The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  Cross holds his palms up in defence, but suddenly jerks his head back in shock. “Girlfriend?” His head twists from Lenic to me, then back to Lenic.

  “All you need to hear, mate — is the word ‘mine’,” Lenic warns his friend, turning to head for the boat home.

  Ensuring first that Lenic can’t see him, Cross extends his hand out for me to high-five it. Which I do. “I knew you’d been the one to break that moody bastard,” he chuckles.

  When I begin to laugh with Cross, Lenic snaps his head around, shoots daggers at his manager, then walks over to me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me to him.

  After Lenic blends us all a strawberry and banana smoothie in his kitchen, we sit up on the deck of his boat.

  “Where’s my French kitten?” Cross asks me.

  “You’ve got it bad,” I tell him, swallowing down a mouthful of my drink.

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Just making sure Mr Hotty In The Shower here isn’t getting greedy again.”

  A look of confusion crosses my features. “Cross won’t believe that the first night you stayed here — we didn’t have an orgy,” Lenic clarifies.

  “A man can have his fantasies,” Cross mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Again, man, quit thinking about me having sex,” Lenic jokes, “because I'm starting to think that soap ban in the gym’s showers needs to come into effect.”

  “You would know all about dropping the soap, mate,” Cross quips.

  Surprisingly, Lenic lets out a soft chuckle, even though I can see he’s trying his hardest to bite it back. It draws a smile from me, and I just watch him enjoying himself with his friend for a while.

  When Lenic suggests we invite Delphine over to join us for a barbecue, I lean back in my chair and feel a pleasant burst of joy swarm my heart, a sense of freshness and renewal that I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I.

  LOVE.

  This.

  I freaking love this.

  I love this because the angry, dark Tempest is gone, and the real Lenic Reevus shines brightly in these moments.

  I love sitting here, in the early afternoon light, drinking my smoothie, the sun warm on my face, a cool breeze ruffling my hair, smiling at my dreamy boyfriend, where nothing else seems to matter. All the bad stuff circling my head … it all just floats away in the wind.

  I click my shoes together. Everything is alright again. I am alright. Lenic is alright.

  Nothing could be better — the weather, the world, the atmosphere buzzing with laughter and good times, the way I feel, my body, my heart, my peace of mind. It is all just right.

  The way it is supposed to be.

  If only I knew this feeling wouldn’t last … I would have let him keep his secret.

  21

  “END IT NOW, FELICITY.”

  WEST

  I PULL MY Mini Cooper into the private grounds of West’s swanky new apartment in the wealthy part of Queens Oak.

  “This place is something,” I tell him, when he answers the door. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled. “The neighbourhood is something out of a showroom.”

  “Home sweet home.” He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept properly in days. Weeks even.

  I pull him into a crushing hug, practically disappearing into him, burying my head into his chest. I take a silent deep breath in, anxious to how he will react to the news.

  “You are such a bachelor,” I joke. He smiles, pulling back, and stares at me. “Aren’t you going to let me in? Or am I too rough to be allowed entrance to your new not-so-humble abode?”

  “You know the rules. Can’t come in until you give me the password.”

  Smiling, I hand him the Tupperware full of home-baked chocolate-chip cookies. “You’re lucky there’s any left to give you. Delphine got drunk last night and nearly ate the whole lot. For someone who’s French, surprisingly, she can’t handle her drink.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  Toeing off my flats by the shoe rack, West offers me a drink and heads down the hallway, waving a hand behind him as he goes. “Don’t just stand there. Go through and make yourself comfortable.”

  The cold white walls and bare wooden floorboards of the apartment make it feel unlived in. The space is soulless as a warehouse. I wander over to a shelf and run my fingertips over the title of a book. It takes a moment to realise it is the gift I gave West on the first birthday we spent together as teenagers. It’s a cheesy M/M romance novel. I notice it is not bruised or battered like the condition of an old book. It is in perfect condition.

  He kept it? Why would West keep a gift meant as a joke? Lenic’s words coil around my brain like a snake, so hard, it almost hurts.

  ‘He’s in love with you…’

  An uneasy feeling starts to spread through my stomach. West can’t be in love with me. He can’t. He has always been my doting brother.

  Growing up, sex with him never once occurred to me, despite his Armani-model looks. Before West came into my life, the only family I had was Grandpa Joe. Being a child with a crushed heart and a damaged mind made having something, having anything remotely resembling family, more valuable. It was probably why I held on so damn tight to West.

  Being sexually intimate with him doesn’t feel natural, doesn’t feel right. But … he hasn’t had a relationship in years, and whenever I mention a potential girlfriend, his body tenses and he changes the subject. And what about how protective he is of me when it comes to the opposite sex? Isn’t that what big brothers are like? Isn’t it their duty to … to get so strangely riled up…?

  I shake my head, my pulse racing, staring down at the first gift I gave him in my hands. What if I got it wrong? All this time I thought his girlfriend dying was the reason why he didn’t want to move on and find love with another woman. But what if it is because of me?

  “You’re in love with me…?” I whisper under my breath, and then practically jump out of my bones when West drags me out of my disturbing, dark thoughts.

