by L. B. Dunbar
“What did you want to be, Brut, when you were a kid?” He glares at me with uncertainty on his face, like if he admits his dream, I’ll laugh.
“Doesn’t really matter anymore. I am what I am.”
“And what are you, Brut? In the grand scheme of things, what are you?”
“You hitting the bottle again? These are kind of deep thoughts for a Monday evening.” He chuckles, knowing I’m not drinking. He scrubs at his forehead with his finger and thumb, like he’s holding in long-lost opportunities. I think of Lily briefly.
“You know I always wanted to bang my drums with a band, tour the world and shit. I got to do all that. I blew it, but I did it. But what about you?”
“First, you didn’t blow it. You guys were on top of the world while it lasted. Cancer is a shit thing, and Kit getting it so young was a heartache. But never say you were a failure, Hank. You had it all. Sometimes, losing is beyond your control.”
I watch my brother, his worldly comments sinking in slowly.
“But I blew all the money. I lost my home. I lost the girl—”
“You never had the girl. Not the way you should have had her,” he interjects before sighing, removing his glasses, and looking down at his desk. He knows what he’s talking about. Kit and I were reckless—a mistake I can’t make myself admit. Brut had a girl once, and she was into him the way you want a girl to be. Caring. Committed. Intimate. Only, he blew it.
“Anyway, I might have been famous, but I have nothing to show for it.”
“You have Grammys,” Brut scoffs.
“I don’t even know where they are.”
“What’s brought all this on?” Tipping back in his chair, Brut places a finger against his temple.
“Midge.” Brut stares, waiting for clarification. “She didn’t take the job with Pendelton, and I applaud her decision because he’s an asshat. But she deserved the job, Brut. It isn’t fair that she feels she failed, and it also isn’t fair I can’t help her. I want to help her. She needs money to go out on her own and start her own business, which I bet she can do. She has damn good ideas even if I don’t understand all of them. Look how she straightened out things here.”
Brut nods, rocking in his chair. “You should see the ad campaign she came up with. New logo. New tagline. It’s really gonna give the place some life and make it mine. Ours,” he corrects.
“Is it ours, man? I feel like it’s always been yours. I don’t deserve the second chance you gave me.” I look at my brother, really look at him. His hair might be snow white, but the scruff on his face is only salt-and-pepper. He typically keeps his face clean-shaven, though, so I’m surprised at the change in him. He isn’t as edgy as me, thinner, softer but still strong. In fact, I appear the older of the two of us from living life too much. When did Brut live?
“Don’t even go there. You’re my brother. When you have nowhere else to go, home is where you go. What’s really happening inside that big head?” I swipe over my skull with both hands at the mention of my large cranium.
“I’m just frustrated. I want to give Midge things, and I can’t.”
“Midge loves you. Returning that love might be all she needs.”
“I do love her,” I snap.
“I know.” Brut winks.
“But I want to help her do more. I so fucked up.” I sigh, and Brut lowers his head, pressing at his temple again. I know it isn’t all about money, but I want to show her I support her. From my side of the fence, she’s had a good life. I can’t say she’s had a pampered life, but I want to pamper her.
“You have the money.”
“What?” I balk, my elbows coming to my knees, hands clasping together. He just called this place ours. Is he thinking…? “I can’t ask you to put up money from this place, if that’s where you’re going.”
“Nope. You have your own money. You can do as you please with it.” We continue to eye one another, and I’m completely lost to his meaning. He leans forward, crossing his arms on his desk again. “When things were going down for you, I made you sign a Power of Attorney, signing everything over to me.”
“You what?” My eyes widen as I sit upright, and then I glare. “I don’t remember this.”
“I’m certain you wouldn’t.” We both take a moment to reflect on some of my low times. Blackouts. Unexplained bruises. Missing pieces in time.
“Why would you do that?”
“You were drowning in self-misery, and I couldn’t watch you piss away everything you worked for, so I had to do something to save you from yourself, at least in the aspect of your finances. I had you sign the papers, allowing me to take over.”
“How?”
“Got you drunk.” He laughs bitterly, and I grin weakly at the strong possibility.
“So much for sound body and mind,” I mock. “But I lost my house. Foreclosure. Bankruptcy.” Brut looks away as I speak.
“I sold it.” Brut shakes his head.
“Out from under me?”
“You were so far down, there wasn’t an under for you.” We glare at one another before Brut has the chagrin to look away. I’m too stunned to speak, caught between lies, manipulation, and gratitude.
“How could you keep this from me?” I snap.
“I figured I’d tell you when the time was right.”
“And when would that be…according to you?”
“Now.” His lips curl, but I don’t find the humor in knowing all my assets are still available to me, at least in some capacity. Thinking of those lost Grammys, I ask. “Where are my things?”
“In the attic of the garage.”
“And the money?” I swallow at the possibility I still have some.
“In an account, earning interest. Some is in small investment funds.”
I blink. My brother took care of me, but he lied to me. Anger settles into me swiftly.
“Is there anyone who hasn’t kept a secret from me? First, Kit with Lawson. Now, you with this.” I’m pissed.
