by L. B. Dunbar
He’s a cheater, my heart screams. A cheater and a liar as he withheld the truth from me. Two weeks! My body trembles again in disgust. He kissed me after her. He’s touched me. He told me…oh God! I break, recalling what he said to me.
“You’re everything to me, Lily pad. Everything and beyond. Don’t give up on me.”
Foolish. I was stupid to believe him, holding out hope he was careful with me because he wanted it to be perfect. We would be together forever, so why rush?
He said those things knowing, knowing he’d been with her already.
My head shakes.
Don’t give up on him? He gave up on me.
“I don’t think we should see each other again.” I don’t even know why I say this. It’s obvious we won’t. My sister has come between us just as she threatened to.
“Lily, I think—”
“You’ve done enough, Brut. Just…just leave.”
It was ridiculous to say. We stand inside his father’s garage, the place of our secret rendezvous. I need to walk away, but I don’t have the strength. My knees still shake despite the desire to run away from him. He steps forward, reaching for my hands, but I withdraw in disgust. He catches them, quicker than me, and presses his lips to my knuckles.
“Lily pad,” he pleads into my skin, but there was nothing to beg for.
He’d already ruined my heart. We were finished. Dream destroyed.
24
The first fight
[Brut]
I race through LA traffic as fast as one can with gridlock on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. My heart feels hollow inside my chest at the way things went with Lily.
You’re special to me.
Fuck that. My hand pounds the steering wheel as I swear at another slow-moving driver. Hours pass like days as I’m drawn back to my reality.
A fight. What the fuck was Chopper thinking?
He wasn’t thinking, I surmise, just as I wasn’t all those years ago. I’d received notice that I lost my scholarship due to a failed class. My attendance was poor because I had to cover for my dad in the shop. He drank too much, too often, and couldn’t be roused. Then he officially fell sick, and I discovered the gambling debts.
I did what I shouldn’t have done. I got drunk. Late night, a dive bar, and a girl with eyes like Lily’s. My weakened state of mind and the angry energy within me fooled me into thinking I was losing myself in Lily. Sweet Lily. I hadn’t gone to her because I didn’t want to ruin her. I didn’t want our first time to be under my hostility. I just needed five minutes to stew, and it changed the course of my life forever. I’d used the wrong sister.
Lily found out from said sister. After two weeks of guilt, the tears, the horror, and the accusations assaulted me—as they should have. Broken Lily. She disappeared. She wouldn’t take my calls. I finally went to her house a week later, but Lauren answered the door. That was when she told me she was pregnant. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her. I wanted nothing to do with the older Warren sister again. Heartbroken, I had no choice but to let the younger one go.
Then almost a year later, a present arrived on my doorstep.
Happy Father’s Day, the note read atop a bundle of blankets over an infant in a car seat. I looked up to see the brake lights of a waiting car, which then sped off the second I acknowledged it. The weeks that followed included a paternity test, a formal appeal to rectify the name on the birth certificate, and a petition of abandonment to qualify for legal parentage. Born Brutus Joseph Warren, I changed the baby’s name to Charles Henry Paige, giving him my father and my brother’s name as well as my own. My father nicknamed him Chopper.
I’d never fault that child. That child sealed my fate. If I ever doubted Lauren, I had all the proof I needed growing before me for almost twenty-two years. Lily’s words linger in my ears as I pull into my driveway, taking note of the sadness of my house compared to the brightness of the beach house. Lily’s dream home is nothing like mine. I want to give her a house.
I rub at the ache in my chest as I slam the SUV into park and rush for the front steps. Chopper sits inside the dark living room, his head resting on the back of the couch. Sensing I’m ready to lay into my son, my brother jumps from the chair he sits in. Hank is bigger than I am in stature—fuller, thicker—but we’re the same height. I’ve always been the calmer of the two of us.
“Brut, just calm down.”
