“Let me see.” Noah reaches for my hand, taking it in his.
I’ve always liked him, but right now, I want nothing more than to push him away so I can continue to feel Brooklyn’s skin on mine. Nothing has ever felt so damn perfect.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about her this way? She’s engaged. Engaged. Not just dating someone. I shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought of flirting with her, not after what I went through with Carla.
Noah pulls me toward the sink, running my hand under the water to wash away the blood. Once it’s clean, he brings it back up to his eyes, surveying the slashes and cuts with the analytical eyes of the doctor he is. Then he grabs a clean towel, wrapping it around my hand.
“Looks to be a few superficial wounds. No glass got in the cuts. Nothing requiring stitches. Just cover it with some bandages and change them regularly. Do you have a first aid kit here? Or I can grab my bag from the car.”
“I’ve got one,” I reply, pulling my hand from his. “It’s just a few scratches. I’m fine.” I turn, keeping my head lowered, the heat of everyone’s stare on me as I round the corner and duck into the bathroom.
Once alone, I inhale deeply, closing my eyes. The instant I do, Brooklyn’s coquettish smile flashes before me and I curse under my breath.
I’m in over my head. But I’d rather drown with Brooklyn than live without her. This time, there’s no overbearing father to threaten me if I were to pursue his teenaged daughter…just a wedding.
Chapter Ten
BROOKLYN
Silence fills the space as we all watch Drew disappear down the hallway. I assume everyone’s looking at him, but when I turn around, they’re all staring at me. My lips part, my gaze searching theirs, eyes blinking repeatedly.
“What?” I ask sheepishly, the way they’re gawking making me feel like I’m naked in public.
Molly’s lips form a tight line as she gives me a knowing look, placing a hand on her hip. “You know what. I was watching you two.” She steps closer, her voice a low whisper. “You were flirting with him.”
My face heats as I lower my head. “I was not,” I insist, but there’s no conviction in my voice. I was flirting with Drew. I don’t know what came over me. It wasn’t my intention at all. After our near-kiss at the rink yesterday, then Wes’ heartfelt words making the guilt fester inside me, I resolved to do everything in my power to stop thinking of Drew this way. To stop looking at his lips and the way they move every time he speaks. The way his eyes light up every time I walk into a room. The way a charge fills me the instant I inhale his woodsy scent.
But when I walked into his house and overheard the tail end of their conversation, something happened. The way he spoke, the fever, the passion… Part of me is desperate for more of that. The other part reminds me what awaits me on the other side of that passion. Heartache. Confusion. Inadequacy.
“Oh, really?” Molly arches a brow. I scan the rest of the assembled crowd. Gigi wears a similar expression to Molly’s, whereas Leo and Noah seem interested only because their better halves are. Thankfully, Alyssa and Charlotte still play off in the family room, not listening in on our conversation. After their questions Friday night, it would only confuse them.
“Yes. Really.” I straighten my spine, then offer a slight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check to see if he needs any help.” I spin, heading down the hallway where Drew just disappeared.
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She laughs. I simply shake my head, not responding. I know how it looks, but I do want to check on Drew, make sure he’s okay, make sure we’re okay. I can’t help but wonder if the hand injury is punishment for failing to reconcile our differences yesterday, as Gigi would probably have us believe.
Just as I approach the open door to the guest bathroom, Drew’s deep voice sounds. “Molly, I’m not in the mood for your snarky comments or crazy theories about why I broke a wine glass. It was just an accident.”
My lips curve and I lean on the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. “Really?”
Once he hears my voice, he flings his eyes toward me. They’re wide, shocked, flustered. I chew on my bottom lip, the mere sight of him sending my heart into overdrive. The tension between us mounts as we simply stare at each other. He’s nervous. Much more nervous than I ever remember him being around me. It’s adorable and chips away at the ice his past actions have built around my heart.
When the strain becomes almost unbearable, I burst into a hearty laugh. God, it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this hard, this full-belly, gut-wrenching laugh that gives my abs a workout. Wes has certainly never made me laugh like this, never made me smile like this. And I want to laugh again, smile again. That should be the only clue I need to tell me maybe I’m jumping into things with Wes too quickly. But as I meet Drew’s eyes, ones that have only disappointed me in the past, I’m reminded exactly why I chose Wes. How can I ever learn to fully trust Drew when I’m still coughing up water from the last time he allowed me to sink below the surface?
Reaching for his hand, I grab a cotton ball from one of the canisters on the counter and dab at the blood. “I shouldn’t laugh, but it was kind of funny.” I lift my eyes to his. “I like to think it was karma paying you back for making me put on a pair of skates.”
I rub a little antibacterial ointment over the wounds, making Drew wince in pain. It’s endearing to know he’s not this macho man, unaffected by anything. But I’ve always known this. Drew’s suffered innumerable injuries during his hockey career. I was often there to tend to his wounds then, even when we were kids. But it never felt like this, not that I can remember. Something about taking care of him now, of the heat in his eyes as he watches my every move, makes me want to forget the past.
