by L. B. Dunbar
“I don’t want to intrude on family time,” she says, her voice cracking again, and she swallows.
“You’re not intruding,” Midge offers. “You’re family, too.”
Lily stares at Midge, and then the tears fall. Big crocodile tears at first. Silent and large, plopping like drops of rain. One here. Another there.
“I don’t have a family,” she says as her lips quiver, and I realize Lily’s on the edge of shock. She’s trembling again, and the tears plop down to her dress. I reach for her cheeks. She doesn’t flinch, which I take as a good sign, but I also don’t think she’s aware of my touch.
“I’m your family,” I say, and Lily stares at me. “Chopper, too.” The tears fall harder, and Lily’s hands come to her face. I can’t take the heartache any further, and I wrap my arms around her, dragging her into me. She crumples against my chest, her hands still covering her cheeks as she sobs against me.
“Shh, Lily pad. It’s okay.” I attempt to soothe, stroking her hair as my other hand firmly holds her waist to keep her pressed against me. “We’ll get through this.”
I don’t know what I mean by what I say. I don’t know if we’ll ever be okay, but I’d like to think all we have is the future before us. The past has finally closed the door.
30
Family first
[Lily]
I’m talked into going to Midge and Hank’s house for something to eat. My system shut down for a few moments and emotion overtook me as we stood on the drive, watching the men lower my sister’s casket and cover her with dirt. Dust to dust. An eerie sensation crawled over my skin, and I couldn’t stop shaking. I also couldn’t look away. I’d like to say a hundred images flashed of Lauren and me when we were children, when we had been playmates, but I think my mind remained blank. Ashes to ashes. The whole process left me cold, not so much from my emotions but from the experience. One day, I’ll die, and who will attend my funeral? I have no family.
When Midge told me I was part of their family, and Brut gave me reassuring words that I had him and Chopper, I crumbled like a too-dry cupcake. I fell apart against him, needing his strength while knowing I didn’t really have him in my life. The past week plus has been filled with so much strain I feel as if I’ve lost a year of my life instead of ten days in the late summer. I don’t know what steps to take next, and that’s how I find myself in my car with Brut driving me to his brother and sister-in-law’s house.
Brut remains silent, and whether it’s to give me space or be alone with his own thoughts, I appreciate the quiet. I want to know what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling, but I don’t ask. I don’t have the energy for his answers. We’ve come to a strange understanding of don’t-speak-and-we-won’t-know. We huddled around Chopper for two days, supporting him through decisions someone so young shouldn’t have to make as he dealt with the death of a mother he never knew.
I curse Lauren again, but I also realize nothing can be done about her decisions. Some answers will never be had. I worry for Chopper, but he seems to be handling everything in stride. Maybe he’s just become numb like the rest of us.
When we arrive at Midge’s, the first thing she places in my hand is a drink. I think it’s scotch, and it goes down a bit rough, but I instantly feel warmer than I’ve felt in days. I relax a little within the chaos of her home. The food is catered. Her sons are present—Elston, Ronin, and Liam—and I marvel at the fact Midge is going to have another child. Eighteen years difference from her oldest to the newest baby, yet she glows like a youthful woman. Her hand occasionally caresses her belly, and on more than one occasion, Hank stops to do the same thing. A sadness mixes with the warmth of alcohol and settles within me. Resolve, I realize. I’m not relaxed; I’m resolved to the disappointment of never having what Midge has—love and children. Family.
I don’t want to blame my sister. Even though I spent tears on the drive near her burial, my remorse is not for my sister, but the absence of something greater than her. Recent events have been a reminder of all she took from me, yet I can’t look back with confidence and say she took anything. Brut never claimed to love me. Marriage was certainly not on his bucket list. He was a vibrant young man, under the weight of life, struggling to push through for a dream. He was having fun. Nothing more.