“Calm down?” I snap. “What the fuck were you doing?” I narrow in on my son. His dark hair matches the color mine once was. His eyes however will match my greatest love and my biggest nemesis. Chopper rolls forward on the couch, his head lowering to his hands as his elbows hit his knees. He doesn’t speak to me. He doesn’t even look at me. What the fuck?
“I think you need to relax. He’s okay now. Nothing major. The cops hauled them each away to cool off.” I stare at my brother with his hands on my shoulders, nodding at me as if I’m a child who needs to understand.
“You pulled strings, didn’t you?” I bark again. My brother was once a famous musician. After all the fights he’s been in, all the bar mishaps from years of drinking, he has connections. His lip twitches, and he struggles to straighten it, proud of his behavior.
“You think this is funny? What if it had been Elston or Ronin?” Elston and Ronin are the older two of his new stepsons. A fight could have happened with either of them, and the roles would be reversed right now. Hank would be losing his mind.
“Ronin wouldn’t fight anyone.” Hank huffs. “Elston might be another story. But this isn’t about my boys; it’s about yours. And he’s okay, for the moment.”
Hank’s calm does nothing to ease my frayed nerves. I fold to a squat before Chopper.
“Are you okay?” I push back his longer hair, tipping back his head so I can see his face. Instead of sorrow or remorse, there’s an edge to my son’s expression along with a shining black eye. He hosts an empty glare while I scan his features. He looks just like me when I was his age, but he has her eyes. It’s been hard to look him in those eyes over the years. They remind me too often of what I’ve lost.
“Get enough of a look?” he hisses at me, and I’m startled by the venom in his tone. My son and I have what I consider an open relationship. I’ve been both parents plus disciplinarian, but as he grew older, I also became a little too lax. Drinking when he was too young. Girls at the house. Later nights than necessary. It didn’t mean I didn’t care about him, or worry he would be an alcoholic like Hank, or fuck the wrong girl and impregnate her, like me. I just let him loose too soon.
“What happened?” I soften my voice, hoping he’ll talk to me. He usually does, but there’s something in those hard eyes I haven’t seen before.
“It was a fight. No biggie.”
“No biggie? Chopper, you went to jail for this.”
“It was only lock-up. Hank got me out.”
“You know this won’t be the end of it.” He’ll have community service or something. He can’t possibly get off scot-free, not to mention he’ll be paying his uncle back every dime.
“What’s it matter?” With that question, he presses off the couch and brushes past me.
“Where are you going?” I stand to find his back to me.
“Out,” he throws over his shoulder and storms through the front door.
“What the fuck was that?” I turn to my younger brother.
“Growing pains?” Hank responds. He’s always been the less responsible of the two of us. He shrugs, as if a fight were an everyday thing. I know my son runs wild, but a fight isn’t in his repertoire of offenses. He’s never raised a fist to anyone in anger.
I turn for the front door when I hear Chopper’s car fire up, and then I spin back to face my brother. A smirk graces his mouth.
“So, how was your vacation?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Are you fucking stupid? Why would you set Lily up to be there?”
“You liked that, didn’t you?” Hank nods as if h
e pulled one over on me.
“Yeah, just great. Except she hates me just as much as she ever did.”
Hank’s all-too-pleased-with-himself expression falters. “She does not.”
“Right. You’re the one who just spent the best week of your life with her only to have her remind you in the last seconds of the mistake you made years ago to lose her.”
“Did she really bring that up?” Hank stares at me, his face like a confused child even though he’s forty-three with a salt-and-pepper beard.
Did she? I think back. Nope. Actually, I did. I mentioned my mistake, blaming my son for what happened.
I’d never fault that child, I hear again, a tenderness to her voice when she spoke of him, defending him.
I fall onto the couch, covering my face with my hands. Hank returns to his seat on the chair to the side of the couch. My furniture sucks, I note, knowing without looking up that the room is like a man cave with old recliners and a lumpy, worn fabric couch. Dark drapes and deep wood paneling. My eyes stare at the carpet, threadbare and thin. Why am I thinking of these things?
