Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire

by Willow Winters

  After another prolonged moment of strained silence, Molly steps toward Brooklyn, hugging her. “I’m happy for you.” She meets my eyes, giving me a look that says everything she wants to but won’t, at least not in present company. Then she pulls back, releasing her hold on Brooklyn. “What time Friday?”

  “My appointment is at ten. On Newbury Street.”

  “Oh, fancy.” Molly waggles her eyebrows. “Do you want me to meet you at the café and we’ll go from there?”

  “I can pick you up at your house. No sense both of us driving into the city. Nine o’clock okay?”

  “You bet.” She hugs Brooklyn once more, then retreats, passing me another look before shifting her attention to Noah. “Let’s get going. It’s way past my bedtime.”

  “Says the woman who only a few months ago stayed up half the night writing.”

  She rubs her stomach. “That was before you knocked me up. Now all I want to do is sleep.”

  “Speaking of bedtimes,” I say before my girls can ask what their auntie Molly means by “knocked up”. “Come on, munchkins. Say goodnight to everyone.”

  “Can we stay up for ten more minutes?” Alyssa asks. “We’ll help clean.”

  “I’ve seen your version of cleaning. It usually entails making an even bigger mess. You’ve already stayed up an hour later than normal. So let’s go. I want butts in bed.”

  “We’ll leave you to fight this battle on your own,” Noah comments, holding out his hand.

  “Don’t worry,” I warn as we shake. “Your time’s coming. Better sleep all you can now. In a few months, you’ll wonder what sleep is.” I walk Molly and Noah toward the foyer, watching as they say goodbye to Alyssa and Charlotte. Then I scoop my two girls under either arm and carry them back into the kitchen. “Okay. Say goodnight to Auntie Brook, Aunt Gigi, and Uncle Leo.”

  “Goodnight,” they sing in unison. Everyone comes up to give them both a hug and kiss, then I carry them up the stairs, depositing them in Charlotte’s bedroom.

  I go through the normal routine of getting them ready for bed and reading a few books. After tucking Charlotte in, I leave her with a kiss on her forehead, then bring Alyssa into her own room.

  “Are you sad Auntie Brook’s marrying someone else?” she asks as she settles into her bed.

  I inhale a sharp breath, caught off guard by her question. “What makes you think that?”

  “I just do. I’m sad she’s marrying Wes.”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “He’s okay. But I wish she was marrying you.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Go to sleep, Lyss.” I stand and turn off the lamp on the bedside table.

  “Do you love her?”

  “Very much.” I don’t know why I answer so honestly.

  “Then why don’t you marry her?”

  “It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart.” I kiss her forehead one more time, inhaling. She still has that baby smell to her, even all these years later. “Now, go to sleep.”

  “Okay.” She snuggles beneath the covers. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, Lyss.” I head toward the doorway, pausing for a moment as I admire my daughter’s face. There’s nothing more satisfying than watching your child sleep peacefully, not a care in the world. It doesn’t matter how stressful the day was, the arguments you got into. At the end of the day, it’s not important.

  With a sigh, I close the door and head back down the stairs. The kitchen that was a disaster, covered with pasta, sauce, and breadcrumbs, now sparkles and gleams.

  “You didn’t have to clean up,” I say to Uncle Leo as he places the last plate in the dishwasher and starts it.

  He turns around and passes me a knowing look. “You understand how your aunt can be. Do you think it’s wise to tell her no?”

  I shake my head, feigning fear. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then you know why I had to clean.”

  “Ah, there you are,” Gigi calls out, turning the corner from the living room. I look over the area, all the toys normally scattered throughout neatly placed in the kids’ chests.

  “Are you ready to go?” Leo asks.

  “Yes. Go start the car. I’ll be right out.” She narrows her gaze at me. “I need a word with my nephew.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kisses my cheek, as he always does, then continues out of the kitchen.

  “Did Brook take off, too?” I shift my eyes around the space.

