Shouldn’t Want You: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance

by Monroe, Lilian

  But he doesn’t.

  I slide into the car and hold my breath as Sacha gets in, too. He throws me an indecipherable glance before turning the key in the ignition. Then, he backs out of the driveway and starts heading toward the Black Estate.

  We don’t speak.

  It’s a short drive. If you catch the green lights, it takes less than ten minutes to get to his parents’ house.

  But Sacha drives slowly, taking a circuitous route through my old neighborhood before crossing Main Street and making our way onto the long, winding road that leads to the Black Estate.

  When Sacha still doesn’t say a word, I start to wonder if maybe it was a mistake to come with him. Maybe he doesn’t want me here at all. Maybe I’m intruding on his grief and inserting myself somewhere I don’t belong.

  My mind swirls. My chest squeezes. A lump forms in my throat, and I start convincing myself I shouldn’t be here.

  I reach into my purse and pull out a hard butterscotch candy, sucking on it nervously. Sacha glances at me, and I offer him one. He takes it without a word, and we drive in silence.

  Just as I open my mouth to ask Sacha if he really wants me here, he reaches over and takes my hand in his. My heartbeat slows down instantly, and I sink into my seat with a sigh.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Sacha says, answering my unsaid question. “I wouldn’t be able to come here on my own.”

  “I’ve only been to your parents’ house twice,” I answer, glancing at the tall trees that line the road. The Black Estate wraps all around us, with the roof of the big house just visible at the end of the drive. “We came for one of your father’s staff parties before…”

  I let the words hang between us, unsaid.

  Before both my parents quit. Before Mom was accused of all kinds of things she didn’t do. Before our family was ostracized. Before Mom and Dad died.

  Before everything changed.

  Before you left without saying goodbye.

  Sacha squeezes my hand as I suck in a breath. The tall, wrought-iron gates at the end of the drive swing open when we drive up to them, as if they’d been expecting us all along. Sacha takes his hand away, gripping the steering wheel as we drive through.

  “You okay?” I whisper, as if some ghost will hear me if I speak too loudly.

  “Fine,” he answers, but I know he’s not fine at all. His face is white as a sheet, and his eyes look stormy and black. Jabbing a hand through his hair, Sacha gives himself an even wilder look as he makes it stand on end.

  He parks the car near the wide steps that lead to the tall, black door at the front of the house. I can see the golden door handle glittering from over here. With a sigh, Sacha pulls the keys out of the ignition and stares at the entrance. He swings his gaze back to me and pinches his lips together.

  “I guess we should go in.”

  “Do you want me to stay in the car?”

  “No.” His eyes stay on mine, unwavering. He means what he says.

  That’s one thing I’ve always liked about Sacha. His intensity can be scary. Some people find it off-putting.

  Not me.

  I’ve always understood him. He’s not afraid of saying what he feels. Not afraid of giving his opinion without making excuses for it. He walks through life with his head held high, unashamed and unapologetic.

  When you’re a gangly, bug-eyed girl from the poor side of town, those qualities are magnetic. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to Sacha the way I am.

  I follow him out of the car and up the steps. My arm hangs by my side close to his, but he doesn’t grab my hand. It’s okay, though, because just being here with him feels important.

  I can see the tension rippling across his jaw as he clenches his teeth. The cords in his neck writhe as he swallows, gulping once before ringing the doorbell. He straightens his shoulders, folding his hands behind his back and throwing his chin up like he’s preparing for a battle.

  I can see through him, though. I put a hand on his back, trying to absorb some of the tension between his shoulders as we wait for the big, heavy door to swing open. I don’t know if I’m helping, but he doesn’t push me away, so I keep my hand between his shoulder blades.

  When the doors finally open, a frail Mrs. Black appears on the other side. I haven’t seen her in years. The radiant, beautiful woman I remember from my youth is a shell of her former self. Her shoulders are hunched, her hands are spidered with blue veins, and age spots mottle her skin.