A plate of veggies is placed before me as I sit on a stool in Midge’s kitchen, and I take a bite or two before the house erupts in boisterous greetings near the front door. Tommy Carrigan and his wife, Edie, have arrived. I have only seen Tommy Carrigan on a few occasions—a long, long time ago—when Brut’s brother, Hank, ran off to play for a band, and Brut tried to sneak me into a club where they were playing. Chrome Teardrops was their name then with Kit Carrigan, Tommy’s sister, as lead singer. Brut had Hank pull strings to get me into the bar as I was underage. It was one of the only times Brut and I were outside the garage office or the back seat of a car. It was also the night my sister discovered us.
“Darlin’,” a Southern drawl addresses me, and dark eyes widen as Tommy Carrigan looks at me before shifting his eyes to Brut and back. His once dark hair has transformed to sleek black and bright silver. He even sports a heavy scruff of salt and pepper. Glancing over at Hank and comparing the two men, I can see them as young heartthrobs on a stage, playing songs to make women pant. Hell, even in their forties, women would toss a bra to see them.
“She’s more beautiful than I remember.” Tommy winks at me and then shakes his head at Brut as though he’s disappointed in him. I don’t know what any of this means, but his gaze is a reminder that Brut has not left my side. Where I’m sitting on the stool, he lingers behind me. I’m certain he’s the one to offer me a drink, set food in front of me, and remain beside me. It’s comforting yet unnerving at the same time.
“Edie, meet Lily Warren, she was the love of Brut’s life.” My sore eyes narrow as a pixie-haired blonde reaches for my hand and swats her husband at the same time.
“I see you’re still a dick,” Brut mutters behind me as Edie covers my hand with a second one, holding on a moment longer than necessary.
“Edie Carrigan,” she says, smiling warmly. “And that was certainly awkward.” Her eyes flit to Brut behind me.
“Nice to see you again, Edie,” Brut says, stepping forward to offer a chaste kiss to her cheek and a brief hug. As Brut pulls back, Tommy’s already got an arm around his wife’s waist, and I’m curious what the possessive move is all about. I’m sensing Brut and Tommy don’t care for one another although I don’t remember stories of their animosity.
I’m more curious why the house is filling up for a funeral luncheon no one attended and turning into a party of sorts. I’m saddened again about my lack of family and decide I need to find the restroom.
As I’m returning from the powder room, I hear gunfire and shouting sounds coming from a room off near the staircase. I peek my head inside to find a light brown-haired ten-year-old, his tongue wiggling outside his mouth as he presses a controller with two thumbs. He doesn’t look up at me but addresses someone through a headset.
“Go left, go left.” Hearing another gunshot and an explosion, I turn to the monitor to see blood splatter across the screen.
“Jesus,” I say aloud and turn my head, finding Liam looking at me. Midge’s youngest son is the male version of her as a little boy. Matching eyes, same hair color, warm smile.
“Hey cupcake la—” he begins but gets interrupted as he continues with the directions from his fellow player. We met when I made cupcakes for Hank and Midge’s wedding dinner and another time when Midge wanted cupcakes for some clients. She’s become quite the regular, and I appreciate the support.
I step inside the room and sit next to Liam on the small couch.
“This is kind of graphic.” I flinch as more blood splatters on the screen.
“Nah,” he moans. “It’s Assassin’s Creed. It’s historical, so it’s all good.” I don’t think I agree as another person is taken out on the screen. I’m mesmerized for a
moment at the monotony of the movements in the game, and sense how gamers get sucked into hours of playing. Something happens, and Liam groans. He slaps the controller against leg and throws his head back on the cushion.
“I’m dead,” he mutters into the headset, and then his eyes widen as he looks over at me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I chuckle.
“For saying dead. I’m sorry your sister died.” It seems rather formal from a little kid, but I thank him for his condolences.
“Mom said we didn’t have to attend the funeral, but we had to be here for lunch. Said family first or something like that.” He picks up the controller again.
“Well, you have a great family.”
“Elston can be a jerk because he’s older, and Ronin used to be my friend, but now he’s too cool because he’s in high school,” Liam singsongs for mocking emphasis. “But Chopper’s awesome.” His tone shifts to full admiration.
