“What?” she asked, laughing again.
“Bryn, will you marry me?” I asked.
She stared at me for a few seconds, and tears pooled under her eyes. As they started slipping down her cheeks, she laughed like she couldn’t settle on what emotion she was feeling. She leaned forward and gave me a playful smack on the arm.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “This isn’t a funny joke if you’re just doing this because that was so good.”
“I will not argue with you on that point, but, no, I’m not joking. I am completely serious. I love you more than I could ever put into words, and I want to spend the rest of my life rolling off of beds and couches, drinking coffee with you, and experiencing everything that this world has to offer us. I want to be a family and to enjoy all of it with you. I even want to do all the things I won’t enjoy. I want to be mad, and sad, and sick, and frustrated. I want to do all of those things, because they would mean we were living our life together. So, I’m going to ask you again. Bryn, will you marry me?”
She pounced on me, landing in my lap with her legs around me, kissing me all over. In between kisses along the sides of my neck and all over my face, she said yes. I wrapped my arms tight around her and kissed her back, laughing. Then I leaned back and put my hands on either side of her big belly.
“Did you hear that?” I asked, dipping my head down to kiss the swell. “Mommy and Daddy are getting married.”
Bryn laughed and shook her head. “I don’t think he cares.”
“That’s okay. I do.”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled at me. “Getting your practice in already?”
I swept her up and dropped her onto the bed for round two.
We kept the news to ourselves for the rest of the day. It was nice to be able to revel in it just the two of us, savoring the moment, celebrating, and just enjoying each other. There was no need to pick up the phone and call my family to let them know. The next day was Sunday, which meant we would all be getting together for our normal family dinner.
It would be the perfect opportunity to give them the news. Not only would we all be together, so we would only have to make one announcement rather than go through several rounds of phone calls, but we would also be able to tell them in person and get their reactions. That was one of the many little life lessons I was learning from Bryn. Some things you don’t do over the phone.
Besides, I had a feeling she wanted to have a bit more control over the reveal of our impending wedding than she did with her pregnancy announcement. She still hadn’t lived that down in the family. Over the last six months, she had become a regular attendee at the family dinners, and every couple of weeks one of my brothers would come up with a way to tease her for the news bursting out of her like it did.
It was all in good fun, and I could tell it didn’t really bother her. She liked that they accepted her and wanted her to feel like one of us. But it would also be good for a change to be able to make an announcement together, when everyone was ready to hear it.
I was particularly looking forward to seeing how my mother was going to react. We all already knew she was more than happy to be involved with the wedding planning. Considering her attempting to plan a wedding for Bryn and me whether we liked it or not, or if we were even together or not, we knew she would be excited. I wanted to see how happy she was going to be.
There was definitely something to be said about a mother’s intuition. We didn’t even have a chance to say we had news to share with everybody before Mom asked what was going on. Bryn and I had been at Quentin’s house for less than three minutes when Mom rushed up and rubbed her belly, talking to the baby boy inside for a few seconds, then looked up at us.
“Alright, you two. What is it? What’s going on?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “We just got here.”
She eyed me suspiciously and walked back over to Dad. I looked at Bryn.
“I guess we should probably just go ahead and tell them before dinner. Mom already knows something’s up. If we don’t tell them now, we’re going to end up with her guessing and spilling it herself.”
Bryn agreed and we stood right there on the deck, looking out over our ever-growing family, and told them we were getting married. Just like I expected, everyone cheered and rushed to hug and congratulate us. Mom was the only one who didn’t immediately run forward. She was too busy crying.
“Mom?” I finally said. “What do you think?”
She looked up at us. “I still have all the magazines.”
Bryn burst into a combination of laughter and tears. She was the one who ran forward to throw her arms around Mom.
We didn’t stay at the dinner as late as we usually did. At this point in her pregnancy, Bryn was getting tired much more easily. I wanted her to rest as much as she could. I was planning on taking plenty of time off when the baby came, and she had already stopped working. We would be taking care of the baby together, but that meant we were probably going to be tired together. And there were things I couldn’t do, including finishing up the pregnancy and delivering the baby. She deserved the rest.
When we got back home, I found a note tucked into the doorframe. I read it and laughed.
“What is it?” Bryn asked.
“Gabe’s friend Clint, the police officer, has been keeping an eye on Justin. And he finally got caught. It took all this time, but he finally fell on his face.” I handed her a scan of his police record. “He was trying to fleece an older widow.”
Bryn laughed and kissed me. “You know what? I don’t even care. I’m not mad anymore. I’ve got you.”
The End
Book Five - Millionaire Best Friend
1
Maya
I reached into the bag of flour in front of me and grabbed another handful. Sprinkling it across the table, I plopped the mound of what I hoped would eventually become a pie crust down in the middle of it. A poof of flour rose up in the air, and I tilted back to prevent it from getting all over me.