  A whitish-red scar covers most of her left forearm, which she touches absent-mindedly with her other hand.

  It’s her eyes that strike me, though.

  Gray, like the ocean on an overcast day. Deep and wild as the lightning hitting the sea.

  They’re Sacha’s eyes, only sadder.

  More broken.

  As soon as she sees her son, tears spill onto her cheeks. Tension ripples between Sacha’s shoulders and his head bows. Sacha’s hands unclasp and he falls to his knees in front of his mother. Her tears drop into his thick hair as she tangles her fingers into it, weeping.

  I shouldn’t be here. I’m intruding.

  I gulp, taking a step back but not wanting to move. The air is too charged with emotion. The past clings to every surface around us, squeezing itself through every crack and crevice in the mansion before me. It’s stifling, sitting heavy on my chest as I try to breathe.

  Then, Sacha lifts his head and looks back at me, reaching his arm toward me. Mrs. Black does the same, and they wrap me in an embrace on the front porch of the Black Estate.

  “It’s good to see you, Willow,” Mrs. Black says, her tired eyes smiling at me. “It’s been too long.”

  “It’s unfortunate that we’re brought together in these circumstances,” I answer. My voice feels tinny and empty.

  Sacha lifts himself up to his feet and lets out a snort. “Pretty good circumstances, if you ask me.”

  “Sacha,” Mrs. Black admonishes, throwing him the kind of glance only a mother can give. She turns to me. “Come in. We have a lot to catch up on. I hear you’re a businesswoman now.”

  I smile, nodding. It’s strange to be talking about mundane things without acknowledging the death in the family, or the confession Sacha made the other night. We’re all pretending that everything is normal and nothing monumental has happened.

  I glance at Sacha, trying to understand what he’s going through. He looks like he’s in a daze, and I wonder if acting polite and making small talk is all the two of them can manage right now.

  Grief is weird.

  When Mrs. Black leads us through the house, I slip my hand into Sacha’s and give it a squeeze. He looks at me then, his eyes brightening as his chin dips in a nod. He squeezes back, and I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  By Sacha’s side.

  It’s where I’ve always needed to be. This space next to him—beside the most complicated, magnetic man I’ve ever met—has always been reserved for me.

  It’s time I stepped up and claimed it as my own.

  16

  Sacha

  I’m used to suffering on my own. It’s always been that way. Even when I was a kid, and the Wises would welcome me with open arms, I never built up the courage to tell them what was going on. I carried everything on my own shoulders.

  I only found out later that Mr. and Mrs. Wise knew everything, and they tried to stand up for me. That’s when everything fell apart.

  But as far as I knew, I was alone through my whole childhood. I carried the world on my shoulders and anger in my heart.

  So now, it feels unfamiliar to have Willow beside me as I walk through the hallways of my childhood home. Well, calling it a home wouldn’t be exactly accurate. More like my childhood nightmare.

  She’s beside me as we walk on the thick, Persian rugs that cover the hallways all the way to the back of the house. When we walk by my father’s study, I feel a chill seeping through the doorway. Willow squeezes my hand.

  It’s s
trange to have her support, but it’s nice. More than nice. I lean on her, and she’s as strong as a rock. All it takes is a look, a touch, a nod, and I feel her strength flowing into me.

  I wouldn’t have been able to come here on my own. I would’ve turned back at the gates and left my past in the past.

  But as my mother opens the door to the family room, I look at the curve in her shoulders, the deep lines on her face, the still-visible scar on her forearm, and I know I would’ve been wrong to walk away. My mother lifts her eyes to me, and the depth of her pain almost knocks me back.

  The three of us sit together in one of the only rooms in the house where I used to feel comfortable. It was far enough from the study that my father couldn’t hear me, and close enough to the back door that I could slip out whenever I needed to.

  Now, the weight of my memories crushes me.

