The Cassidy Brothers

by Sienna Blake

  “Nice. It’s been ages since we’ve done that.”

  The three of us spent all afternoon in the living room together. Tristan played through the guitar part he’d been writing, tweaking it until it was perfect. Aogán laid down a bassline. I sat in my chair by the fire while they worked, scribbling in a notepad I had taken from the drawer of a coffee table. By the time they had worked out the melody, I had several lines of lyrics written. Reading them over, I realised that I was writing a song about a girl. A special girl that was bringing the three of us back together.

  Orla had only been back in our lives for a week, and her positive impact was already evident. I shared my lyrics with the others. I didn’t tell them it was about Orla, but the references to flaming-red hair must have given it away. They didn’t call me out on it. Instead, Aogán and Tristan added their own verses, helping me complete the lyrics to a song about a fierce woman with a heart of gold.

  It was our tribute to her. I just hoped she’d hear it someday.

  Orla

  My father used to tell me that curiosity killed the cat. My mom just called me nosey. They’d both roll their eyes if they could see me now, watching Tristan from where I was standing at the kitchen counter as he walked across the yard to the pole barn. I’d been adding whiskey to the holes I had poked into the bottom of my Christmas cake, now forgotten.

  Tristan went out to the old pole barn every day, and I wanted to know what he was doing in there. I bit my lip, considering my options. I had cleaned the kitchen and had a load of laundry in the washing machine. My morning sickness had subsided for the time being. There was nothing keeping me from doing a little exploring.

  The weather was mild, the snow having melted days ago, so I pulled on a thick, woolly cardigan over my long-sleeved blue shirt. The sky overhead was cloudy, threatening rain.

  I hurried along until I reached the pole barn, hesitating only for a second before I pulled open the door and stepped inside. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

  Yard equipment took up most of the dusty space, a riding lawnmower front and centre, while the walls were lined with shovels, hoes, and rakes. It was what I would expect the inside of a large shed to look like, but I couldn’t understand what Tristan would be doing in here every day. Speaking of Tristan, I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  I noticed a set of wooden stairs on the right side of the room and remembered that their father, John, used to have a bench press and other workout equipment in the room above the pole barn when we were younger. Tristan must be up there. Was he working out every day?

  Gripping the railing, I climbed the stairs slowly, wondering if I should announce myself. I paused before the nondescript wooden door at the top.

  “Tristan?” I tried the knob and found that it turned easily.

  Tristan was sitting behind a tall worktable with a charcoal pencil in his hand. His blue eyes widened as he took in the sight of me.

  This was an artist’s studio. There were canvases hanging on every wall, covering the surface so thoroughly that the wallpaper was barely visible. They were mostly charcoal drawings, but I spotted a few colourful paintings as well. There were drawings of inanimate objects and animals, but the largest number of pieces were portraits of people. A woman laughing, a child running, an old man with eyes that seemed to look right through you. Every single one was brimming with emotion, each picture whispering the start of a story. Each picture breathing as if it were alive.

  “Tristan…” I stepped farther into the studio, “did you make these?”

  A brief pause, then, “Yeah.”

  There was an empty easel in the corner by the window, a small table next to it with a wooden paint palette and a mason jar full of brushes varying in size. A shelf against the wall held paint in more colours than I even knew existed.

  “This is…” I struggled to find the right word as I spun around, trying to take it all in, “…amazing.”

  No, amazing didn’t even come close.

  Tristan stood, shuffling around papers on his worktable so that whatever he was working on would be covered up.

  Shite. I was being incredibly rude. Here I was barging into Tristan’s personal space, uninvited.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “for barging in like this. I didn’t know—”

  “It’s okay,” he assured me. I searched his face for signs that he was just trying to placate me but thankfully saw none. “I just don’t want Aogán or Donncha to know about this place.”

  “They haven’t been in here before?”

  Tristan shook his head. “Not since I turned it into my design studio. This is where I design toys.”

  I looked around once again, but there was no evidence of toy designing anywhere.

  Tristan noticed my confusion. “Okay, it’s where I’m supposed to design toys.”

  He looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck and barely meeting my eyes, as if he expected me to judge him for that confession. There was something so earnest about him when he was like this. It made my heart swell.

  Sensing that he needed space, I turned my attention to the art on the walls. There was plenty to look at while I waited for him to relax. I found myself drawn to a charcoal sketch of a herd of wild horses running along the bank of a river. The longer I stared, the more detail I noticed. Each horse was different from the others, a unique part of a captivating whole. Their manes flowed behind them and their muscular legs were extended forward. It looked so realistic that I felt like they would start to really move at any minute, splashing water into the air as they carved a path along the edge of the river.

  “Do you like it?”

  I jolted at the sound of Tristan’s voice right behind me. I whipped around and saw that he was mere inches away. Any closer and we’d be touching. My heart hammered against my ribcage as I recognised the desire in his eyes.

  “Yes,” I breathed, leaning into him, our breaths mingling.