I glanced over into the kitchen to look at the clock on the oven. Marshall would be home in about two hours. This gave me just enough time to finish up my battle with the pie crust, fill it, and get it in the oven.
With any luck, it would just be ready to slide out golden, brown, and impressive when he walked through the door. I already had a clean, fresh apron waiting to be put on so that my appearance might look effortless instead of appearing well-greased and ready for seasoning.
The whole effect was supposed to be cute. We had just moved in together a few weeks before, and I was trying to seem domestic. I wanted Marshall to come home, and see me holding a freshly baked pie. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to resist me. I had a whole scenario going on in my head, and if I could just get this crust to work out for me, it would be perfect.
I had certainly never been the sweet and demure housewife type. And that is exactly was what was supposed to make it so funny. Marshall and I moving in together with a huge step. I had never lived with another guy before. We had been together for three years, and people were always asking us when we were going to settle down and get married.
At twenty-three years old, I wasn’t exactly inching toward my expiration date. In fact, I had never even seriously thought about marriage. Marshall and I were just living our lives, seeing where it took us. Moving in together was a sign that things were actually serious, and we had a future together.
It was a little scary when he asked me. I was used to taking care of myself, and the idea of sharing everything with him all the time was a bit intimidating. I wasn’t sure how it was going to feel to depend on him as much as myself. Especially considering he pointed out his apartment was bigger, so I should move into his place instead of him into mine.
But the prospect of a new adventure was exciting, so I decided to jump straight in. Over the last few weeks, I had been doing my best to settle in and make it my home, too. I was looking forward to him coming home an
d sampling my pie. Maybe he would get the dirty little joke.
Finally, the crust started cooperating, and I was able to roll it out and transfer it into a pan. I grabbed a can of cherry pie filling.
I put the pie into the oven and went into the bedroom to try to clean myself up. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to put my fresh apron on when I heard the front door open. Looking over the clock, I saw it was a whole hour before Marshall was supposed to come home. I scurried out into the kitchen and found him staring at the dining room table still covered with a couple of inches of flour and wayward pieces of dough stuck to the wood.
“I’ll clean that up,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“What happened in here?” he asked.
“It was supposed to be a surprise, but since you decided to come home early, I’ll have to tell you. I baked you a cherry pie. Homemade crust and everything. Why are you home early?” I went up to him and looped my arms around his neck. “Not that I’m complaining.”
I rose up on the balls of my feet to give him a kiss, but Marshall took hold of my wrist and stepped back slightly from me.
“Maya, we need to talk.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about the table. It looks like a much bigger mess than it actually is. Plus, the pie is going to be worth it.” I gave him a cheeky look. “The dessert will probably be delicious, too.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. “Maya, really. Come sit down.” He moved my arms away from his neck and rested them down by my sides.
The humor drained out of me, and my heart started pounding a little. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer, but walked into the living room. I followed him and sat on the couch. He sat at the other end, purposely putting the entire middle cushion between us.
“Maya, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. It’s over,” he said.
And that was it. No explanation. No lead-up. Not even a half-assed attempt to let me down easy by using a bunch of euphemisms and flowery language. He didn’t even tell me it was him and not me, or that he was setting me free to fly. Just that it was over.
And now I was really glad I used canned cherry pie filling.
I stared at him in utter disbelief. “What do you mean, it’s over? I just moved in with you.”
He looked down at his hands, drumming his fingers together, then straightening and flexing them like he had never seen them before. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. We had been together for three years. I wasn’t just a one-night stand who was getting too clingy and he wanted to oust from his house. It wasn’t even a flash-in-the-pan relationship that got too serious, too quick.
This was three years of our lives. To a lot of people, we’d moved slowly. Several of our friends had met, dated, gotten engaged, and gotten married during the time of our relationship. One pair was even raising their first child. We were just getting to the moving-in stage, and I thought things were going really well between us. But suddenly, Marshall was pulling the plug without any explanation.
“I know,” he said.
Suddenly the man who loved to hear himself speak and could babble on for hours about whatever topic randomly sparked his interest was the quintessential man of few words.
“How could you do this to me?” I asked. “We’ve been together for three years. You asked me to move in with you. You insisted I move into your apartment with you. I gave up my place so I could come live here. I work for your father. What am I supposed to do?”
He kept staring at his fingers. “I’m going to go somewhere else tonight, and I’ll stay out of the apartment for the day tomorrow so you can get your stuff together.”
And then he was gone. Not another word. He just got right up and walked out of the apartment. I sat there on the couch for a while, half expecting him to come back in and tell me it was some sort of really bad joke. Only it didn’t make any damn sense, and he wasn’t exactly the joking kind.
He left me sitting there confused as hell, barely even knowing what I was supposed to do next. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there, but the smell of burning pie crust was what finally snapped me out of my daze and got me up off the couch.
A couple minutes later, I stood in the kitchen holding the blackened pie, staring down at the crust I had worked so hard to make. If I was a more sentimental and poetic person, I would probably find some sort of parallel between the ruined pie and our relationship.
