Can't Have You
A Brother’s Best Friend Romance
Lilian Monroe
Contents
Foreword
1. Esme
2. Finn
3. Esme
4. Finn
5. Esme
6. Finn
7. Esme
8. Finn
9. Esme
10. Finn
11. Esme
12. Finn
13. Esme
14. Finn
15. Esme
16. Finn
17. Esme
18. Finn
19. Esme
20. Finn
21. Esme
22. Finn
23. Esme
24. Finn
25. Esme
26. Finn
27. Esme
28. Finn
29. Esme
30. Finn
31. Esme
32. Finn
33. Esme
34. Finn
35. Esme
Epilogue
Shouldn’t Want You
1. Willow
2. Sacha
Also by Lilian Monroe
Copyright © 2020 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author except for short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.
Resemblance to action persons, things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
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1
Esme
My breath is shaky. Palms are damp. After zipping my suitcase, I squeeze my eyes shut and lean against the dresser in my childhood bedroom.
Maybe I shouldn’t leave. Maybe I should stay in Seattle, where I have my mom’s support and an industrial-strength security blanket to keep me warm and comforted and secure.
I should stay here, where it’s safe.
But the doorbell rings, and I open my eyes.
I have to do this.
My brother, Kit—well, half-brother, technically—calls out into the house as he walks in. He obviously didn’t wait for anyone to open the door for him.
“Up here!” I shout, patting the black beanie on my head and glancing in the mirror. My face is pale and my eyes look sunken, but my cheeks are rosy. There’s color in my face that hasn’t been there in a long time.
I pull my plaid flannel shirt tighter around my waist, hoping that after a few months of fresh air in Woodvale, and with Kit feeding me, I won’t look like I just stepped out of the grave. I’ve got thick, black liner rimming my eyes that doesn’t help the back from the dead vibe.
At least I’m being true to myself, right? I am back from the dead. Or close to it.
It’s now or never. I need to go.
Kit pushes the bedroom door open and leans against the frame. “Ready?”
“Just about.” I take a breath and force a smile, lifting my eyes up to his. “You?”
Kit smiles softly, stepping into the room. In two long strides, he’s in front of me, wrapping me in a warm, brotherly hug.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, resting his chin on the top of my head.
I inhale, nodding. “Okay.”
“You’ll be a huge help to us at the shop,” my brother says. “You’ll earn a couple bucks, get yourself enough money to get started in art school, or college, or whatever you choose—and then you’ll be on your way. It’s the start of your life, Esme.”
“That’s the plan.” I force a smile, even though my insides twist into knots. It’s the idealized version of the plan, anyway. I’m not as convinced as Kit that everything will work out so well. It hasn’t so far.
“Where’s Lydia?” Kit asks.
“Gardening out back,” I say, pulling away and wiping my eyes on the backs of my hands. A smudge of black eyeliner drags on my finger, and I glance in the mirror to make sure it hasn’t smeared all over my face. I glance at Kit with a tight smile. “I should go say goodbye to her.”
“You sound like you’re leaving forever,” he laughs, ruffling my beanie and almost snatching it off. I duck away, pulling my hat back down over my ears. I’m still not confident enough to show my post-chemo hair to the world. It’s growing back, but I still look like I had a 2007-Britney-level breakdown.
At least I have eyebrows, now.
Kit snorts, shaking his head. “You know you’ll only be a couple of hours away, right? You’re only coming to live with me for three months.”
Pinching my lips, I shrug. “Whatever.”
“You’re not going to a war zone, Esme. Woodvale is the nicest, most upper-middle-class town in the Pacific Northwest. It’s about as safe and pleasant as it gets.”
“Says you.”
“Okay, punk.” He grins, arching an eyebrow. “That black eyeliner and ripped jeans combo isn’t fooling me. I know you’re scared shitless.”
My face relaxes, and I finally crack a smile. My brother knows me inside and out. Kit and I only share a father, but from the time he was thirteen years old onward, he lived with our dad, me, and my mom, Lydia. We were immediately stuck at the hip. I’m three years younger than him, and it constantly amazes me that he let me tag along everywhere.
“I guess we’d better get this over with.”
“Shit, Esme, it sounds like you’re leaving for battle. You’ll only be a couple of hours away. With me, your very responsible, very level-headed brother.”
I laugh.
Kit grins. “What? Don’t believe me?”
“Responsible and level-headed are interesting adjectives to choose.”
“You’ll be safe and sound, and close enough to visit.” He winks.
He musses my beanie again. I duck away, but this time I pull it off to scratch my scalp. His eyes flick to the quarter-inch-long hair on my head.
