by Sienna Blake
Stopping at the coffee pot, I made myself a cup with extra sugar and just a splash of milk. I told myself not to stare, but I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off Aogán. His features had changed little in the last few years—he still had that strong jawline, broad shoulders, and stubble along his jaw that matched his short black hair, making him undeniably handsome.
The difference could be seen in his bright blue eyes. They were hard, lacking any warmth or laughter whatsoever. That wasn’t the Aogán I knew. As the oldest brother, he had always been a serious person, bearing the weight of responsibility even when we were much younger, almost being a second parent to the other two boys. But he had also been kind. Caring. Thoughtful. That was the reason he was the first boy I ever had a crush on.
After everything I’d been through, I thought I’d have thicker skin, but Aogán’s coldness stung more than I liked.
I wanted to sit at the table with him. Laugh with him, reach out and touch his hand and tell him that I’d missed him, that I’d thought about him and our kiss every day since I left. But I knew that was just a fantasy.
I stuck my head in the refrigerator to hide a sudden prickle of tears and took my time scanning the contents. “You hungry?” I asked when I felt composed enough.
“Famished,” came Donncha’s voice from behind me.
“How about a fry-up?” I asked, already reaching for the meats and eggs I would need.
“Perfect,” Donncha said as he reached around me and grabbed the jug of milk. The smell of his cologne, a rich combination of spice and sandalwood, washed over me, and I inhaled deeply as discreetly as I could. I turned to place the breakfast ingredients on the counter and caught sight of the sweater Donncha was wearing.
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that is hideous,” I said, staring at the ugliest Christmas sweater I had ever seen. It was green and covered in snowflakes and candy canes. There was a huge Santa face on the front in the middle of his chest, and the effect was bright, obnoxious, and absolutely perfect.
Donncha shrugged, his smile wide and unapologetic. It reached his eyes and highlighted his handsomeness. “Just trying to get in the holiday spirit.”
He looked just like his big brother, with the same blue eyes and sharp jawline, but there was a boyish quality to him. Where Aogán had creases between his brows, Donncha had laughter lines. He kept his face shaved smooth and his dark brown hair was longer, so that he kept having to brush it off his forehead. I had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the thick strands. I turned back to the refrigerator and filled my hands with tomatoes and mushrooms so that I wouldn’t be tempted.
Donncha poured himself a glass of milk before retreating to the living room and turning on the television. I started preparing the ingredients to fry. It was odd that the brothers didn’t even greet each other. I didn’t like it. All three of them used to be so close. Now I could feel the awkward tension between them, like they didn’t know what to say to each other.
What happened to them while I was away?
I jolted as a hand pulled the cutting board out from in front of me. It was Tristan, beautiful Tristan, holding out his other hand and looking at me expectantly, his long black hair unruly and damp as if he’d just showered.
I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t even heard him come in. He was a couple of inches shorter than his brothers, but still towered over my five-foot, seven-inch frame. He didn’t say anything. He just waited patiently, silently, for me to realise what he wanted…the knife. So he could help.
I handed over a knife and the tray of vine-ripened tomatoes. Our fingers brushed and I felt an electric tingle travel up my arm.
“In halves, please,” I said, my breath coming out in a rush.
He nodded and got to work.
There was something mysterious about Tristan, and there always had been. He was the closest to my age, being twenty-one, but I hadn’t been as close to him as the other two growing up. He was always more reserved, quieter. Sometimes he would join us on our adventures, often he’d disappear on his own without a word.
I found myself watching him as he chopped the tomatoes. His long nimble fingers working quickly, his muscled forearms tensing, a look of focused concentration on his face.
There was something so sexy about Tristan. So mysterious. Something so different from the allure of his brothers. He was hard to read, and that made me want to figure out how to unlock him and throw him wide open. On the contrary, the way I’d caught him looking at me since I arrived made me feel like he was reading every single hidden word inside of me.
Like he’d heard my thoughts, he glanced up, our gaze locking, his blue eyes rimmed with such thick black lashes, unblinking. A shiver ran down my back.
I tore my eyes away and forced myself to focus on the eggs I was frying. All I’d been thinking about this morning was how grown-up all these brothers had become, how attractive I found these brothers to be, each in their own way. That was the last thing I should be worried about. I needed to figure out a way forward for me and my growing secret.
“I’ll take my plate to the study,” Aogán said as I plated up the food. He held out a hand, not even taking his eyes off his phone.
“Ye will not,” I said firmly.
That got his attention. And the attention of Donncha and Tristan, who both stopped laying out the table to stare at Aogán and me.
“Ex-cuse me?” Aogán’s voice boomed out over the counter.
I refused to be intimidated. I placed a hand on my hip and brandished the spatula at him. “If you want to eat, you’ll eat at the table with us. Otherwise, you can starve for all I care.”