“Yeah, what do you like about Chopper?”
“He doesn’t treat me like a kid. He’s like Brut. They act like I’m someone, not like I don’t know anything. Chopper’s been showing me how to fix things on a car, and Brut keeps bringing me these kits where I can take stuff apart and rebuild it, but it all works mechanically.”
I nod as if I have any idea what he’s describing.
“That sounds…cool.”
“It is cool. Mom says we’re a clan of men, but I don’t see anything wrong with that.” He shrugs indifferently.
“Your mom’s pregnant,” I say. This is no secret because she’s definitely showing. “What will happen if you have a sister?”
He shrugs again. “I guess she’ll learn to play baseball, do video games, and fix cars, too. That’s what we do in this family.” He’s so cavalier and honest in his answer that I laugh.
“Sounds perfect,” I mutter and look up to find Hank looking at his youngest stepson with warmth in his eyes as he curls around the doorframe.
“It is,” he says softly, wiggling an eyebrow at me. He tips his head to the side, directing me to follow him, and I stand, excusing myself from Liam. Hank waits for me just outside the kitchen entrance.
“How are you doing?” he asks, peering down at me with playful eyes. They are the same blue as Brut’s but not as edgy or serious as his older brother’s. Hank is also more solid than Brut, so his crossed arms and imposing stare demand I answer.
“I don’t know how to feel, I guess. I’m a little…out there.” I wave a hand to imply anywhere but the literal.
“Well, I want to reiterate what Midge said. You’re our family, too. It’s a weird, twisted connection, I get it, but Chopper knows who you are, and Brut’s told me how amazing you’ve been toward him, so you have to know you’re one of us.”
Tears prickle my eyes, and the sting makes my nose burn. I blink a few times. “Thank you.” Those are the only words I can find. I don’t deserve their open arms although I didn’t ever do anything directly to them. Still, I appreciate the earnest firmness to Hank’s statement. I’m one of them.
“What’s going on?” Suddenly, Brut stands at my side, holding my upper arm. “Why is she almost crying?” he snaps at his brother.
“Chill. I’m just letting her know again that we’re her family.” Hank motions between the three of us, and Brut’s eyes narrow at his brother.
“No wonder she wants to cry,” Brut mocks, and like a pressure of air bubbling up inside me, I release a snort-laugh, before covering my nose and giggling more. Brut’s lips slowly crook up on one side, and his eyes dance. “Well, there she finally is.”
My brows pinch as I watch his grin grow. “I’ve been waiting for some of those sweet noises.”
“Sweet?” Hank jokes. “Did you not just hear that honk?”
I’m giggling harder for some reason, and Brut’s mouth opens to a wide smile.
“Sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard come from Lily pad.”
My breath hitches along with a giggle, and now it sounds like I’ve hiccupped.
“Cripes, get a room,” Hank mutters, running his hand down my arm in comfort.
“We already had one, thanks to you,” I mumble, and he freezes. Brut’s smile falls, and Hank watches me a second. Then his eyes twinkle, and his mouth opens. “Oh, you’re definitely part of the family.”
31
The party is over
[Lily]
Brut drives me to the bakery although there’s no reason for him to do so. He claims I’ve had too much to drink, which I deny. I’m warm and fuzzy but not buzzed. He also decides it isn’t safe for me to go home alone so late. I’ve lived here for years and come home later than nine without worry. I understand people’s concerns. It isn’t a great neighborhood on the edge of Los Angeles, but the area is trying to revive itself. The rent is cheap for now, and I feel perfectly safe living here, but I don’t argue with Brut. I don’t want to be alone yet, which is only prolonging the inevitable.
