I just hoped that he would have the decency to keep my blunder tohimself.
Slipping into my robe, I snuck back into my bedroom to dress before I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I tossed on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, knowing I’d have to give my son a bath before the funeral. I wouldn’t be able to get ready until after he was dressed, not unless I wanted to accessorize with bath water andsoap.
Braden was still snoring on the couch, and the sound of the coffee percolating barely stirred him. I poured two mugs—one for me, and one for him. Braden liked his coffee black, while I had to cut mine with an obscene amount of cream and sugar to even tolerate it. I took a quick sip and left my mug on the counter before I walked into the livingroom.
Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, I poked my little brother sharply. He grumbled, swatting blindly at me with his arm. I pulled the mug away from his reach instinctively, my reflexes quicker thanhis.
“You need to wake up now,” I told him, my voice stern. “You need to shower and getready.”
“I don’t want to. I’m not going,” Braden grumbled, rolling over so that he was facing the back of the couch. I sighed, glancing at the digital clock on the cablebox.
“We have less than three hours before the funeral starts. We need to get ready,” I said, working to keep the patience in my voice. He ignored me, making no move to get up off the couch. He smelled like a liquor store, the scent reminding me of the night before. My brother had certainly made a giant mess for himself to cleanup.
Elle had left our house shattered, after putting two and two together. His betrayal wouldn’t be easilyforgiven.
I stood up at the sound of a key in the lock, my heart pounding as the door swung open. I relaxed upon seeing my older brother. Of course it was him—burglars didn’t unlock your front door with akey.
Brock walked in, already dressed in his suit for the funeral. His long hair was brushed and tucked behind his ears. His eyes landed on me, then dropped down to our sleepingbrother.
He rolled his neck. “I’ll take it fromhere.”
I brought Braden’s mug back to the kitchen and watched from the service hatch as Brock lifted the coffee table, moving it out of the way and walked behind the couch. He gripped it from the bottom and lifted, and Braden fell with a thud to thefloor.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, jumping up to glare atBrock.
“Keep your voice down, your nephew is sleeping,” Brock ordered, his expression hard. “Get your ass in the shower and getready.”
“I’m not fucking going,” Braden scowled, anger coming off him in waves. His fists were clenched to his side. His blue eyes were bloodshot and crazed. I almost gasped—he looked so much like our father that it made me feelnauseous.
“We talked about this already Braden. I get that you’re hurting—we’re all hurting. But you’re not missing this bloody funeral.” Brock’s tone was final. Braden glowered at him, sizing him up as if he actually planned to fighthim.
“I miss Grammy too.” Aiden’s little voice took us all by surprise, and we turned to look at him. He was standing in the narrow hallway, his eyes wide and fixed on Braden. “Mommy says we can say goodbye today. Grammy would be sad if you didn’t say bye, UncleBraden.”
The anger in my brother’s expression broke, leaving undiluted grief. He drew in a shaky breath. He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for a response that he didn’t have. The fight left his shoulders, and he wouldn’t meet any of our eyes as he passed us to head downstairs to his basementbedroom.
I pressed my fist against my heart, biting my lip to keep the tears from falling. Aiden’s gentle, empathetic nature never ceased to amazeme.
“Alright, Aiden, how about we get a bath running for you while your mom startsbreakfast?”
“I want scrambled eggs and Mommy always leaves the shells in,” Aiden replied, rubbing at his eyestiredly.
I flushed a deep shade of crimson. I didn’tintendto leave pieces of shells in the scrambled eggs, I just wasn’t a very good cook. Especially when it came to breakfastfoods.
“Okay, I’ll make you scrambled eggs,” Brock grinned, his eyes sparkling withhumour.
My embarrassment faded, and I allowed myself to feel this moment—to feel the hope in it. Our lives may have changed again, but my son was still smiling and cracking jokes. Sure, they were at my expense, but I’d takeit.
Travis
Iwas soscrewed.
I probably would have stood more of a chance if I hadn’t been lusting after her all these years, but she was the girl I could never have. Becky Miller, the younger sister of one of my bestfriends.
She was nothing like the other girls I knew. She didn’t want me for my money, or my fame. She wanted me because she knew who I was beyond the fame. She wanted me because she trusted me enough not to screw itup.
But I didn’t trustmyself.
I knew very little about Becky’s past. I knew that she was a single mom, and that the biological father of her son wasn’t involved. She needed someone who could handle that, and I wasn’t overly confident Icould.