“It’s growing back,” he notes.
“I still look like a cancer patient.”
“You were a cancer patient, Esme. No sense being ashamed to admit it.”
“I know. I just hate the pity in everyone’s eyes when they hear about it.” I put on a long face. “You’re so young. You poor thing.”
Kit laughs. “Own it, Esme. You are young. You had lymphoma. You survived. This is the start of a new chapter. No one will pity you now. You might miss the sympathy when it’s gone.”
“Doubt it.” I take a deep breath, nodding to the door. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“You nervous about leaving Seattle?”
I bite my lip. I don’t want to admit it. I hate telling Kit how scared I am right now. It’s pathetic how much I want to crawl under the blankets on my bed and never come back up for air. It’s safe here at home. It’s comfortable, and my mother is always close. The doctors are close. I know the staff at the hospital. If anything happens, I’ll be taken care of.
But what kind of life is that? I’m not a little kid anymore. I can’t hide behind my mother’s skirts forever. I’ve been in and out of the hospital for six long years. The only joy I’ve had in my life was bringing my sketchbook to chemo appointments. Drawing distracted me from the weakn
ess and nausea that plagued me for six years. Now, in remission, I finally have a chance to make something of myself, get a degree, and move on.
I just need some cash—and some courage.
That’s where my brother comes in. He needs help with his skydiving business, because they’re trying to expand their operations this year. He offered me a job working as an administrator at the booking center. I can live with him, work for him, and have my first taste of freedom from my over-protective mother.
All those firsts—at the tender young age of twenty-four. Years after all my peers.
I shouldn’t be scared, but I am.
Kit nudges my shoulder. “You’re in remission, right? That’s what the doctor said?”
I nod.
“So, it’s time for you to start living again. Woodvale is going to be great. A bit of fresh air and a sense of adventure is exactly what you need.”
“I’m not promising I’ll jump out of any planes,” I grumble.
“As soon as we get there, I’m flying you up to fifteen thousand feet and throwing you out.”
I crack a smile, wiping the moisture from my eyes. I pull my beanie back down on my head and check the mirror for mascara smudges once more. It’s not that I’m vain or anything. It’s just that this makeup is like war paint. When I put it on, it feels like I’m wearing a protective layer. A mask. A physical defense that hides how terrified I am of everything.
Kit grabs my suitcase off the bed and nods to the door. “Let’s go.”
My mother has her fingers stuck in a planter box when I open the sliding glass door. She glances up at me, her eyebrows drawing together. Pulling her gardening gloves off, she lets out a heavy sigh.
“Are you sure about this, Esme? Why don’t you stay here? You’ll be closer to Dr. Branson, and—”
“I have to go, Mom,” I interrupt. “I need to do this. I missed out on so much because of this fucking cancer.”
“Language,” she warns, throwing me a glance. Her face softens, then, and she wraps her arms around me. “I’m just worried, Esme.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll be with Kit the whole time.”
My mother pulls back and looks over my shoulder toward Kit, who’s standing by the door. “If anything happens to your sister, Kit, I swear to God—”
“She’ll be fine.”
My mother’s gaze shifts to me. “Did you bring your medication?”
“Three months’ worth.”
“And you saved the list of phone numbers for the doctors and emergency services I gave you?”
“All in here,” I answer, patting the cell phone in my pocket.
“Kit, you’ve got it too?” Her eyes harden when they look at Kit.
“Saved and bookmarked, Lydia. Pinned to the fridge and painted on the walls.”
My mother purses her lips before glancing back at me. She squeezes my shoulders. “If you start to feel weak, I want you to call me right away. I’ll come get you that same day. Doesn’t matter what time it is. Call me in the middle of the night if you need to.” She looks at my brother. “And Kit, remember, she needs to take her medication twice a day—”
“Every day, no matter what,” Kit finishes. “Lydia, you have to trust me. Trust Esme! She’s nearly twenty-five years old now, and she deserves a few months of freedom. She’ll be fine. You need to let her live her life.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” she snaps. “I’m her mother.”
I put my hands on my mother’s forearms, drawing her gaze back to me. I smile. “He’s right, Mom. I need to do this. I’ve been stuck in hospitals for the past six years. I’ve been jabbed with needles and pumped full of drugs every two weeks for as long as I can remember. I need to live a little.”
I need to get over my mountain of fears and make something of my life. The words almost slip out, but I hold them back. Mom doesn’t know that I intend to go to art school. She still thinks I’m too weak. She doesn’t think I should be working or studying at all.
Her breath is shaky. “The doctor said the cancer could come back—”
“All the more reason for me to go out and live my life now.”