  She shakes her head, gesturing toward the French doors. I follow her line of sight, seeing Brooklyn sitting in front of the fire pit in my back yard, a glow coming from it.

  “My darling Andrew,” Gigi begins. I turn back to her. “You remind me so much of your father.” She cups my cheeks in her hands, forcing me to bend over to meet her short height. “Every day, I see more of him in you.” She stares at me, penetrating, before releasing her hold. “Before Alzheimer’s took his memories, he often spoke of his biggest regret.”

  “What was that?” I press, knowing too well where this conversation is going.

  “That he never put himself out there.”

  “He dated.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  “But he was never all in. He kept his heart guarded because of how much your mother hurt him.” She gestures outside once more.

  “Are you telling me to pursue a woman who’s engaged?” I ask in disbelief. It’s shocking my aunt, the devout Catholic she is, would advocate this course of action.

  “All I’m telling you is that regret is a bitch.”

  My eyes widen. My aunt never swears. To hear her use a word she normally won’t makes me realize how serious she is. This isn’t another ploy to play matchmaker as she’s been prone to do.

  “Don’t regret this. You have the power to stop it.”

  “But at a huge cost to her.” I shake my head. “I can’t hurt her more than I already have.”

  “Always so noble, my dear Andrew.” She stands on her toes and places one last kiss on my cheek. “I love you.” She turns around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dazed, I watch her leave, pondering her words for a moment. I fear this is a battle that will never be won, that it’s not a battle I want to win. Sure, my life isn’t remotely close to what I imagined it would be, but I’ve found my happiness. My girls are my happiness. That should be enough. Weren’t Molly and I enough for my father? Isn’t that why he never remarried? I wish he were still alive so I could ask him.

  When I hear the front door close, I draw in a deep breath and head toward the back patio off the kitchen. The instant I emerge outside, Brooklyn looks up, her eyes brightening when they fall on me.

  “Hey,” she says, running her hands down her jeans, looking away. “I hope you don’t mind I’m still here or that I started a fire.”

  “Of course not. You’re always more than welcome here.” I sit beside her, a little uneasy. “I’m sure your father would flip if you ever put a fire pit in at your place, so you may as well enjoy it here.”

  She laughs, the glow of the fire bringing attention to the blush building on her cheeks. I like to believe it’s my presence that does it, not the heat coming off the flames. “You can say that again.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s been a firefighter for over thirty years. In his opinion, everything’s a potential fire hazard, especially a fire pit.”

  I smile, looking at the flames dancing in front of us. The air is chilly, but the fire keeps us warm. I have to resist the urge to put my arm around her and pull her against my chest. I used to do that very thing whenever we sat out here. But that was before she was engaged. Before we almost kissed. Before I realized I’m not over her like I thought.

  “About yesterday…” Brooklyn’s voice cuts through the silence. I gaze at her, but she keeps her eyes glued to the fire. “And earlier…” She slowly lifts her eyes to mine. “It’s best if we pretend that never happened.” She swallows hard, her eyebrows squeezing together.

  “Is that what you want?”
/>
  “What I want is irrelevant.” Her tone is clipped. “What I need is for things to be the way they’ve always been. I don’t want there to be this awkwardness whenever I’m around because we almost kissed. Twice. In two days.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” I lean closer to her, my eyes intense. “Do. You. Regret. It?”

  She flounders, looking anywhere but at me. She doesn’t have to utter a single syllable. I have my answer. It’s almost like her brain wants her to say one thing, but her heart wants another. I should know. I feel like I’ve been going through that same thing for years.

  She jumps to her feet, heading toward the doors. “I should get going. It’s late and I have a busy week ahead of me.”

  I dart after her, blocking her escape with my wide stance. “Answer my question, Brooklyn. Do you regret almost kissing me?”

