Richmond-Banks Brothers 1: A Hopeless Place (BWWM Interracial Romance)

by Coco Jordan

  I fished my keys from the depths of my purse as the soft click of his car door sounded from behind me. “Amara, wait.”

  I turned around to find him standing there under the glow of the streetlamp with his hands in his pockets.

  “Look,” he began. His expression was pained and engaging all at the same time. He ran his fingers through his rust-colored hair and rested his hand on the back of his neck. “I’m going through some things right now. I’m really confused. I just don’t want you hurt you again like I did before. You don’t deserve that. Please, just be patient with me.”

  Spencer leaned over and scooped my face in the palms of his hands. I turned my face from his, but he turned it back, planting a single, tender kiss on my ice cold lips.

  BENNETT

  The smell was all too familiar: staleness; bleach; despair. To anyone else, it would’ve been a foreign scent, but to me it was just as oddly comforting as home. I’d been here hundreds of times before, lying on a thin hospital mattress, covered by thin, white sheets as machines beeped around me and nurses checked on me around the clock. I’d woken to an empty hospital room, half hoping Amara would be sitting by my bed, worrying about me, but I was pretty sure she was out with that dick ex-boyfriend of hers, fawning over every douchebag thing that fell out of his stupid mouth.

  I didn’t care so much that she wasn’t with me. I just didn’t want her to be with him. She deserved better, and she didn’t even fucking realize it. That was what killed me.

  I closed my eyes, shutting out the faint glow of the hall light that trickled in through my half-opened hospital room door. I needed to force myself to sleep, to shut out the world, and I was damn good at that.

  “He’s in here?” the faint, sweet voice I’d recognize anywhere echoed from outside in the hall.

  “Visiting hours are almost over,” a nurse said in a low voice, “but you can go ahead and go in. Just be quiet. He’s resting.”

  “Have his parents been here?” she asked the nurse.

  The nurse paused. “You don’t know them very well yet, do you?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “They said they’d send someone to come get him in the morning.” The nurse’s footsteps trailed down the hall.

  I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep, and listened as Amara quietly shuffled in, sat her things down, and pulled a chair up to my bedside. Through fluttering eyelids, I watched as she grabbed a blanket and cozied up next to me. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was settling in.

  And then I heard sniffling. She was crying. The soft stroke of her hand across my cheek as it traced the outline of my jaw and then the way her fingers raked through my dark hair sent shivers down my spine. And as if none of that was enough, she leaned down and kissed me, sweetly and delicately, on the lips. Not the forehead. Not the cheek. The lips.

  I listened as she backed away, sniffled, and settled back into her chair. I could feel her watching me, her dark eyes washing over the vision of me lying still and quiet in a hospital bed. No one had ever hung out next to me or watched me the way she did. Suddenly, I could rest easy. I let the night consume me as the beeping of the heart monitor lulled us both to sleep. I knew she’d be there when I woke up.

  Sunlight peeked through the blinds the following morning, and I awoke to Amara sitting up in the chair, massaging an ache in her back. “Ow.”

  “You came,” I said, fully alert and appreciating the beauty sitting across from me bathed in early morning sunlight. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “You must’ve had quite the fall,” she said. “I was pretty worried about you. I found you unconscious on the floor by your bed. How’d you fall, anyway?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, averting my eyes.

  “Were you trying to stop me from going on my date, or something?” she joked.

  “I said it doesn’t matter,” I snipped, my words biting her sweet nature and taking the smile right off her face.

  “You were trying to stop me, weren’t you?” she asked as she studied my face.

  I shrugged, looking down.

  “So you buzzed me, and when I didn’t come right away, you decided to get out of bed on your own and you fell? Wait. That doesn’t make sense,” she thought out loud. “Just yesterday morning, you were getting around fine.”

  “Just forget it,” I mumbled. “I’m fine now. Let’s move on.”

  “Bennett,” she said, squaring up to me. “Did you purposely hurt yourself so that I’d have to cancel my date and stay with you?”

  She’d nailed it. She barely knew me, but she knew me better than anyone else.

  “Love makes you do crazy things, right?” I said with an ironic laugh. My eyes focused on the white hospital linens, unable to meet the laser-sharp glare burning into me.

  “You don’t love me,” she said gently. “You just think you do. That’s really fucked up, what you did. Don’t ever do that again.”

  She grabbed her purse and stood to leave the room.

  “Where you going?” I called after her.

  “I’m signing you out,” she said in a no-nonsense sort of way. “You seem fine to me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Amara returned, pushing a wheelchair with a clipboard of paperwork under her arm.

  “Let’s go,” she said as she flung the covers off me, exposing my bare legs sticking out from the hospital gown. “Let’s change your clothes and go.”

  “I can dress myself,” I said.

  “Obviously, you can’t,” she fired back, her voice full of heat. “I can’t have you falling again. Not on my watch.”

  “No, really, Amara. I’m dressing myself,” I said. “It’s weird having you dress me.”

  “I’m your nurse. It’s not weird at all,” she argued. “You’re acting like it’s the first time.”

  “I don’t think of you as just my nurse,” I said. “Not anymore.”