My cheeks flush as I attend to his cuts, placing gauze over his palm and wrapping it. The feel of his hand in mine stirs something I’ve been trying to forget for years now. Something I hoped Wes’ proposal would help me bury, never to be resurrected again.
When I lift my head, I notice he’s staring at my lips. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I am. I clear my throat and he brings his eyes back to mine. I give him a knowing look, making it clear with my expression I caught him ogling my mouth.
“You’ll be fine,” I say, my fingers lighting over the bandage. I should release my hold on him, but I can’t. He makes no move to pull his hand back, either. “Don’t get into any fights and try not to crush any more wine glasses with your pure brute strength.” I wink, enjoying this playfulness between us. This is what I need right now. For things to be the way they were when we were kids, although I doubt we’ll ever be able to return to that again.
“What can I say?” He peers down at me, bringing his body closer to mine. I swallow hard, the buzz building between us. Enclosed in this small space, I can’t avoid it. His voice turns deep, throaty, husky. “You bring out a side of me I never knew existed.”
“Drew…,” I caution, but don’t tear my gaze from his like I normally would.
“Shouldn’t that be worth something? Shouldn’t that mean something?” He leans closer.
I stare at him, shaking my head. I want to tell him it’s not, that it doesn’t, but my brain can’t form the words. As I inhale his scent, allow myself to be consumed by his proximity, I’m transported years into my past. For a moment, I forget about the pain and hurt he’s caused me. Of all the times he’s made me promises, then broke them. Of all the times he made me feel invisible. The way he’s looking at me right now makes me feel like I’m the only woman he’s ever seen.
“Drew,” I say again, licking my lips. My tone is no longer cautioning but pleading. For what? I’m not sure. I know this is wrong, but I can’t stop myself from erasing the distance between us. It’s like our mouths are two magnets, drawn to each other, a force outside our control urging us together.
“You want this, Brooklyn. I know you do,” he m
urmurs. The timbre of his voice forces an electric current to run through my body. I’m no longer thinking about the possible repercussions of kissing Drew. In this time and space, none of that matters. It’s just us. Nothing else. All I want is to feel his lips on mine again, to experience the passion I’ve been missing in my life for years, to have him consume me completely, even if for just a moment.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to walk away.”
His hand lands on my hip, tugging me against him. I whimper, the heat of his body against mine causing fireworks to erupt in my core. I can feel how much he wants me, how much he needs me. It’s unmistakable. And I want him, too, even though I know he should stop. I should stop. I’m the one with so much at stake here. He’s at risk of losing nothing. I’m at risk of losing everything.
“Tell me,” he begs once more.
“I… I can’t.”
“Oh, Brooklyn.” His voice comes out like a growl as his hand goes to my hair, fisting it, forcing my head back. The way he holds me is possessive, controlling, endearing. Wes has never held me as if he has an animalistic need to claim me, mark me as his.
His eyes fiery, he erases the final distance between our lips at the same time as there’s a knock on the doorframe. We both jump away from each other, snapping our heads to see Aunt Gigi standing there.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“We’ll be right there,” Drew clips back through a tight jaw.
She lifts her brows, her eyes darting between us. My face reddens in embarrassment that she caught us in this compromising position, especially considering how devoutly Catholic she is. She gives me one last look, then retreats.
Drew turns back to me, but I keep my eyes lowered, ashamed that we’d almost kissed yet again. How could I let him cast a spell over me so easily that I would dishonor the commitment I made to Wes? And it’s not just a commitment to be his girlfriend anymore. I’ve agreed to be his wife. I can’t hurt him like this anymore.
I won’t hurt him like this.
“We should go eat.” I push past Drew, not looking back. “Don’t want to keep your aunt waiting.”
Chapter Eleven
DREW
“How about Flynn?” Alyssa asks as we sit around the table after finishing the feast of pasta that is our traditional Sunday evening dinner.
“Flynn?” Molly arches a brow in her direction.
The entire meal was filled with conversation about what Alyssa and Charlotte thought Molly should name her baby, since she found out she’s having a boy last week. Some were outrageous, and I marveled at their imaginations. Thankfully, as if everyone knows better, there’s not one mention of Brooklyn’s engagement or the wedding. We’ve resumed our regular routine, acting like nothing has changed.
Alyssa nods enthusiastically. “It’s a great name. That’s what you should name our cousin.”
“That wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain character from a certain Disney movie who you find dreamy, would it?” Molly teases.
“I don’t think he’s dreamy,” Alyssa shoots back.
“Yes, you do,” Charlotte pesters in a way only a little sister can. I should know. Molly did it to me when we were their age. Come to think of it, she still does. “You told me you can’t wait to find a Flynn Rider of your very own.”
Laughter breaks out around the table as everyone looks at me to gauge my reaction to this news.
I narrow my gaze on Alyssa, all brown curls and toothy grin. “You’re never dating, so don’t get any ideas.”
“But what about Kenny?”