  “What…what else do you like?”

  This was a bad idea. But I didn’t care.

  “You,” I admitted.

  His eyes widened, and I felt like I was falling into them.

  I tilted my head up and parted my lips. At the same time, Tristan lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine. The touch was light, hesitant, his fingers tracing up my arms, my neck, my face, as if he wasn’t sure I was real. But that didn’t stop my core from blooming for him. We drew toward each other until we were flush against each other.

  I tried to deepen the kiss, dragging my fingernails across his firm chest, but he would not be hurried. He kissed me like the world would never end, slowly, languid and luxuriating. Every touch, every stroke of his tongue was like he was trying to memorise me, to capture me and keep me forever. I whimpered, always wanting more from him, chasing more in the way I ground myself against him. Always what I wanted felt was just out of reach.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he grew bolder, teasing my tongue with his, swallowing my moans. His hands grew firmer, still reverent, finally cupping my ass, then crushing me to him in a sudden movement that stole my breath. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against my lower stomach, and I fisted his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. More. More. Closer. I couldn’t get close enough.

  I was aching for him, my legs trembling from want.

  He guided me toward the worktable without breaking our kiss. When my back bumped into the edge of the table, Tristan lifted me up so that I was perched on the edge. I spread my thighs and pulled him into the space with my legs, his bulge pressing to my centre, creating delicious friction. His hands went to my breasts, cupping them through my shirt. His thumbs brushed over my hardened nipples, sending a shock of pleasure through my body. I moaned louder than before.

  He ground his pelvis into mine. Twin flashes of pleasure and fear went through me. I tore my mouth away from his. “Tristan,” his name left my mouth with a whimper. “Wait.”

  Tristan stopped.

  Uncertainty cooled my hea
ted passion faster than I would have thought possible. I suddenly felt unsure of myself. Ashamed.

  His hands cupped my face. “Orla, what’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes made raw emotion bubble up in my chest, and I had to swallow hard to suppress it.

  I bit my lip and shook my head. I couldn’t go there. Not yet. For so many reasons.

  Tristan’s piercing blue eyes stared into mine for an endless moment, but he didn’t press for more information. Nodding, he stood up straight and held his hand out to me. I took it and allowed him to pull me off the table. When my feet were back on the ground, he didn’t release his hold.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I knew that I should offer an explanation, but I didn’t want to lie, and the truth was too ugly.

  “There’s no need for that. We can take this slow.”

  I bit my lip. “But what if…what if…”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever you want. However fast or slow you want. Okay?”

  His easy agreement was a blessing, the release of pressure a relief, but I also felt guilt wrapping around my shoulders like a heavy coat. Was I really going to kiss him again? More? What about Donncha?

  I couldn’t imagine saying no to either man. But I couldn’t imagine that either of them would be happy knowing about the other. I had to take a step back. Refocus on my life and my future, on the new life inside me that I had to put first.

  I cleared my throat, signalling the change of subject. “Tell me about this place.”

  I kept our fingers entwined, even as I turned my attention back to the artwork. Tristan was quiet for a long time, his eyes on me. I knew he was trying to read me, to read why I had pulled away. I didn’t dare look at him in case my secrets spilled out.

  “Are those your parents?” I asked, stepping toward a drawing on the wall, pulling him along with me. The portrait was stunning, his parents facing each other and beaming. I could see the love between the two of them. Feel it. A longing for something like it tugged at me.

  “I painted that for their thirtieth wedding anniversary,” Tristan said, sliding his arms around me and placing his chin on my head. I accepted his embrace. Here I felt warm and safe.

  “When was that?”

  “Six months ago.”

  I smiled, imagining their faces as they opened up such a beautiful gift. “Did they love it? How could they not?”

  Tristan was silent.

  I turned in his arms to look at him and realised. “You didn’t give it to them.”

  Tristan let out a sigh, seeming to deflate a little. “I chickened out.”

  “Why? It’s a gorgeous picture.”

  “It’s not that,” Tristan said, then smiled at me, “but thank you. It’s just…no one in my family knows about my art, and I haven’t figured out how to tell them yet.”

  I was clearly missing something here. “Why would it be a problem?”

  “They need me at the company. I’m the head of toy design. I can’t…” He gestured around the room. “I can’t tell them that I’d rather be doing this.”

  “They’re your family. Don’t you think they’d understand?”

  “Maybe my parents would, but Aogán…”

  “Aogán has been your big brother for way longer than he’s been CEO of The Three Bears.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a company man these days. It’s all about projections and sales and plans to him. This isn’t part of his plan. I just…I can’t tell him. Besides, I don’t even know if I’d make it as an artist. I mean…” he waved his hand around the room, “will anyone even buy my work?”

  “I would.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “You’d be the only one.”

  I pushed back the hair that’d fallen over Tristan’s forehead. My beautiful, sensitive soul. He was so passionate and so very talented. I just wished he could see himself the way I did, that he’d gain the confidence he needed to be comfortable in his own skin. I didn’t like the idea of him living a lie.