My mother’s brows draw together, so close they almost touch. Her eyes fill with tears, and she bites her bottom lip.
I’m not proud of it, but for a brief, fleeting moment, I consider staying again. I could tell Kit to go back to Woodvale on his own. I could unpack my suitcase and stay right here. I could keep doing the same routine, with the same people, waiting for the cancer to come back.
It would be safe, easy, and comfortable.
But the feeling passes as quickly as it shows up.
I can’t live like that anymore. I can’t. I need to do something for myself.
Dad passed away a year ago, and the last thing he told me was to live my life. He’d looked at me with those deep, dark blue eyes of his and put his hands on either side of my face.
“Don’t let this disease kill your spirit, Esme.”
Those were the words he’d used. Don’t let it kill your spirit. He died the next day, and it was like a switch went off in my head. I’d been so focused on the fear of death that I forgot to live. The cancer didn’t just eat away at my body, it ate at my mind. At my soul. At my spirit.
Well, not anymore.
I’m in remission. The cancer is gone from my body.
Yes, it might come back.
Yes, it could kill me.
So what?
Death stood by my side, day and night, for the past six years. I looked into the grim reaper’s eyes, and I felt the chill of the grave taking over my body, inch by inch.
I’ve nearly died a thousand times. I’ve been weakened, beat up, jabbed, injected, cut open and carved out. I’ve stood on the edge of the abyss, and I’m walking away.
When I saw my father die, everything changed. I can no longer just sit around waiting for that to happen to me.
This ends now. I’m sick of being afraid. Sick of living in the shadow of what might happen. Sick of holding back. Sick of pretending to be tough, when in reality, I feel weak and small and afraid.
I choose life.
I wrap my arms around my dear, protective, worrywart mother, and then I let go. Smiling, I nod. “I’ll call you when we get there, Mom.”
“Esme—” Her voice falters, and her shoulders slump. She glances at Kit. “Drive safe.”
“I always do!” Kit answers in his special tone of voice where you don’t know if he’s being serious or not. My mother doesn’t look impressed.
I follow Kit to the car and watch him heave my suitcase into the trunk. Mom gives me one last hug, wrapping her strong, wiry arms around me and squeezing until it’s almost painful.
“Call me if you need anything. Anything, Esme. I mean it.”
“Will do. Bye, Mom,” I say, and then I slip into the car. Kit is already in the driver’s seat. I nod to him, and he puts the car in gear. In the rear-view mirror, I see my mother’s face crumple as we drive away.
A long, shaky sigh slips through my lips. Kit glances at me as we leave the familiar street where we both grew up.
“You okay?”
I nod. “I’m good.”
“You still want to spend the summer with me?”
“Hell yes.”
Kit laughs, and the tightness in my chest eases. My brother has the most amazing, carefree laugh. I think he gets it from his own mother. She was a free spirit, unlike mine. His mom let him run and jump into puddles when it rained, instead of keeping him inside. He grew up playing and laughing and exploring in Woodvale, until things turned sour, and he came to live with us.
I don’t know much about what happened, but I know our dad fought hard for custody of Kit. We don’t talk about it much.
Once Kit came to live with us, the strict propriety that Lydia instilled in me was imposed upon him. I think for a long time, that killed his spirit.
The instant he moved out of my mother’s house, he started growing his
hair out and got his pilot’s license. My mom didn’t approve of either of those things, but he did them anyway.
I’ve always liked that about him.
His outlook on life is the opposite of mine. He embraces fear—I mean, he runs a skydiving business, for crying out loud. He flies tiny planes high into the sky and helps people jump out of them.
Me, on the other hand?
I was taught to cower away. To let fear control me. To stay hidden away and keep the curtains drawn.
Sure, I put on a mean face. I dress in black. I act tough.
The truth, though?
I’m terrified.
“I’ll take you to the shop as soon as we get to Woodvale,” Kit says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“The skydiving center?”
“It’s right on the main shopping street in town. I’ll introduce you to Finn and then we can have a coffee at this nice café next door. They have the most amazing carrot cake muffins. You’ll love them.” Kit glances at me, flashing another grin at me. “That sound good?”
“You’re not going to shove me out of the back of a plane?”
“Cross my heart,” he smiles. “We’ll save that for Day Two.”
“Sounds good, then.”
Kit’s phone dings. He glances at it, a tiny smile appearing on his lips. He slips his phone back in his pocket and glances at me. I make a mental note to ask him who that was, but my heart is in my throat and I can’t think of anything except enjoying my first few months away from home.
Can't Have You: A Stand-Alone Brother's Best Friend Romance Page 1