What if…
“So, the best week of your life, huh?” Hank interjects. I look up at my brother, and his face pinches as he sees something in mine.
“Yeah, genius. It was fun.”
“How fun?” Hank tilts his head, his brows dancing.
“I’m not kissing and telling you anything.”
“So, there was kissing and things to tell?” Hank’s forehead furrows with excitement.
“What are we, teenage chicks? I’m not telling you a thing.”
“Just admit you enjoyed the vacation.”
I sigh in exasperation, my chest pinching. “I did. I enjoyed it more than I should.”
+ + +
I only last until Monday morning before I break. I don’t have Lily’s number. We never exchanged them for the 739 code, and I don’t want to call the bakery. I need to see her in person. I know the shop opens at seven, so I’m there fifteen minutes later. A sweet bell trills over the door, announcing my entrance like an old-fashioned, small town bakery. However, it appears, I’m not the first customer.
I freeze as I see Lily embracing a young man in a leather jacket. She pulls back without looking up at me, cupping his face and looking him right in the face.
“I love you. We’ll work this out.”
Further stunned by her words, I speak. “What the fuck is this?”
Turning in Lily’s arms is my son. My goddamn kid. His arms wrap around the waist of Lily. Her hand still presses one of his cheeks.
“Are you fucking my son?” It’s a totally irrational question, and Chopper spins out of Lily’s arms, placing his body in front of hers in a protective stance. He’s clearly familiar with her.
“How dare you?” Lily hisses.
“Dad,” Chopper growls. “That is just so wrong. She’s my aunt.”
The label lingers between us. Yes, Lily is his aunt. That’s right. His mother is Lily’s sister. Of course, he isn’t fucking her. My brain takes a moment to register the impossibility of Chopper and Lily together, but then a new question arises.
“How the hell do you—”
“Who the hell are you?” A short, cappuccino-toned woman with wild curls to her chin rounds past Lily and Chopper. Holding up two cake knives, she crosses them in front of her as though she’s placing a hex on me.
Ignoring her, I address my son. “And what the hell are you doing here?” Before Chopper answers me, Lily steps forward, placing herself between my son and her feisty worker.
“Brut, I think you need to leave.” Her soft tone nearly brings me to my knees. We have so much to discuss, like how long she has known my son and when will I see her again. My heart races inside my chest, but I’m not getting anywhere near Lily with ninja-bakery girl and my kid behind her.
“We need to talk,” I say, a plea in my voice.
“We will, but not now.” Lily looks down at her hands, wringing them. I’ve never seen her so nervous. I don’t feel settled by her words, but I know when I’ve been dismissed. I turn for the door, slamming it open with my palm and hearing it rock back on the metal behind me.
Fuck. What the hell is going on?
+ + +
I’m shit at work for the rest of the day and leave the garage early, hoping to catch Lily again at the end of her hours. The front door to the bakery is still unlocked although the cupcake shaped sign reads: Closed. Lily stands with her back to the door, wiping down the glass display case when I enter.
“It isn’t safe to leave the door open.”
Lily spins, holding a spray bottle and rag to her chest.
“Jesus, Brut, you scared me.”
I twist the lock myself and step toward her. She wears an apron over her pink T-shirt and some kind of tight-knit skirt with pink and white strips. Her hair is in two pigtails like the day I saw her collecting shells. That moment suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.
“Lily pad.” Her name clogs in my throat, and I swallow the lump suddenly there. There’s so much to say, but I need to touch her first. She turns her back to me, setting the glass cleaner and towel on the top of the display case. Her hands brace against the top after that as she keeps her back to me.
“I can’t do this, Brut.”