  “Rest assured that I am your nurse, and that’s all I’ll ever be,” she said. Then her face softened. She had likely underestimated the harshness of the words that just came out of her mouth.

  “If that’s how you feel, then why were you crying last night?” I asked her.

  “You were awake?” she asked, her face twisting into an even angrier glare. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bennett? You’re acting like a crazy person.”

  “Why were you crying?” I pressed her. I had to know.

  “Because I thought it was shitty that your parents didn’t come see you,” she sighed. “I don’t know. It just… sort of struck a chord with me.”

  An old, matronly nurse popped her head into the door. “Everything okay in here, you two?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” I assured her. She lingered for a bit, shifting her gaze between the two of us before leaving.

  “I’ll let you dress yourself, but I’m staying in the room,” Amara said, arms crossed.

  “Turn your back,” I instructed as I slid out of the bed and grabbed my clothes out of a white, plastic sack on the nightstand, carefully slipping them on. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

  “You did it,” she said, astounded, her anger fleeting for a quick second. “I’m impressed. Still mad at you. But impressed.”

  “I’ve been practicing,” I admitted. The clothes clung onto my growing physique, tighter than ever. “Getting stronger.”

  “Is that how you fell last night?” she asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Again, Amara, it really doesn’t matter.”

  We left the hospital in her little red car with the rusting bumper and the loud exhaust.

  “I’m going to stop at a drive-thru and get us breakfast. I don’t feel like cooking today,” she announced as she pulled into a fast food joint.

  “We just ate fast food earlier this week,” I objected.

  “Where I’m from, we eat it at least once a week,” she said, not budging. “Your body will adapt. It’s not going to kill you this once. Actually, I’m going to order you the
fluffiest, fattiest, greasiest sausage, egg and cheese biscuit you’ve ever had in your entire life. I’m not done plumping you up yet.”

  I groaned at the thought, clutching my stomach, which then began to rumble. I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.

  “And you’re going to choke down some greasy, salty hash browns and wash it all down with a gigantic, sugary Coke.”

  “I can feel my arteries clogging already,” I replied, cracking a brief smile.

  “I just thought of something,” Amara said. “You’ve gained, what, ten pounds or so in the last couple weeks?”

  “Probably.”

  “And you’re getting stronger and stronger, more independent,” she continued.

  “Okay, and your point?”

  “We’re on the right track, Bennett.” She beamed. “I’m officially a genius. Let’s get you stronger and more active. You probably won’t even need me, by the time I’m done with you.”

  She pulled into the drive-thru and ordered our meals, though this time with a bit more excitement in her tone.

  “You’re in a better mood now,” I said as we pulled ahead. “I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “Oh, I still think you acted like a crazy person,” she said. “But I forgive you. Just promise me now on that you’ll be completely honest with me, and the scheming will stop.”

  She paid for our meals and we pulled away, the scent of greasy food-filled paper bags filling the tepid air. It was officially March, and we were a couple weeks away from spring. Amara reached into the bag and began doling out our breakfast items. I shoved greasy hash browns into my mouth, one after another, my hunger convincing me they were absolutely divine.

  “Eat it all,” Amara said, watching me. “I think I’m onto something.”

  “This is so disgusting, but so good at the same time,” I said with my mouth full.

  We arrived at the mansion a few minutes later, only to see my mother standing on the front steps with her arms crossed, and as soon as Amara parked her car, she ran up and opened the passenger door.

  “My baby,” she cooed as she feigned sympathy. “I was so worried. We went to the hospital to get you and the nurse said you just left with Amara. Amara, I wish you’d communicated with us that you were picking him up.”

  “My apologies,” Amara said. “I should’ve called.”

  “What did you eat? What is this garbage?” my mother asked as she stared at the fat food evidence on the floor of my car. “Amara, is this what you fed him for breakfast?”

  Fed me? What, was I, an animal? A baby?

  Sterling appeared from behind Ingrid and walked down toward the car, attempting to help Bennett out.

  “I don’t need any help,” I insisted.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, son,” my father insisted. “Give me your hand.”

  Amara stood, helplessly watching and likely afraid to speak up as my parents argued over who should help me.

  “Get away from me,” I spewed to them, swatting them away.

  The three of them watched as I steadied myself with my left arm and grabbed the door with my right. I slipped my right leg out and followed with my left. I braced myself on the door and stood up.

  “See?” I said with a know-it-all smirk.

  “He’s been getting stronger,” Amara chimed in. “I’ve pretty much been forcing him to eat more, and he’s getting a little bigger and a little stronger each day.”

  “I’ve been practicing,” I added.

  “That’s great, son,” my father said, studying me as if he were watching a miracle.

  My mother was quiet as she watched me walk. Then she stared at Amara. “Amara, I appreciate all you’ve done. Now please, take the rest of the day off. We’ve got it from here. Actually, take the weekend. We’ll see you Monday.”

  I turned to look at Amara, practically pleading with my eyes for her to stay.

  “I honestly have nothing else going on today, Mrs. Richmond-Banks,” she said. “I can stay with him.”