Aogán glared at me, his outstretched hand now clenched in a fist. I glared back. The air crackled with fiery tension. He looked furious, his jaw clenching and his brows furrowed so far over his eyes, I could barely see the blues of them. Aogán could rant and rave all he wanted. He could threaten and cuss. He could hate me and wish I were dead, but I’d still never hate him. He was still my Aogán. The first boy I ever crushed on. The first boy who kissed me. The boy who blew against my elbows and palms when I fell off the skateboard. Who gave me his jacket to wear after I’d fallen into the creek. Who’d carried me several miles to home after I’d twisted my ankle jumping off a stone fence.
“You are not the mistress of this house,” he said.
“And you are not its master,” I retorted. “It’s only polite to sit and eat with the rest of the family.”
“You. Are. Not. Family.”
Aogán might as well cut me with a knife. His words reminding me of the family I’d lost. Reminding me that I didn’t belong here. Tears filled my eyes instantly.
I heard Tristan gasp. Donncha cursed. Both boys moved toward me. I lifted up my free hand to stop them. This was my fight. If I let them step in to defend me, it’d just cause a bigger rift between them.
A tear rolled down my cheek and I made no move to stop it. For a second Aogán looked stricken, as if he’d regretted what he just said.
“I might not be family,” I said, my words tight and coiled, “but your brothers are. You will sit with them and eat with them. Or you don’t eat at all.”
Aogán said nothing, his features twitching, his regret obviously warring with his pride.
“If you’d like,” I continued, “we can call the real master and mistress of this house and ask them to referee this argument.” I raised an eyebrow.
I could hear Donncha trying to disguise a laugh as a cough. He’d pulled the same card yesterday, and I’d taken a leaf out of his book on how to manage Aogán.
After what felt like an eternity, Aogán rolled his eyes and pushed back from the counter. “Whatever,” he muttered before yanking out the chair at the head of the table and plonking his giant frame down onto it.
I shared a look with Donncha and Tristan. Tristan blessed me with a hint of a smile before carrying several plates to the table. Donncha grinned at me and mouthed, “Well done. You won.”
&nbs
p; Did I really though? Aogán still hated me. The affection he once had for me had disintegrated like ash into fire with no hope of resurrecting it. He still wanted me gone.
We sat at the table together, the three brothers shovelling in food in silence. The air felt heavy, making my back stiffen as I picked at my scrambled eggs. Memories of sitting at this table flooded my mind, the loud, boisterous laughter, the banter, the smiles and stories traded. The contrast to now filled me with such sadness. What a difference the last few years had made. How could they have grown so far apart?
After breakfast, Tristan slipped outside while Donncha climbed the stairs. I heard the shower start a moment later. Gathering up the dishes, I made quick work of loading the dishwasher. Aogán came into the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee, finishing the pot.
“Do you want me to make more?” I asked.
“Pretty sure I can manage.” His short reply was delivered in a sour voice that ruffled my feathers.
I tossed a wet washrag down into the sink and turned to him with my eyebrows raised. “Okay, what’s your problem?”
Aogán took a long sip of his coffee, staring at me over the rim of his cup. I placed my hands on my hips and stared him down.
“No problem here,” he finally replied with a shrug that was clearly supposed to be careless, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.
“Bullshite. You’ve been a right prick since I arrived.”
“Arrived? You broke into our house. The others might be quick to forget that, but I’m not. You showed up out of nowhere after three years. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Is it technically breaking in if I have a key?” I smirked, but Aogán didn’t find it funny.
He scowled. “You must think you’re really cute.”
“You used to think that,” I reminded him.
“Things change.”
“Fine, but you don’t need to be such a bastard.”
“A bastard, huh?” Aogán took a step closer, closing the distance between us. His eyes flashed as he clenched his jaw, and my irritation vanished behind an unwanted memory.
For the briefest moment, I wasn’t looking into Aogán’s eyes. I was seeing my foster father’s cruel face. Hearing his voice. Seeing his raised fist.
I whimpered before I could stop myself, throwing up my hands to cover my face, an instinctual reaction I hated. I wished I had enough guts to fight back. To protect myself.
“I wasn’t going to hit you.” Aogán’s horrified voice broke through my memories. He took a large step backward, all anger fading from his face. “I would never do that.”
I wasn’t with my foster father.
I was here with Aogán.
Safe.
I straightened, trying to brush off the last of the fading fear. Aogán might be cold, but he wasn’t cruel like my foster father. Aogán might hate me, but he’s never hurt me.
“I know.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I was afraid of what he’d see there. But I meant what I said. “I know you wouldn’t.”
I turned around and fled the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to explain, feeling more broken than ever.
Tristan
Tristan
[say: Tris-ten] means “full of sorrow”
I walked across the frozen yard, mentally berating myself for my shyness. I wanted to talk to Orla, I really did, but every time I was near the woman, I got overwhelmed by my attraction to her. I’d never envied my brothers—the self-assured, confident way that Aogán moved through the world as if it was his to command, the easy smiles and golden tongue Donncha used to charm the world around him. I’d always just accepted I was different.
Until now.
I wished I didn’t shrink internally with every word spoken to her. That my cheeks didn’t burn with shame for my timidness.