I tossed the pie into the trash and went into the bedroom. Something occurred to me the second I walked in and I headed for Marshall’s dresser. Opening it, I found each of the drawers partially empty, like articles of clothing had gradually migrated out and ended up somewhere else. I didn’t even notice before.
Slamming the drawer closed, I stripped down, changed into pajamas, and toppled into bed. The next morning, I was just as confused as I was when he walked out. Maybe even more. Part of me still thought he would come back. Maybe he would show up in the middle of the night and say he’d had a momentary freak-out, but came to his senses and everything was fine.
Yet when morning came, the apartment was still empty and quiet.
It was really over. At some point, I didn’t even notice. Marshall had jumped off the relationship train and just left me to careen into disaster all by myself. Forcing myself to swallow it all down and look at the situation with stoic logic, I took a shower and started packing. I stuffed my clothes, toiletries, books, and kitchen stuff into my luggage. I stuffed whatever I could find that I thought might be mine into any boxes and bags around and tossed it into the bed of the pickup truck my dad left me when he died.
I should have just gotten in the truck and driven away right then. I was still feeling pretty calm and might have managed to get out of the whole debacle without falling apart. But instead, I decided I needed to go back inside. Though it had only been my home for a few weeks, it was where Marshall and I had spent a considerable amount of our time together for the last three years.
Seeing it stripped of the reminders of me hit me hard. I stood there in the middle of the living room, reminiscing about where my pictures and trinkets used to be displayed fondly, remembering that I had cleared out a section of shelves to put my books when I moved in. I felt so alone. Tears stung the backs of my eyes. I wanted to just stand there and cry. But I wasn’t going to. Not right then, at least.
I deserved more than just a one-sentence breakup. After everything we had gone through together, Marshall needed to find the courage and tell me why he’d ended things with me. Even though I had a pretty good idea of it, considering the great exodus of his clothes. I needed and deserved that closure.
I left the apartment for the last time and got in the truck, heading right for the cabinet warehouse. It used to be wonderful that Marshall and I worked together at his father’s company. It meant we got to see each other during the day and eat lunch together. For most of our relationship, we worked the same shifts and could even ride in together.
When our shifts changed a month ago and we no longer lined up, I didn’t think anything of it. Now I couldn’t help but wonder about that as well. I knew that was where he would be. He wouldn’t be able to avoid me, so I could confront him there and get the answers I needed.
My stomach sank when I got to the warehouse and the receptionist told me Marshall was in his father’s office. He never went in his father’s office. In fact, most of the time he did whatever he could to not associate with his father during work. He always said he didn’t want to look like he only got anywhere because of his dad.
I walked into the office and quickly discovered Marshall’s sharp and to-the-point breakup technique was inherited. His father’s firing technique was pretty much the same.
2
Greg
It felt so good to be back at the compound. And I wasn’t just glad to be here to support Darren. I missed everything about the environment, too. I was going to go crazy if I had to stay away from the track any l
onger. I had spent the last several months recovering from a nasty broken leg, and focusing on recovery had pretty much had taken up the majority of my time.
This accident had been the most terrifying moment of my life. As a racer, I knew it was a possibility that inevitably occupied the back of my mind. Nobody goes out onto a track believing they are invincible. If you choose to climb onto the back of a motorcycle and go in ovals at top speeds, you never think you are completely safe.
There were always risks. There was always the chance something could go wrong. All we could do was make sure our bikes were in the best condition possible, and train as hard as we could. I had done all of that. I worked my ass off on the track, trying to get the best I could.
It was a huge deal when the Freeman family asked me to race for their team. This was a dream of any rider in Charlotte. The Freeman family was legendary. Even more so since the oldest son, Quentin, had taken over for his father. They were already well-known, but with Quentin’s dedication and the impressive skill of the youngest brother, Darren, the company’s success had skyrocketed.
And they wanted me to race with them. From the beginning, I, myself, am a man who has been satisfied with just to working on their bikes. Just having the opportunity to be around them and a small part of the success of the team was already a dream come true. Then came the fateful day when Darren asked if I rode.
It sounded so dramatic when I put it that way, but it was the truth. Darren and I were good friends by that point, and it was still an honor for him to ask me to show him what I could do. I never imagined he would be so impressed by me that he would suggest I start training to race. He went to bat for me with the family, and before I knew it, I was out on the practice track every day, polishing my skills.
The day I debuted in an actual race was one of the greatest of my life. Possibly the greatest. The rush was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, even better than I could have imagined. I didn’t win, but I didn’t care. I didn’t expect to. Ranking in the top five was a huge accomplishment. It gave me a taste of what it felt like to overcome all those other men and sail over the finish line with them behind me. It made me want more. So, I worked harder. I trained more. I pushed farther. I got better, ranked higher.
The Freeman Brothers: A Secret Baby Romance Collection Page 85