  “Promise — read it a thousand times,” West says sarcastically, coming up alongside me. He leans against my arm, taking a peek at the immaculate cover.

  “Sure you have.” I glance over at him. “I can’t believe you kept this,” I say softly.

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s the first birthday present you bought me, Flick. So lay off with those sticky fingers of yours.” He snatches it from me and slides it back in its cavity. He hands me my usual vodka and tonic, then raises his glass of ginger beer in salutation. “To new beginnings.”

  I wonder if he will make the same cheer when I reveal my new beginning. Something tells me Hell will have to freeze over first.

  West orders in a Chinese takeaway before we head to the local pub. Wineglass in hand, I lead him to a round table by a large bay window, off in the corner. It is quiet this end of the pub.

  “I…” I begin, then trail off. I have developed a major case of cold feet. I barely touch my drink. “So, are you still seeing Zoe Upton?” I am stalling.

  He stares out the window. “I told you — it was a publicity stunt. Barely spoke to her.” I drum my fingers on the table. He watches my fingers in the silence, eyeing me suspiciously. “What’s up? You seem ... twitchy.”

  Squirming in the seat, I let out an anxious laugh. “Me? Twitchy? Don’t be silly…”

  I am just going to tell him. I turn to him. Then look away. I am going to tell him. I turn to him, then gulp down my wine. Offering me another drink, I hold my glass up and tell him I am fine, watching as he strides to the bar and leans on it while he waits for the barman to notice him.

  I should just come out with it. What is the worst that could happen? My brother could tell me he is in love with me and I will be repulsed for the rest of my life. Or, he could go haywire and kill my boyfriend. Either way, I don’t see how the outcome will ever be good. A million scenarios play out in my head. None of the outcomes come out well.

&nbs
p; When he comes back with a coffee, I decide I need to spit it out without overthinking it. “I’m in a relationship with Lenic.” He stares at me for a long time. So long that I start to feel like a little kid wilting under the angry gaze of a parent. “Say something,” I murmur.

  “End it.” His voice is harsh and abrupt.

  Putting my glass down, my tone hardens. “I’m not going to end it. We’re serious about one another. I’ve never felt this way with anyone. You of all people should know what this means for me. I’m in love with him.”

  His glare turns to an actual look of fury. “End it now, Felicity.” He looks like he wants to tear a man apart, limb from limb.

  Bewildered, I shake my head slowly. “Why?”

  He drops his gaze to the table, rubs his forehead. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago but I was scared it’d change things between us. I thought I could live with it, try and get past it — but not now. Not when you’re with him.”

  The clawing unease is back in my gut. Oh my god...

  You’re not in love with me. You can’t, West. Don’t do this.

  I clutch the table. My heart feels like it is falling right through my stomach. I can’t lose him. He is the only family I have left in this world.

  “You’re not…?” Panic strains my voice, the words left unspoken still loud in my brain. I bite down on my bottom lip as I feel dread rising in my chest. I can’t say the words ‘in love with me’ without wanting to hurl the contents of my stomach. I can’t force my tongue and lips to say it. Asking my self-adoptive brother if he is in love with me is the sickest thing I have ever had to do.

  “You asked me recently if it bothered me that they never caught the bastards who attacked me…” I hear him suck in a shaky breath, staring into his coffee, avoiding my gaze.

  “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me being in love with Lenic?”

  He lowers his voice. “I lied. I know who did it.”

  My mind fumbles around in the dark for a few seconds before a chilling realisation dawns. A shadow falls across the table, and the air turns cold as I absorb the implications of West’s revelation. I give him a moment until I can't take the thick air suffocating me.

  “Who?” My heart stops, literally stops in my chest. There is only one way this conversation is going to end. My eyes pleading, I look to West, my brain trying to unscramble all the thoughts flooding through it. “Tell me — who?” My hands are shaking as he finally meets my stare.

  “Lenic.”

  My chest tightens, and it is hard to breathe all of a sudden as the name cuts through my chest like a hot blade.

  “What?” I whisper, though I can barely hear the sound of my own voice, passed the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs all at once.

  “Lenic’s the one who put me in hospital.”

  22

  “I DIDN’T WANT YOU GONE!”

  LENIC

  I DON’T REMEMBER much about the car journey home. I remember vaguely getting into my car and turning on the engine, but after that … my mind’s a blank. All I can remember is thinking: thinking about Lenic; thinking about the man I love attacking West; thinking about what I am going to do…

  Thinking myself into the darkest corner.

  And the next thing I know, I am parked up beside Lenic’s car, my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough I wonder how it hasn’t crumbled into dust.

  A thick fog seems to blanket the sea and a gloomy dark sky looms overhead despite the suffocating humidity. It’s like the sheer majesty of the place has become invisible by tragedy. I look down at my bracelet. It’s no longer a lone reminder of my parents’ love. It’s a reminder of Lenic giving me back something I thought was once lost.

  I slowly get out of the car, and walk silently towards the darkened boat on autopilot. My heart is tearing itself apart, and, worst of all, a little voice keeps scraping at the back of my skull.

  How can you possibly stay with him now?