I wasn’t as close to her as my brothers when we were growing up, due in large part to my odd nature, but she was still a good friend, almost family. Now, things were different. We were both adults, and she had blossomed into a gorgeous woman. Soft with curves in all the right places, she made my body react to just the sight of her. Wanting to touch her hair to see how soft it was, wanting to whisper into her ear to watch her skin goose pebble.
More than her body, it was her eyes that drew me in. Sad but fierce, they were a symbol of how hard the last few years had been on her. I didn’t know what she’d been through, but I’d wager my life that it wasn’t a happy story. I wanted her to confide in me, to give me her secrets. So she’d never have to carry them alone again. So I could cradle her broken pieces together until they healed.
Too bad that will never happen.
After all, I could barely talk to her. I wasn’t like my brothers. Donncha was dripping with self-confidence, while Aogán exuded a powerful presence that made him impossible to ignore. There was no reason that anyone would pay attention to me while those two were around.
I had almost reached my design studio when I heard the back door of the house open and close behind me. Glancing back, I was surprised to see Orla step out, her thin arms wrapped around her chest and her head tilted down. I stilled and watched her as she turned to the west, where her house used to be. Her stride was steady as she took off in that direction. Every instinct told me to go to her.
But I couldn’t move. Instead I stood there, mentally berating myself for being so damn timid.
Orla must have sensed my eyes on her, because she turned her head. Her eyes fell on me. A smile lit up her entire face, warming my whole body. Changing direction, she made her way through the snow until she was standing in front of me.
Speak, Tristan. Say something.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked. There was an almost musical lilt to her voice.
I shrugged.
Dammit, Tristan. Speak, you eejit.
She sighed and glanced back at the house, stress lining her face. “I’m looking for an escape. I’m sure you noticed that Aogán isn’t exactly my biggest fan these days.”
I glanced back at the house and saw Aogán watching us through the kitchen window. I didn’t need to use my honed empathic instincts to pick up on Aogán’s furious reaction to Orla. Even Donncha, who could be clueless sometimes, knew Aogán didn’t want her here.
“He hates me and I don’t know why,” she said, her sadness tugging down her every word.
I wanted to comfort her. To tell her that Aogán didn’t hate her, even if he thought he did. That there was something more underneath his reaction. A pain that he was trying to cover up with anger. I had the feeling that there had been something between the two of them before Orla was sent away. But I’d never confirmed it with Aogán. And I wasn’t about to ask Orla about it now.
“I was thinking I’d go on a walk to my parents’ property,” she said. “I want to see if the old tyre swing is still there.”
I nodded, disappointed that our brief time together would soon be over. I doubted the tyre would be there. It had been attached to a tree in her backyard when we were younger, but I didn’t think it would have been left behind when the house was demolished.
I could see that Orla was desperately looking for a part of her past to cling to. When you have nothing in the present or the future to reach for, then the past was all you had.
I thought about how distant my brothers and I were with each other these days. I couldn’t even tell them the truth about my role in the company and what I really wanted to do with my life. I could understand Orla’s desire to revisit a better time. Back then things were simpler for all of us.
I gave her a wave and turned. She grabbed my forearm, stopping me, her touch sending such a rush of heat through my body that I had to close my eyes for just a second before I turned back to her.
“Would you…would you come with me?” she asked, chewing her bottom lip as if she was nervous.
She wanted me to come with her? A smile broke out over my face, and I nodded so vigorously it made her laugh, sounding lik
e tinkling bells.
“You know, you should smile more often. You look…lovely when you smile.”
I grinned at her, feeling lighter and more carefree than I had in years. I’d smile every day just for her.
We set out for the place where her home used to be, walking side by side. I had the crazy urge to reach for her hand, but I stifled the impulse.
“You know, when I was little I always wanted a white Christmas, like I always saw in the movies. It was always so pretty. I never realised how much the sun reflects off the snow, making it seem to glitter.” She was scanning our surroundings as she spoke, the frown lines on her face smoothing out and being replaced with a serene expression. “Do you think it will last until Christmas day?”
I doubted it. We only got about three inches, and the weather report wasn’t calling for more any time soon. This accumulation was an uncommon occurrence in the first place.
“Maybe,” I said, forcing the word out. One word. At least it was a start.
“I suppose the cold weather does have a downside,” she mused, wrapping her arms tighter around herself, holding her thin sweater closed.
I slowed to a stop as I looked at her, feeling like a total asshole for not noticing her attire before. She wasn’t even wearing a jacket, much less a coat. The thin sweater wrapped around her torso couldn’t be keeping out the frigid wind at all.
“Where’s your coat?” I asked, sharper than I intended. Great. Now I’d gone from one word to snapping at her.
“I don’t have one,” she admitted.
I shrugged out of my own heavy jacket, slipping it off and moving behind Orla to hold it behind her.
“Oh, no, Tristan. I can’t take your jacket.”
I ignored her. And jostled the jacket open, indicating for her to put her arms through the sleeves.
“Tristan, no.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“You’ll freeze,” she said.
“Orla,” I said, liking the way her breath caught when I said her name, “put it on. Please. For me.”
Perhaps it was because I’d just said more to her than the whole time she’d been here. Or perhaps she was just tired of fighting with one brother after another, but she did as I asked.