Plenty of woods to get lost in.”

  “You serious?”

  “Very.”

  “It’s broad freaking daylight.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be so puritanical, Trent.”

  He roars out a laugh. “Puritanical. Because I’m hesitating to fuck you on the side of the road.”

  “Yes.”

  He’s still laughing when he veers to the right at the next exit. There’s a gas station and then there’s nothing else. Trent cuts a sharp turn when he spots a dirt road and keeps driving through thick brush until we’re a safe distance from civilization.

  He opens his pants. Give me a calculating look. “You can change your mind.”

  I pull my sweater over my head. Slowly, enjoying the watchful glint in his eye. “Are you going to change your mind?”

  He reaches past me to punch open the glove compartment. He extracts an unopened box of condoms, rips off the packaging, fishes one out and gets it on with impressive speed.

  “Well?” He palms his own huge cock, clearly thinking there’s a good chance I’ll back off.

  I unhook my bra. “You shouldn’t test me.”

  “I’m daring you, baby.”

  “You shouldn’t do that either.” I flip the snap of my jeans, slide down the zipper and catch the waistband in my thumbs before rolling them down over my hips. My panties follow.

  Trent appreciates the show. He flicks a switch and his seat gradually moves backwards. His pants are all the way down now and I straddle him, pressing his thighs between my knees.

  “This needs to come off,” I complain, tugging at his shirt. “I want all of you.”

  But there’s a change in his eyes and he looks away, which I don’t understand. It’s clear he works hard on his body
and he’s unbelievably sexy. I remember Trent as a teenager and how he used to parade around without a shirt on every chance he got, obviously proud of what he had to offer.

  I go slowly, undoing the buttons of his flannel shirt one at a time in case he objects. He doesn’t. He looks out the window, waiting for me to finish and roll the shirt from his strong shoulders. Underneath he’s wearing a plain white tee and I can’t get this off without his cooperation but when I lift the hem he raises his arms and pulls the shirt over his head.

  “Oh!” I don’t have time to stifle my own cry and Trent sighs.

  The scars aren’t excessive and from a distance they might be missed completely. I just wasn’t expecting them. The round marks on his torso look like small burns. The tattoo on the right side of his chest, the one I first glimpsed when he was being shoved into a police car eight years ago, has been angrily scored down the middle.

  He’s watching my reaction. “There are more on my back.”

  “Trent, how?”

  “Tavington.” He spits out the word with revulsion.

  I swallow the threat of tears as I remember the wild, arrogant boy of my childhood. We didn’t know, none of us, what was happening to him. We would have done something if we’d suspected. Jules would have found a way to help him.

  A fresh hatred for Liam Cassini ignites in my heart.

  I run my hands over Trent’s shoulders and kiss his cheeks. I kiss his mouth and then his forehead.

  “You’re perfect,” I whisper and he is. He really is.

  “No.” He moves in, covers my mouth with his and tastes my tongue, only briefly. “But you are.”

  Trent pushes my knees wider apart, seizes my hips and lowers me one careful inch at a time as he conquers my body. I’m grateful he goes slowly because even though I’m completely ready to take him, he’s bigger than anything I’m used to.