“Midge. You said she told you she loves you. I believe she is honest about that,” Brut adds, softening his tone. I want to kick his ass for throwing her in my face, and then kick my own for not noticing Midge is the only truthful thing in my life. Honest. Raw. Everything. I don’t deserve her, but she deserves everything.
“Can I have access to the money?” I ask sheepishly as if it isn’t already mine. “How much do I have?”
“I’d say you have a few million.” I fall back on the couch. What the fuck?
“Then why am I living in a bedroom in your house and working here?” I bark, the insult hitting my brother like a punch to the gut.
“Whenever you’re ready, I guess you can go.” His voice lowers to a tone reminding me of our pop; only there is no venom behind his suggestion, only the sting of hurt.
“I don’t mean it like that.” I exhale. Brut doesn’t question me although I can see he wants to know just what I do mean. My chest aches at the lie, but somehow, my head recognizes he did this to save me from myself. Losing my house and thinking the money vanished, along with a few other things, cemented my decision to get clean. It was either that or be homeless; although my brother wouldn’t let me live on the streets. When you don’t know where to go, you go home. He welcomed me into his house when I left rehab, and I just stabbed him for it.
“A history teacher,” he says quietly.
“Pardon me?”
“I wanted to be a history teacher. I was good in the subject and thought I’d be okay as a teacher.” I stare at my brother, one second from laughing until I see he’s serious. He would have been good with kids. He’s great with his son. He’s intelligent. He has the patience of a saint—just look at him with me. He shouldn’t be here anymore than Midge. I’m a selfish bastard.
“Do you need money for this place? Want to go to back to college?”
Brut’s head pops up. “I’m too old to go to school.”
“You’re never too old for change. Just look at me.” I wave
a hand before me. My appearance isn’t as tight as my big brother’s, but he knows what I mean.
“Nah, I’m good here, and we don’t need the money for this place.”
“So can I have some for Midge?”
“That’s up to you. It’s your money.” His expression looks puzzled as if he’s trying to read me as he presses back in his seat. “But you can’t fix things for her. I see you playing white knight again, and I don’t think money is what this woman needs most.”
“You just let me worry about my girl. This will solve everything for her.”
+ + +
She’s blinking up at me across her kitchen island. Her expression blank as her mouth hangs open.
“What?”
“I’d like to front the money for you to start your own marketing business.” Her head shakes, a smile curling her lips momentarily. She looks cute in her plaid pajama shorts and a red tank top. Once she accepts my offer, I’m gonna lay her out on this island and nibble her pert breasts, the nipples peaking under the thin material.
“I can’t.” Her lips flatten.
“Why not?” I snap. Staring back at her, I’m shocked at her abrupt answer.
“Because I don’t even know the first thing about running my own business. I wouldn’t know how much money I need, and I certainly can’t take money from you.”
“What’s wrong with my money?” I huff, gripping the counter, mirroring her position opposite me.
“Nothing, but it’s yours.” She waves outward from her body toward me.
“That’s the point. It’s mine, and I’m giving it to you.” Her entire body sags, her hands coming to rest on the counter again. We face off a second before she looks away.
“I can’t accept it. It’s sweet of you and super generous, but I can’t accept your gift.”
“Why not?” I practically whine this time, a petulant child not understanding.
“Just no, Hank.” She shivers, and I sense I’m glowering at her. My arms cross, biceps bulging with tension.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” I say, softening my tone and lowering my arms. I circle the island, reaching out to cup her jaw. I don’t like the momentary fear on her face.
Her eyes dash back and forth between mine. “I’m not frightened, but I can’t accept this.”
I search her face, wanting to comprehend. “This could help you. It can fix things.”
“What things?” she questions. “I’m not broken, and I’m not broke. Not yet, at least. I have applications out there, and I’ve investigated other avenues.”
Her fingers typically hold my wrists when I circle her face, but only her eyes reach mine.
“Like what? What things?”
Shrugging, she says, “I’ve reached out to other former clients I know from Bigle Marketing and a few on the list of who we wanted to impress. Some of them are willing to listen to me as an independent contractor.”
“That’s…that’s great, right?”
She shrugs again. “I think it’s a step forward.” Ugh, damn steps again.
“I still wish you’d just take the money. Look at it as a gift.”
“It’s very generous, but I don’t want to owe you.” Her voice softens although the words sting.
“You won’t owe me anything. I’m the one who already owes you,” I tease, stroking her cheeks.
“For what?” Her lips twist, and her brows furrow.
“For doing more with me.” I lower my head and take her lips. She’s so delicious, and within seconds, I’m crushing her against me, lapping up her lips and hoping to make her taste how I feel. I want to give her everything. What’s mine is hers.
“What’s more mean?” She pulls back a bit when the kiss slows.
“You said you wanted more a few weeks ago, and I want more with you.” She stares at me, eyes uncertain, and I realize I’m not explaining myself well. I repeat her sentiments. “More kisses, more than being okay. More of everything.”
“I more you, too.” She giggles. “But I’m not taking the money. It’s not like we’re married. We’re dating. It’s too much.”