  Her breath hitches, her eyes glued to my chest. She could easily tell me yes, because that’s the ethical answer for a woman in her position. But that’s not who Brooklyn is. Unlike most women I’ve dated or slept with, Brooklyn’s honest, even if that honesty isn’t what people want to hear. After being in a marriage that was filled with nothing but lies, deceit, and betrayal, Brooklyn’s unwavering truthfulness has always been a welcome breath of fresh air.

  “I should,” she finally answers, lifting her eyes to mine.

  “But you don’t.” There’s a twinge of hope in my voice.

  She stares at me, neither confirming nor denying my statement.

  When she remains silent, I relax my stance. “If you don’t, maybe you need to re-evaluate why you’re marrying Wes, why you’re settling.” The impulsive side of me wants to tell her to call off her wedding, to convince her I can be everything she needs, that everything that’s been keeping us apart has just been a bunch of misunderstandings. But that impulsive side is what landed me in Vegas with a wedding band on my left hand, what brought me to the brink of kissing her twice this weekend, what took Brooklyn from me in the first place.

  “Not this again…” She sighs, trying to push past me, but I don’t let her.

  “Yes, this again.” I run my hands down her arms. “My reaction on Friday was immature. I recognize that. And I’m so sorry for what I said to you. But my thoughts on your engagement stand. We grew up together. We’ve stayed friends through everything. What happened to the Brooklyn who wanted to find her true love? Who wanted to find the man who would give her the stars and moon? Who would make her heart beat a little faster, her breath come a little quicker, her stomach flutter from the wings of a million tiny butterflies? Because I’ve seen you and Wes together. He doesn’t make your skin flush, doesn’t make you smile, doesn’t breathe life into those eyes.”

  “And you think you do?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. Isn’t that what you still want?”

  “Those things aren’t real. It’s time I stop trying to live out my adolescent dreams and live in the real world.”

  I shake my head, unable to believe the words I’m hearing. They don’t sound like the Brooklyn I know…or who I thought I knew. “What happened to you, Brooklyn?” I ask in a soft voice, fearing the answer.

  “Nothing.” She exhales a defeated sigh, then pinches her lips together. Her gaze floats to mine. “Some of us have to settle for good enough. And that’s okay. Because with real love comes real risk.”

  “Risk of what?” I press, my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  She looks forward, her mouth forming a tight line in steely determination. “Of having your heart broken in such a way you’ll never find all the pieces to put them back together.” She meets my gaze, a few unshed tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Settling is better for all involved. Good night, Drew.”

  I hesitate for a moment, then reluctantly release my hold on her, letting her go once more.

  Chapter Twelve

  BROOKLYN

  I stare out the front window of my house Wednesday morning, a cup of coffee in one hand, my free arm over my stomach. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here. Long enough to watch one of my neighbors leave to drop her kids off at school, stop at Starbucks, then return home. From experience, the wait for a coffee on a weekday at the neighborhood caffeine dealer is easily ten minutes. Add the time sitting in the school drop-off line and we’re looking at around twenty minutes, if not more. But I can’t stop peering out the front window. I like this neighborhood. The houses are quaint, set on tiny lots, but there’s a charm to it. My two-bedroom townhouse isn’t much, but I paid for it on my own. Am I ready to leave this place I’ve turned into a home?

  “Morning.” Wes’ voice startles me and I jump. Recovering quickly, I force my lips into a small smile as he makes his way toward me from the foot of the staircase.

  His dark hair is damp from a shower and he’s dressed in his normal attire—black suit, conservative tie, crisp white shirt. He leans down, kissing my cheek, his face smooth from a recent shave. He couldn’t be any more different from Drew if he tried. Perhaps that’s why I dated him in the first place.

  Where Drew forgoes the routine haircut, Wes goes every Friday during lunch. He shaves every day, sometimes more than once. If the Bruins make the playoffs, Drew won’t shave until they’re eliminated. I chuckle to myself, wondering how Mrs. Bradford will react if the team keeps playing like it has been. I can imagine the horror on her face if Drew shows up at the wedding with a big, bushy beard.