Not only does Brut insist on driving me, but he’s also adamant he escort me to the back door and then tells me he’s going to walk me up to my apartment. The entrance to my place is within the bakery and one reason the apartment came with the space. It isn’t much, but the owner did the space up nicely with exposed brick on two walls. It might have been a loft office for whatever the place was originally, but it’s been converted to include an open-concept space, and I do mean open. As you walk up the stairs, a low privacy wall encases the stairwell, but immediately at the top you see everything: a double bed in front of you, couch and television to the left, and a four-seater kitchen table centering the kitchen area, doubling as my desk. I’m able to write off the space as my office. I’ve tried to section off the areas by hanging a sheer curtain to separate the bedroom and living space, but my place looks more Bohemian than homey.
“So, this is it,” I say to him, crossing the short distance to my nightstand and removing my earrings. I hear Brut shuffling behind me, and it sounds as if he’s placing his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. I turn to face him and find him slowly taking in my studio lifestyle. “It isn’t much. I guess you probably have a nice house.”
There’s a little snip to my voice, and I don’t know where the sarcasm comes from. He’s already told me his house is run down, so I don’t know why I’m thinking of it as none of that ever matters to me. It’s more that I don’t want him sizing me up because I live in a tiny, unsafe place when the bakery is all I have in life. On the other hand, the way he stands in my place causes me to have a flash of our lives as if it were a different time. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned, he could have just returned home from work—teaching. I might be dressed like this because I served a party. The image is haunting, and I turn away from him.
“Thanks for the ride. Do you need to borrow my car to get home or call Chopper to pick you up?”
“I don’t think you should be alone tonight.” His low voice speaks directly behind me. The words tickle down my neck from his nearness. In many ways, he’s right. I don’t want to sleep with my thoughts, which I know will bring no rest. When thick fingers come to my shoulders and squeeze, I tense up without meaning to. Then the tip of one finger strokes down the back of my neck, and my head lolls forward. My eyes close, and I give into the shiver rippling over my skin. He finds the zipper to my dress and slowly slides the closure downward, exposing my back.
“Brut.” His name whispers through my lips.
“Let’s just be, Lily pad. Let me be here for you.”
I don’t reply, just feel the warmth of his palms as he presses open the sides of my dress, and the material falls off my shoulders. Fingertips tickle down my spine and stop at my lower back. Brut pushes at the waist of my dress, forcing the remaining material to the floor.
“God, I love your back,” he says, before kissing my neck. “You are so beautiful.”
I’m suddenly trembling with need—need for his touch, his mouth, him inside me. I want to forget everything ju
st for a little bit.
“So sexy,” he murmurs as his hands cover my lower cheeks, smoothing his warm palms over the curve. I’m wearing a lace thong to prevent lines in my dress, and Brut slips a finger under the strip of fabric but doesn’t remove it. “Keep the heels on and step forward.”
He guides me as he speaks, moving me two feet to the wall beside my nightstand. One hand curls over my hip while the other lifts my wrist until I catch myself on the wall.
“Keep your hands up,” he mutters into my shoulder as he nips me, hard. My back arches at the sting, and my backside brushes against his silky suit pants. He moans against my skin as his tongue follows the trail of my neck to my shoulder. The hand on my hip slips forward, dipping into the thin strip of lace, and combs through the tuft of hair.
“Let me take your worries,” he says as he slips a finger inside me, and I instantly see stars. We’ve been together, obviously. We had our week’s worth of sexcation, but this…this feels different, intimate, intense. Brut’s finger slides slowly in and out before adding another and then a third.
“Oh God, Brut,” I moan. I’m full like this but not full enough.
“Like this first,” he hisses into my neck, nibbling at my skin, taking his time to linger with each bite and work his magic lower with each stroke. It’s languid, luscious, and my body tightens. I press back, wanting friction with the stiff length in his pants. He thrusts forward, mimicking how he’d move, but not yet as his fingers slide within and a suction sound fills my small apartment.
“You’re so wet, sugar, and you’re going to come so hard.” His command makes it happen. I still, the rush flowing out of me as my knees give. Brut presses forward, flattening me against the wall. “There she is,” he says like he did earlier when I laughed. “Give me all your sounds.” I don’t even realize I’m making a preening noise, a whimper at the relief. I’m outside myself, a million pieces, like confetti floating in the breeze, and it’s heavenly.