I pull back at the comment, looking directly into her eyes. “If we were married, would you take the money?” It’s an honest question, but her answer surprises me.
“Hank, I’m not having this conversation with you.” Her tone grates over me as she tugs her face from my hands. Didn’t she say she wanted more? What the hell?
“Why not?”
“You aren’t going to marry me so you can give me the money. Money you didn’t know you still had. You should enjoy it yourself. Use it for Lawson. Or…or…go on a vacation or something.” She waves out a hand again, before slapping her thigh in frustration and the sting echoing in her kitchen.
“I don’t want to take a damn vacation,” I snip. I could marry her. I would do this in order for her to accept my gift. She stares at me, her head tilting as if she can read my thoughts.
“No.”
My mouth pops open. How does she do that? “You told me you would say yes if I asked.”
“I was drunk.” My head shakes, rattled as if she struck me. Her hands come for my biceps as I step back. “Fine. You’re right. I would say yes, but not like this, not because you only want to help me.” Her eyes search my face, distress in them like the pain in my rusty armor chest. Squeaking like the Tin Man, I realize I’m nobody’s knight. Never will be.
34
Seduction junction, what’s your function
Midge
Hank looks crushed after I reject his offer. It was a generous suggestion, but not one I could take in good conscience. He earned that money, and as he just discovered he still had it, I didn’t need him sharing it with me. I meant what I said; if we were married, it would be different, but we weren’t married, and I certainly wasn’t marrying him for money. It wasn’t the reason I was with him. In fact, Hank is very aware I had no idea who he was or how he was famous. I didn’t care about that—what he once was. I only want him in the present.
With this thought in mind, I decide I want to show him how I feel about him. I have a Mom’s Night function at the high school where I only need to make an appearance before I can escape. He’s been working late at the garage the past few days. We’ve fallen into a routine of him sneaking over to my house whenever he can and staying as long as he thought respectable, but I feel us separating.
The actual garage is a place I rarely visit. I don’t understand the parts, the terminology, or the mechanics of the automobiles. I just want four wheels and an engine to make my car go where I desire. Hank has a special project, and Brut mentions he’ll most likely be found at Restored Dreams working on it when I call Brut after Hank isn’t answering his phone.
It’s late April in California, and this means rain. I’m happy with the weather this evening as I need my old dress-length raincoat to pull off my plan as well as a stiff dose of liquid courage and a shot of confidence. I pass on the alcohol and take a deep breath instead. I have keys to the outer office and find Hank right where Brut suggests—bent over his black Mustang, the hood open and his head buried inside. Heavy music rains down inside. Something velvety, loud, and pulsing, the beat matches the rush in my heart and the thump at my core. My fingers fidget as I tug at the belt of the coat. Because of the music, he doesn’t hear my heels as I cross the cement floor.
I touch his shoulder and step back in anticipation. I knew I’d startle him.
“Holy fuck.” One hand covers his chest while the other holds up some kind of wrench, primed and ready to fight off his attacker. His eyes rapidly run from one to the other of mine, then he drops the metal item and tugs me to him. “You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”
I chuckle into his chest, inhaling his scent. Man. Oil. Hank. I’ve missed him the past few days with his distance, and I melt a little into his hold, relieved to be in his arms again. Then he presses me away from him, and the heat between us is gone too quickly.
“What the hell are
you doing here? I thought you had some lady thing tonight.” He steps back, taking in my appearance. The plum-colored trench coat covers me. My legs bare, leading down to my black heels. His eyes narrow, and he takes a deep breath. I reach out for him, afraid he’ll retreat too far away. My hands make contact with his forearm.
“I figured since you were avoiding me, I’d have to get your attention somehow.” My body trembles, and I feel like a psycho ex-lover, like Glenn Close in the movie where she has an affair and then boils the bunny rabbit. I won’t be ignored. Cripes, I’m losing my shit over this man.
“I’m not avoiding you.” I dismiss the sharpness in those words.
“I want to apologize for the other day.” His lips twist, and he crosses his arms. His biceps bulge under the black t-shirt. My hand follows the fold, refusing to let go of him until he listens to me, and I get what I want because right now, my body hums for him, aching for something only he can give me. I want to give to him as well. “I know I hurt your feelings by not accepting your gift—”
“I’m not hurt,” he interjects, the roughness of his tone not disguising the truth. I hold up a hand to halt him from speaking.
“And I’m sorry. I want you to understand I never meant to hurt you. I understand why you did it. Why you offered. You’re a generous man. Offering something like that…” I squeeze his forearm and cover my chest with my free hand. “You have no idea how much it touched me that you wanted to give me something like that. Such a gift. Your show of faith. It means a lot that you believe in me so much you are willing to part with something you didn’t know you had.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Hank says, his voice smoky. He swallows, emotion in his throat.
“I know. It’s why I feel the way I do about you.” With that, I release his arm, taking a deep breath. I need to reroute. Focus, I tell myself. You got this. “This is your baby, right? Is it safe to look inside?” I muster courage I’m suddenly not certain I possess, but I’m not backing down. I want this too much.