“No, Lil,” I say, choking again. My hands come to her hips, and I draw her back to me. “Lily, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My arms wrap around her middle, and I’m kissing her neck, pleading with her. “Forgive me for being an ass. This morning. Saturday morning. Any morning.” Peppering her with more kisses, I tug her T-shirt to the side and nip at her neck. Her head falls back to my shoulder.
“Damn it, Brut.” I feel her body give against me, and my hands slip lower. I didn’t sleep at all the past two nights without her under my hold. I’m crazed with need for her, to connect with her.
“It isn’t over, Lil. It was never going to be one week. Everything and beyond. I want you. I need you.” I love you. My hands come to her sides and begin gathering up her skirt. She isn’t stopping me, and I take it as a sign to continue. Her fingers curl to fists on the display case, but she presses back against me.
“Brut,” she groans.
“You still want me, sugar. I know you do.” Her head shakes once, but her hips don’t lie. Her backside curls into me. Scrambling for my jeans, I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I’m frantic to be inside her. If she can feel me, she’ll know we aren’t over. I tap at her feet with my foot between them to spread them, and she allows me to hike her skirt to her hips. She’s wearing another thong, and I tug at the material, adrenaline giving me strength to snap the band. Scooping under her, I pull back on her hips and enter her with one thrust.
“Lily,” I hiss, filling her to the hilt as her head falls forward to the display case. She meets me, pushing back to drag me in. Sparks dance before my eyes as we push and pull against one another. Grunting, growling, taking. It’s desperate and raw. Within seconds, one of her hands lowers to touch herself as I grip her hips, guiding her in a frantic rhythm over me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I pound into her.
“Brut,” she groans, stilling as she clenches, and her back arches. I follow within seconds, jetting off within her. Our ragged, harsh breaths fill the otherwise silent room as I collapse over her, sandwiching her against the case. My hands release her hips and raise to hers, linking our fingers together. She holds me tight as I squeeze her fingers in return.
“I can’t lose you again.”
Lily’s body relaxes underneath me. “Brut, I—”
“Shhh, baby. Not yet.” We’re breathing heavy, and I’m still buried inside her. I just want one more minute. One more week. One more anything. Don’t leave me, I plead, rolling my forehead against the back of her neck.
“We have so much to talk about,” she finally says, and I know she’s right. I know, this is it.
25
Letting go
[Lily]
I
just need a second to recover. I don’t know where the moment of pure lust came from, but I somehow knew I needed it. I needed Brut inside me one more time because we didn’t part on good terms when he left me too soon the other morning. In my fantasy, we’d make love again before we said tearful, heartfelt goodbyes and parted ways one more time.
I don’t blame his early departure on him, but it still stung. My heart ripped open, and I cried as I picked up the lovemaking nest he’d made on the balcony. Washing the linens and packing my bags, I didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down my face. We couldn’t be over, yet we couldn’t begin again.
Lauren still stood between us. Now, more than ever.
Brut pulls out of me, and I feel the release trickle down my leg. Using my apron, I swipe at the drip and smooth down my skirt with shaky hands. Brut has picked up the scrap of material that was my thong but pockets it. I turn against the display case, using it to support my trembling legs as I watch Brut work at his belt buckle. He swipes a hand over his hair when he finishes and sheepishly looks up at me.
“I apologize. That was a bit rough.”
How could I tell him I liked it? I wanted it. One more time. I’ve felt so discombobulated since Saturday morning, and then all this stuff with Chopper.
“Let me get us something to drink,” I offer, knowing we’re going to need something strong for all the shit we need to share. I walk on quivering legs to the kitchen in the back of my bakery, looking in one of the upper cabinets for a bottle of Jim Bean Ester keeps for toasting special occasions. Brut has followed me and stands on one side of the stainless steel table in the center of the room. I should take him upstairs to my place because it would be more comfortable. But I’m worried if I do, I’ll never let him go, and I can’t take the heartbreak that will bring. My heart is already torn in two, and he’s going to hate me after this conversation.