  “What’s so funny?” Wes asks as he turns from me, heading toward my small kitchen to prepare his morning cup of coffee. It’s strange to have him in my house, using my things. He spends the night on occasion, but he’s typically gone by the time I get back from my morning workout. I prefer it that way. We don’t feel obligated to sit together over a cup of coffee and pretend we have something to talk about. At least when we’re out to dinner, I can people-watch to distract me. But here, the lack of connection to the man I agreed to marry suffocates me.

  “Nothing.” I head to the kitchen table and sit. “I was just thinking of something Molly said yesterday,” I lie. It’s uncomfortable discussing Drew with Wes. What if he’s able to see through the front I’ve been putting up for months…years?

  “Oh geez.” He takes the seat next to me, pulling out his smart phone and tapping at the screen. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “You probably don’t.”

  Silence settles between us, as awkward as a cow on roller skates. It shouldn’t be like this. We should be comfortable with each other, not trying to fill the stiff silence with meaningless conversation.

  “Looking forward to dress shopping later this week?”

  “Can we not discuss the wedding?” I float my eyes to his, disappointment shrouding his expression. “It’s not that I’m not excited,” I assure him quickly. “I am.” I shift my gaze, staring at my half-drunk coffee. “But that’s the only thing we’ve talked about all weekend. At least the one day I saw you this weekend anyway.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” His voice oozes with sincerity and he grabs my hand. Bringing it toward his mouth, he places a soft kiss on my knuckles before releasing it. “Things at the firm are crazy right now. We were just awarded a contract to design and construct a multi-million dollar hotel in Dubai. It’s going to require a lot of extra hours from me, considering all the time I’ll have to take off for the wedding.”

  His phone dings and I spy an incoming text pop up. Not wanting to pry, I sip my coffee, but can’t help noticing the wide grin cross his lips as he reads it, his eyes darkening. He clicks his screen off, then rises from his chair.

  “Speaking of which, I should get going.”

  “Want to come over tonight?” I ask as he collects his commuter bag from where he left it by the staircase. “Or want me to go to your place? We can grab something to eat—”

  “I wish I could,” he interrupts. “I already ducked out of work e
arly yesterday to meet you for dinner.”

  I bite back my response, thinking he makes it sound like I’m someone he has to spend time with, like I’m just another item on his lengthy to-do list. His words at the country club were so sweet and heartfelt. Now, ever since getting back from his impromptu trip to Florida, he seems like a different person. I try to shake the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I made the wrong decision. Shouldn’t we be growing closer together instead of feeling like the divide is widening? This is why I’d hoped for a long engagement, so we would have the time to strengthen our bond before walking down that aisle. Or maybe I’m looking for any reason this isn’t the right path for me.

  Wes is a good man. He’s always been devoted and caring. He loves his family and his job. I can’t fault him for wanting to ensure the success of his projects. My career is my priority, too. At least I’m trying to see him more than once a week for dinner and sex, though.

  “I need to make up for that lost time.” His voice brings me back to the present. “Plus, I have to give up my weekend for the photo shoot Mom’s arranged. I promise, it’ll get better after the wedding.”

  Once he shrugs on his jacket, he heads back toward me, giving me a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I’ll text you.” No I love you. No attempts to squeeze me into his busy schedule, even if for just a coffee. Only a promise to text me, as one would promise an acquaintance. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

  I watch him head toward the foyer. As he’s about to walk out the door, he pauses, facing me. I perk up, thinking maybe he’s had a change of heart, that he’s going to suggest something incredibly romantic that will reaffirm why I said yes to his proposal.

  “I left my suit from yesterday upstairs. Can you drop it at the cleaners by my house sometime today? I’ll be working late and won’t have time to get there.”

  His words are like ice on my momentary feeling of hope. “And you assume I have nothing better to do than run your errands for you?” I shoot back, my tone harsh.

  “Your work takes you all over the city.”