  “You’re off until Monday,” my mother said, her voice deep and forceful. “I’m sure your parents miss you. Why don’t you go home for a few days?”

  My parents followed me inside as Amara stood in the driveway watching. I knew she didn’t have a choice. My mother called the shots and made the rules, and she made damn sure everyone knew that.

  The moment we got inside, the slamming of her car door and the buzzing of her engine as she drove away told me she was gone.

  AMARA

  I waved to Ingrid and Sterling as they followed Bennett inside, but my gesture went unreturned. I shrugged it off. I had to. I needed that job. I needed them to like me. I wanted to be around Bennett, and I was quite sure he needed to be around me.

  I pulled into my parents’ driveway a short time later. “Home sweet home.”

  “Amara, is that you?” my father called from the living room before getting up to greet me.

  “Look who’s home,” my mother said in her cheeriest voice. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in months.”

  “It’s been a couple weeks, I know,” I said as she wrapped her arms around me.

  “You need to call your mother more,” my father suggested as his hand rested on my shoulder. “Every night she talks about you, and we wonder how you're doing, but we leave you alone because we know you’re busy working with the Richmond-Banks boy.”

  “That’s right,” my mother chimed in. “I keep wanting to call you every day to talk about how things are going, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “So, how goes it?” my father asked, stroking his thick, dark mustache.

  “I love it,” I said with a smile as I thought about Bennett. “He’s great. A little challenging at times, a little misunderstood, a little lonely, a little confused…”

  A thousand words could describe him, and it would never fully paint a picture of Bennett Richmond-Banks.

  ***

  The smell of cinnamon rolls wafted down the hall, waking me from my peaceful slumber Sunday morning.

  “Amara,” my mom called from the kitchen. “Come eat. We’re having rolls before church. You’re going to church with us, right?”

  I dragged myself out of bed. It was barely eight o’clock and my mom was as awake as ever, chatting away with anyone within a ten-foot radius.

  “Where’s Alexis?” I asked as I shuffled into the kitchen.

  “Oh, she has a new boyfriend,” my mom said, rolling her eyes. My parents exchanged looks as my father looked up from behind his newspaper.

  “What’s that look for?” I asked them.

  “Your father has strong feelings about this one, that’s all,” my mother answered, squinting at him.

  “He has strong feelings about all of them,” I said, pulling a plate down from the cupboard.

  “I’m going to trust he keeps these feelings to himself this time,” my mother said as she poured cinnamon icing over the steaming hot rolls.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Oh, goodness,” my mom said. “I don’t even remember this one’s name.”

  “Dad, who’s the boy Alexis’s seeing?” I asked. My father couldn’t lie. It was his best strength and his worst weakness all at the same time.

  “It’s Spencer’s younger brother, Slater,” he sighed unhappily as he folded the paper and put it down on the table. My father strongly disliked Spencer, which meant he automatically disliked any and all other men bearing the Goodwin name.

  No wonder Alexis hadn’t told me. She knew I’d have warned her that they’re nothing but a bunch of heartbreakers.

  Alexis and I were just two years apart, and we couldn’t have been more different, yet we spent our entire lives being compared to one another. Alexis had big, hazel eyes, and a good four inches of height on me. Hardly an ounce of fat on her lithe frame meant she could wear a paper bag and still look like a million bucks. Dancing came naturally to her, as did making friends, dating, and being popular. Alexis
relied heavily on her charm and good looks to get whatever she wanted in life, and she always did. Still, I loved her more than anything.

  “This is, what, boyfriend number five since last fall?” I huffed. “But who’s counting, right?”

  One jumbo, homemade cinnamon roll later and I was slipping into some church clothes, much to my dismay. My mother was so excited to have me home that I couldn’t stand to disappoint her again. I knew it mean the world to her to have me join them that morning.

  As soon as we entered the musty, aging First Presbyterian church, all eyes were on me. The faces that were all so familiar to me were all looking at me like I was that new person in church, the foreign face, the guest who had to stand and introduce themselves during announcements.

  “That’s what you get for never coming,” my father joked as he elbowed me in the ribs. “People are just happy you’re here. They haven’t seen much of you since you were in Sunday school.”

  The organ began to play, which cued everyone to stop visiting and take their places in the pews. I snuggled in between my parents and silenced my phone. I stood up with the congregation for prayers and hymns and sang along like a good girl. It was amazing how the song lyrics came back to me as if they’d never left my memory.

  Halfway through the sermon, I grew bored and my eyes began to wander around the room in search of familiar faces. I recognized a few people from school and parents of old friends, as well as a few out-of-town church boys who grew up to be sort of good-looking.

  Not bad, not bad, I thought as I scanned the room.

  “Pay attention,” my mother leaned over and whispered. “I know what you’re doing.”

  I tried to focus on the preacher’s words for a few more minutes, but it wasn’t long before my mind had wandered again and I lost track of his message altogether. I turned my gaze toward the opposite side of the church, and it was in that moment that I spotted Sterling and Ingrid, sitting just two rows from the back. I whipped my head back around, growing infuriated, and took a deep breath to try to calm myself down.

  “What’s wrong now?” my mother whispered.