  One of the estate’s cooks brings a silver tray laden with a teapot and cups, placing it on the coffee table before pouring out three mugs. She puts out a tray of dainty cookies before taking the tray back with her.

  My mother takes her teacup between delicate fingers, sipping quietly as she sits, perched on the end of the couch.

  It’s eerie. It feels like nothing has changed—but everything’s different.

  My mother lifts her eyes to me, straightening her back. “So, Sacha. Will you stay in Woodvale?”

  Her question hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut. “W-what?”

  “Well, the business. It’s yours now.”

  “What do you mean, mine?”

  My mother’s eyebrows arch. “Your father left you everything. I know you won’t believe me, Sacha, but he cared about you.”

  My vision swirls. Emotion surges inside me. My hand shakes, and a droplet of tea splashes onto my pant leg.

  My father didn’t care about me. Leaving me his business wasn’t proof that he loved me. Quite the opposite.

  It was his final act of war.

  He knew I was aware of his crimes. Leaving me the business puts me in the firing line now. If I step into his role, I’ll be as guilty as he was of defrauding the government and stealing from the most powerful people in Woodvale.

  The business isn’t a gift. It’s a grenade.

  “I can’t,” I blurt out, and then wince when my mother looks at me.

  “Sacha…”

  “Mother, I have a life. I have a restaurant to run in New York. I’m the head chef of one of the best restaurants in the world. I don’t know anything about investment brokerage.”

  And I’m not a fucking criminal.

  “Your father died.”

  “Good.” I spit out the word. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth on its way out, and I feel Willow shift away from me. Regret floods through me, but I can’t bring myself to apologize for what I said. He deserved to die. He terrorized my family and tore us apart. He kicked me out of my own home. He should be in jail, but I’ll settle for him being dead.

  He was a monster. He doesn’t deserve the respect we usually offer the departed. We should dance on his grave to make sure he never rests.

  Anger stirs from a long slumber inside me, groaning as I shake it awake.

  Willow’s hand slides over my leg, her blue eyes piercing through the dark veil I hide behind. I blink my anger away, letting out a heavy sigh.

  “I’ll see if I can stay for a couple of weeks. I have to be back here for Max’s wedding anyway.”

  My mother’s shoulders relax as she takes another sip of tea. I stare at my own cup, wondering what I’ve just agreed to.

  A couple of weeks might be enough to talk to a lawyer and see how much trouble I’m really in. I already know who I want to talk to—Finn’s father, Nolan Gallagher, is one of the best lawyers in the state. He also happens to hate my father, which is exactly the type of ally I need.

  Maybe I can dismantle the Black business and repay any tax that’s owed. Maybe I can make things right.

  Being in Woodvale is hard enough, but things will be different now. Glancing at Willow, something stirs in my chest.

  It’s hope. Hope that maybe she and I have a chance at being together. Now that my father is gone, and my mother is asking me to come back, maybe that’s exactly the sign I need to tell me to follow my heart for the first time in my life.

  Hope that if I can make things right by dismantling my father’s business, I can move on from the past.

  Perhaps pushing Willow away isn’t the right thing to do. She came with me to my childhood home, by my side, for no other reason than she cares about me.

  Maybe it’s time I was honest with myself, too. I can make things right, tell her the truth, and finally be with the woman I’ve always loved.

  I place my palm over her hand and lean back in the sofa, finally sipping my sweet, hot tea.

  In an instant, I’ve made my decision. This time, I’m staying.

  We don’t spend long at the estate. Mother has arrangements to make for the funeral, and I need to inform the people at the restaurant that I won’t be coming back for a few weeks. I have a good manager, so I’m not worried for my job, but I don’t want to jeopardize my position. I spent ten years building my career from the ground up. I’m not going to let my father destroy that, too.

  As we drive back toward downtown Woodvale, I turn down the road that leads to Willow’s house. We haven’t said a word to each other since we left the Black Estate, and it’s not until I pull into her driveway that she breaks the silence.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  I turn to look at her, not prepared for the way the late afternoon sunlight is making her glow. My heart jumps, but I manage to speak. “For what?”