“Who?”
“Kenny. He’s been going to school with me for, like, ever.”
“You’re eight. You’ve only been going to school for three years. Not to mention, you just started at your current school last year.”
“Right.” She looks at me with all the seriousness she can muster. “That’s a wicked long time.”
“Wicked? Where did you learn that?”
“We do live in Boston,” Brooklyn reminds me under her breath. I shift my eyes to hers from across the table. They’re the first words she’s spoken to me since running away after we almost kissed. The tension between us during dinner has been thick, but no one seems to have noticed. Or maybe they did but kept it to themselves. “Everything’s wicked here.”
“Exactly,” Alyssa agrees.
“And what is going on with you and Kenny?” I return my attention to her.
“He likes me.”
“You’re too young for a boy to like you.”
“I like him back.”
I bury my head in my hands. First, the discussion about how the baby got in Molly’s belly, and now this. I love watching my little girls grow up, but it’s happening too fast.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he picked me first for volleyball.”
“That’s it?”
She shrugs. “Isn’t that what you do when you like someone? You put them first? Like how Uncle Noah takes time off from work to go to Auntie Molly’s doctor appointments.”
“Yes, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“For one, they’re both adults. You’re only eight. That’s far too young to like a boy.”
“Did you like Auntie Brook when you were eight?”
I do my best to keep my expression even and not react to her question. “That’s not the same thing.”
“But you did, didn’t you?” Alyssa pushes. For the first time, I regret raising such a headstrong, independent little girl. I’ve always been awed by how smart and perceptive she is, but today, it will be my undoing, particularly with this line of questioning.
“Well…yes. I’ve always liked your auntie Brooklyn.” My brown eyes meet soft green ones from across the table. I hold her gaze. “And I always will.”
“Then I can like Kenny,” Alyssa retorts matter-of-factly, ignoring the obvious shift at the table as Brooklyn and I stare at each other. The electricity is back, the spark and sensation of breathlessness. I wonder if she feels it, too. How can she not?
When I sense several pairs of curious eyes on me, I tear my gaze from Brooklyn’s, taking a long sip of my wine. “I am so not ready for this.”
“No one ever is,” Uncle Leo assures me, tipping his glass toward me.
“On that note,” Molly interrupts. “I’m exhausted and want to crawl into bed.” She rises from the chair, Noah jumping to his feet to help her. “This kid is taking a lot out of me lately.”
“You’re a trooper.” Noah leans down and kisses her nose. “And the most stunning pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.”
“And you’re the best baby daddy I could ask for,” she jokes, beaming. I can always count on my sister to make light of a serious or tender moment.
“Before you go,” Brooklyn pipes up, standing from her chair. “Do you have time to go dress shopping this week?” Her voice lacks the enthusiasm it should have when discussing the prospect of choosing a wedding dress. I shouldn’t read too much into it, but everything about this engagement seems off. “Mrs. Bradford was able to get me an appointment on Friday.”
“Friday?” Molly furrows a brow. “Don’t you have to work?”
“I’ll have to move some things around, but—”
“What’s the rush? I’m happy to go, but I know how important your cases are to you. I can’t remember the last time you took a day off.”
“Yes, well…” She fidgets with her shirt, chewing on her lower lip. “We’ve set a date,” she announces after a brief hesitation. She remains motionless, gauging our reactions.
“That’s wonderful news, dear,” Aunt Gigi says, flashing her eyes to me, almost in warning. “When’s the big day?”
“I hope you’ve picked one that gives me enough time to lose some of this baby weight.” Molly gestures to her stomach, laughing. I expect Brooklyn to at least smile, but her apprehension only heightens.
“That’s not going to be possible.” She lowers her head
, her voice becoming softer. “We’re getting married June ninth.”
Everyone seems to zero in on Brooklyn at that moment, me included. Silence settles in the room, a stark contrast to the usual boisterous ruckus that fills this space every Sunday during our family dinner.
“Of this year?” Molly says after the shock of the news wears off.
Brooklyn smiles, but it wavers. “I was just as wary of it as you are. Probably more so. But after thinking about it, it’s for the best.”
“The best?” I ask, having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that Brooklyn will be getting married in a matter of months. Why is she rushing into this?
“Yes.” She holds her head higher. “My PhD program starts this fall. I’ll still be working full-time, as well. I can’t plan a wedding on top of that. And my studies will only become more intense during the course of my program. I don’t want to wait three or four years to marry Wes. His mother wants us to get married at the country club. They had a few cancelations. One was around Molly’s due date in August.” She nods at my sister. “I refused. There’s no way I’m getting married without you by my side.” She turns back to address the rest of us. “The other option was June ninth. I know it’s rushed, but like I said, it really is for the best.”
She straightens her back, her expression fixed. It sounded like she was delivering a recommendation to the court on the disposition of one of her cases, not like she just set a date to marry the man she should be excited to start a life with. Why does she think it’s for the best? I can’t wrap my head around this.
Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire Page 99