  “Maybe you can do both? Design toys and be an artist.”

  “Except I’m having trouble coming up with any toy designs these days,” Tristan admitted. He sounded ashamed. “I’m just not passionate about it anymore. I’d rather be doing this.”

  “Can I help?” I offered. I knew nothing about it, but I was willing to try.

  “You want to design toys?”

  “I want to help you.”

  He offered me a tiny smile. “What the hell, why not? You can’t be any worse than me.” Tristan led me back over to his worktable, releasing my hand and reaching beneath the table to grab a large sketchpad. He sat it on top of the mess of papers scattered on top. I watched as he opened it, flipping past pages of toy design drawings until he stopped on a page with a drawing of a cartoonish alien inside a UFO.

  “This was the last toy I designed, the Flying Saucer. It was a remote controlled flying toy.” He turned the page, and there were three other mock-ups of aliens. “We had a variety of little green men available.”

  “It’s cute,” I commented, looking closely at his sketch.

  “It didn’t sell well.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “It’s pretty generic, really. Nothing new or cool for kids to get excited over.”

  “What new ideas have you got so far?” I asked.

  He turned the page once again, and I found myself staring at a blank paper.

  “Oh. Right.”

  Tristan rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah. I’ve got the toy design version of writer’s block.”

  I laughed lightly. “Well, now you’ve got me. We’ll come up with something together. Deal?”

  I held out my hand. Tristan took it and pulled me to him. I tripped into his chest, and he held me firmly against him as he pressed a kiss to my lips that I felt all the way down to my toes.

  “Deal.”

  Aogán

  “Just give me the car keys,” Donncha demanded, holding out his hand impatiently. “I need to run into town.”

  “Do you remember what happened the last time I let you drive my car?” I asked with a raised brow.

  “That was an accident.”

  “You backed it into a shopping cart corral.”

  “I was seventeen. That was years ago.”

  “It’s still annoying,” I grumbled, but I dug my keys out of my pocket and handed them over.

  “You’re annoying…” he muttered as he walked away, heading for the SUV.

  I watched him drive away from the porch as I leaned against the railing. It was early in the morning and the grass was covered in a layer of frost. I was struck by how quiet it was. Living in the city full-time, I’d forgotten how much I loved the peace that this place brought. It was something that I hadn’t realised I needed until I was here.

  When I’d first gotten here, I’d been on my laptop or going through my emails first thing. Not today. Not even yesterday.

  Guilt needled at me as I thought about the company that rested on my shoulders. Now wasn’t the time to take it easy. Our future was on the line and the success or failure of the company was on me. It was bad enough that I had to put pressure on Tristan to create a new toy design.

  He’d been spending time in the pole barn where his design studio was every day, but he hadn’t brought me a sketch or even discussed a toy idea with me. Tristan had always been a creative soul. He had taken to the role of toy designing like a duck to water. It had seemed to me that Tristan had finally found his place in life.

  He might be head designer, but his role was mostly autonomous. He didn’t have any team members to manage or lead, which I knew he hated. I didn’t set him any deadlines or give him any policies to follow. I just left him alone and he produced designs. It worked. It had worked.

  Lately, it felt like something had changed. It was like he wasn’t as invested in creating toys as he used to be. It was hard to tell what was going on in his head. And I knew better than to try to make him tal
k about it before he was ready. I just had to hope that he would talk to me…before it was too late.

  “Well, look at you!” Orla’s voice exclaimed from around the back of the house. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing?”

  Who could she could be talking to? Tristan liked to sleep in and Donncha had just left.

  My boots crunched over the frozen grass as I made my way around the side of the house. The back door opened and Orla stepped out with an open can of tuna in her hand. Her head was tilted down and when I followed her gaze, I saw a small grey cat on the ground at her feet.

  “Here you go, little guy,” she said, squatting down and placing the open can in front of the feline, who dove forward and started eating. Orla’s delicate fingers scratched behind the cat’s ears, and there was a warm smile on her face. “You’re a little hungry, huh?”

  Irritation battled affection within me. I rejected any fond feelings in favour of the safer option.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded as I approached.

  Orla jolted, surprised by my sudden interruption. When her eyes met mine, she scowled. “Could you not sneak up on me?”

  “You shouldn’t feed a stray.” I stopped a few feet away, already feeling too close to her, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Are you completely heartless?” Orla straightened to her full height, which was at least five inches shorter than my own six feet, two inches.

  “I’m looking out for the little guy. He doesn’t need to get dependent on you when you won’t be sticking around.”

  Orla’s big green eyes widened, then narrowed. She didn’t look intimidated in the least. A small part of me was satisfied to see the fire back in her, no longer flinching away like she did when she first arrived here.

  “What’s your deal?” she demanded. “Why do you hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  I want to hate you. It would make things so much easier. “Why do you care anyway?”

  “Because you used to be one of my best friends. What happened to that, huh? To us?”