  “For going there to see your mom. For agreeing to stay. I don’t know everything that happened when you were a kid, but I can imagine that stepping foot inside that house was difficult.”

  Jagged rocks lodge themselves in my throat. I struggle to swallow past them, turning to look straight ahead. If I keep looking at Willow, something inside me will break.

  “I didn’t mean to sound condescending,” she adds.

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “You aren’t. No one’s ever told me they were proud of me before.”

  “You want a beer?” Willow blurts out in a sharp change of subject. “I feel like a beer is appropriate.”

  The old part of me wants to say no. It’s still too soon. Willow is too good. I can’t get close to her, because I don’t know what kind of damage I might do to her.

  But her skin looks so soft, and her lips look so kissable, and I can’t refuse. I nod, and she rewards me with one of her blinding smiles.

  “Good.”

  We walk out of the car and up the front porch. I notice some planks of rotting wood, glancing up at the peeling paint on the house.

  Willow follows my gaze. “I haven’t had the time to start working on it,” she explains. “It’s summertime, and people are crazy about getting married. Busy season.”

  She sounds bitter, which is strange for her. When we were kids, Willow was a ray of sunshine everywhere we went. She was one of the only good things about my life, apart from Max, Finn, and football. Now, it’s like her spirit has been dampened.

  Is that my fault?

  She struggles with her key in the front door for a second, throwing me a wry grin. “Haven’t fixed the lock, either. It jams sometimes.” She grunts, wiggling the key a bit.

  When the door finally opens, I follow her into the house. As soon as I cross the threshold, I inhale the scent of home.

  Real home.

  Being in Willow’s house feels so good, it shouldn’t be allowed. She drops her keys in a bowl near the door and nods toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I sink down onto a sofa in the open-plan room, watching her grab a couple of drinks from the refrigerator.

  Weirdly, being here feels more comfortable than being at the Wise house. That house has good memories, of course, but also bad ones. It reminds me of that tumultuous time in my life, befor
e I became the man I am today.

  Willow’s house, on the other hand, feels comfortable. Fresh. Clean.

  She sinks down onto the sofa beside me, handing me a frosty green bottle. Touching the neck of her bottle to mine, she smiles at me before folding her legs underneath her body and taking a drink.

  “That was pretty heavy,” she says, glancing at me. “Being at your old house, I mean.”

  I grunt. “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

  “I wasn’t sure you wanted me with you.”

  “I always want you with me.”

  The words just slip out of my lips and swirl around us like a spell. Willow’s eyes lift up to mine, and I’m lost in those pools of blue.

  This time, I don’t resist.

  This time, I’m not going to walk away.

  This time, I’ll kiss the woman of my dreams. The only one I’ve ever loved.

  I take Willow’s beer and place it next to mine on the coffee table. She watches me, her face unmoving. Her eyes are bright as I put my hand on her thigh, feeling her soft skin as I crawl my fingers up underneath her dress.

  She lets out the softest, sexiest sigh I’ve ever heard, and then shifts her weight and swings a leg over to straddle me.

  My cock strains against my pants, and I’m worried I might break my zipper. Her hands rest on my chest as she sits on my lap, and I trail my fingers over her waist.

  We move slowly, deliberately, exploring each other’s bodies like we’re teenagers again.

  Her hips rock ever so gently and her center brushes against mine. I groan, pushing against her movements. This woman will be the death of me.

  My fingers drift up her sides, my thumbs brushing the swell of her breast. She shivers against my touch, her full, red lips parting as she sighs.

  Leaning against me, Willow’s hair forms long, blond curtains on either side of us as she brings her face closer to mine. I cup her cheek, dragging my thumb over her lip as I drink her in.

  Vanilla and strawberries engulf me. My body is on fire. My rough hand sweeps over her soft cheek, tangling into her hair as I pull her closer.