  I argue with the voice that Lenic isn’t the kind of man capable of acting so monstrous. I just hope I am right in how I feel about him.

  He is not a heartless monster.

  He simply isn’t.

  I don’t have to believe West, and I have no evidence to prove he is telling the truth. But I can’t deny the sincerity I saw in his eyes. He wasn’t lying. I trust West as much as I trust … Lenic.

  I am torn.

  The door to the boat home is unlocked and opens easily in my hand. It is one of Lenic’s shortfalls; it is one of the many things I love about him. I wonder briefly if this will be the last time I open the door to him.

  With my eyes squeezed shut, I push it open, rooted to the spot inside for a brief moment, steadying my nerves. The wind catches the door and slams it shut behind me. I flinch. I feel like I am sinking in quicksand as I walk down the steps that lead to his living space.

  This can't be true, I repeat this over and over until I think I will never say or think anything else again. I nearly lose my nerve in the darkness of the living room, even start to retreat, but I muster up the courage to keep going onwards.

  I need answers.

  Taking one last deep breath, I cross the living room and bump into the sofa chair. The memory of searching frantically for my embarrassing underwear, and Lenic snatching them up first is one of my fondest memories of us together.

  I amble over to his bedroom. Warm memories of the time I woke him up with a glass of water bombard my aching mind, and my heart sinks into my stomach. So many happy memories … Will I ever get the chance to create more with him again?

  With trembling hands, I push open his door and find him out of his bed looking dishevelled, a baseball bat in hand. He flicks on the glaring light of the bedside lamp.

  “Heard the door slam,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. When he smiles, I almost forget why I am here. He looks so handsome, so beautiful. “Thought there was an intruder.” Grinding a fist against one eye socket, he asks, “What’re you doing here at this hour?” I remain quiet. “What? No joke about me keeping the door unlocked and asking for it?”

  I am still, unable to speak. He looks me over. “Thought you were staying over?” he continues, padding over to me. “Not that I’m complaining. Is this some kind of kinky midnight booty call—?” I flinch from his touch and jerk away, taking a step back. It is a clear moment of rejection. “You OK?” he asks, trying once again to wrap his arms around my waist.

  What 'was' and what 'is' are warring in my head, not to mention the push and pull of a myriad of emotions that are beginning to feel a lot like quicksand, and me without a rope.

  There are no words I can say to make this better, but I know I should say something. I don't hate you. I want to save you. Maybe even somewhere in there, something about how we are totally messed up in whatever this relationship is, whether love or something damn like it, but right now, it feels like all we have are lies and deception.

  My throat tightens even more before I start to speak, as though there is a noose being drawn around it, my heart beating a million miles per hour.

  “Who are you, Lenic?” My words, my anguish-filled gaze, hold him back, and all at once his cheer is gone, replaced with dread. “Who are you?”

  I expect silence, no response, but it’s like he has been waiting a lifetime for this moment to come. “He told you…” He whispers it as though he’s afraid he will be overheard, and it will come true. But it has come true.

  “He told me,” I repeat quietly. “He told me you were the one who attacked him and put him in hospital.” He watches me wordlessly, like he knows he deserves punishment, but there is a defiance there too, a look that says there is a reason behind his crime.

  “Is it true?” My words come out desperate, strangled, almost a cry.

  I feel more words cling to the back of my throat and feel somewhere that this is a betrayal, th
at I should have faith in Lenic; that he would always know the line.

  I look at him with a million different emotions in my eyes — the most apparent is disappointment. But there is hope in them too. Hope that he will do and say the right thing. And fix this.

  The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Seconds pass as the two of us just stare at each other with conflicting emotions, words escaping the both of us. I want to scream. Yell. Beg him to make this all go away.

  A flash of emotion passes through his eyes as he struggles with his answer. With a furtive look in his gaze, he turns his back on me, lowering his head. “Yes.” It feels like someone is reaching inside my chest and is squeezing every drop of blood out of my heart.

  They say love gives you instinct, a window through another’s soul. Something innate — something compels me to give him a chance, to not condemn him as a monster.

  I watch his reflection in the window. The raindrops dot the windowpane, looking like liquid silver. “You must have known I’d find out eventually. Deep down, you must have known this day would come.”

  He turns around and looks at me with heavy eyes. “I did … After the fundraiser I tried to do what was best for you but I couldn’t stay away. And now I’ve fucked everything up.” His voice rises an octave. “All I wanted was you. I didn’t give a damn about the consequences — I wasn’t thinking.”

  Damn the consequences?

  I urge myself to leave, to leave him and be done with him. Forget his very existence, his imprint on my heart. But I remain where I am. I love him. It is not easy when love is involved. It is not easy to break the bonds of love.

  “Damn the consequences? Damn you tearing me apart after everything? After giving you everything I have. After giving you my heart just so you could crush it!”

  “I didn’t want you gone!” he roars, crossing the room like a tempest.

  A shudder goes through my entire body, and I feel my heart constrict hard in my chest. He lets out a long, tremulous sigh and rubs shaky hands over his grizzled chin. There are a lot of unspoken words in that breath. A mouthful of should-haves and didn't-dos. I've had plenty of my own.