Brother's Best Friend Unwrapped

by Aria Ford

  “Sis, if this is what’s making you so sad, then…”

  “I’m not sad,” I snapped quickly. The vehemence of my denial made it pretty obvious I was lying, but I couldn’t do much better. “I’m just tired,” I explained quickly.

  “Okay,” he said, sounding dubious. “Well, if you say so.”

  “I do,” I said. I looked down at the books, wanting this conversation to be over. I should have asked him the one burning question that stuck in my throat: is he still seeing a woman? Do you know for sure? Can you give me assurance on this? But I couldn’t make myself ask it. The hurt of finding out for sure would be too great.

  And if he was? What would Brett think of me if he knew I had fallen, once again and inexorably, for his best friend? His best friend who might well be married?

  I can’t possibly tell Brett about everything that’s going on now.

  I couldn’t do that to my brother or his friend. If Brett found out the details he would want to kill Carson for upsetting me. I didn’t want to alienate the two friends from each other. Carson needed all the friends he could get right now.

  I surprised myself by still feeling sorrier for him than I did for myself. I couldn’t help it. Stupidly, terribly and tragically, I loved Carson Grant. Despite everything and no matter what he did to me, I would never stop loving him.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and felt tears tremble on the lids.

  “I’m going to make coffee,” Brett said gently. “Want some?”

  “I’ll come down now. Thanks, Brett.”

  “No problem.”

  I forced myself to finish my perusal of Brett’s earnings—working out the tax was not actually terribly hard—and then headed downstairs.

  I paused in the sitting room on my way to the kitchen, warming my hands at the fire. My fingers were cold and my neck was tense. I rolled my head from side to side, easing out the tension. My heart was sore, but I was doing my level best to ignore it. I would not let myself be sad. I would not let myself mourn Carson and all we had.

  He doesn’t really love me. He doesn’t.

  I had to believe that. What else could I think? If he actually loved me, he would not have lied to me. He would have told me in the beginning that he was with someone. He had led me on and let me believe what I wanted to—that there was a chance for us. Then he had let me wake to the cruel reality of it. The blow hit so much harder than if I had never come to love him as I did now.

  I wanted to hate him—I really did. But I just didn’t. I looked into the flames, watching the tongues of orange weave around each other, the thin flickers of blue at the base as they hissed and crackled on the darkened log.

  “Amelia,” a voice spoke from the edge of my dreams into my ear.

  I looked up into the brown eyes of Carson Grant. He was standing in the hallway, still in his jogging clothes, coffee in his hand. He had a puzzled smile on his face, his eyes warm. He looked at me hesitantly. “Amelia?”

  I stared at him and pushed past him into the kitchen.

  He stayed where he was, looking after me with brown eyes wide with hurt. I bit my lip and ignored him. I was not going to let myself be hurt again. Not for anything. Not by anyone.

  “You finished?” Brett looked up from his place at the counter with the coffee, surprised.

  “Yes, Brett,” I said, knowing I was despondent and not bothering to hide the fact. “Finished.”

  “Well, then,” Brett said. “That’s incredible! How did I deserve a sister who’s so nice she’d even do my tax for me?”

  I sighed. “Thanks, Brett. But it really wasn’t hard. If it makes you feel better, next time I need advice on extending a house, I’ll come and ask you.”

  He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he came to sit with me. “I might be employed designing buildings,” he observed, “but you haven’t had a close look at our garage extension, have you?”

  “No,” I said, frowning. “Why?”

  “You didn’t notice that when you open the inside door it covers up the doorway to the guest loo downstairs?” His eyes were dancing with merriment and his mouth cracked a grin.

  I laughed. “It does?” I couldn’t help the fact that he was cheering me up. “How did you manage that?”

  “Search me,” he said sincerely. “I think I have my own special magic for mess-ups.” He was smiling, but it dropped at the edges a little and he sighed. I realized that the tension between Carson and his sister was weighing on Brett considerably. I felt bad.

  “No, Brett,” I said gently. “It’s not a bug. It’s a feature.”

  We both laughed. “Thanks, sis,” he said cheerily. “I’ll use that one.”

  “Good…do that.”

  He took my hand. “Sis,” he said softly, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I clenched his hand, feeling the strength of it, the assurance his touch gave. “I’m glad too.”

  I meant it. Whatever happened, however broken my heart was, I had connected with Brett and the kids. And Carson. For better or worse, I wouldn’t regret it.

  When I went upstairs to bed later, I looked at myself in the mirror, brushing out my hair. I could see the strain of the last few days on my face, my eyes tight with worry.

  I could hate you for doing this to me, Carson.

  Except I didn’t. I couldn’t really hate Carson, Lieutenant Grant. I never managed it and I never would.

  As I put my face cream on and got ready for bed, my eyes fell on something—the little heart locket, lying where I left it on the table. I lifted it.

  Holding it clenched in my fist, I felt the tears fall. I remembered the day he had given it to me, and then the next time he gave it to me, a day ago, and all that came after. It hurt me to see it now—it was a promise of his love, but it seemed his heart belonged to someone else. Someone he hadn’t told me about. I didn’t want to believe it, but what else was there?

  I didn’t look at the little locket. I kept my fist closed as I put it away where I wouldn’t see it. I didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about Carson. I wanted to focus on my family and on my future and my career.

  As I slid into bed, my cheeks wet with tears, I remembered the way his strong hands played over my skin, the way his body fit mine so perfectly that, every time, we found release in each other. He was every man I had ever wanted, all rolled into one and topped with the smile and eyes that could drown my soul.

  I squeezed my eyes shut; wrapped my arms around my chest and tried to fall asleep. I must have done, since the next time I opened my eyes again was to the tender light of another morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Amelia

  The next morning did little to reassure me. It was one day closer to when I would have to leave and, though that should have made me glad, as it meant I would finally get away from this difficult situation. It only added to my sadness, though. I slid out of bed, dressed in jeans and my blue sweater, and went through to the kitchen. I sat at the breakfast table, trying desperately to ignore the man who sat opposite me. I looked into my muesli and ate slowly and refused to make any contact at all.

  Brett, on my left, seemed oblivious to my discomfort, and kept up a cheerful monologue about the weather and how much fun it would be to go skating.

  “So…wouldn’t you enjoy going skating? Eh, Josh?”

  “Um…no, daddy.” Josh said miserably.

  I caught Josh’s eye, where he was sitting at the other end of the table. He looked back at me, subdued. Then he took another spoon of cereal, ignoring me. I glanced at Cayley, and she looked sad too. Somehow, they must have picked up on the fact that I was miserable and it had made them both be gloomy. I felt bad, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Oh, come on, guys!” Brett said, desperate to cheer everyone up. “We could go for ice-cream afterward?”

  “Ice cream?” Reese said. “In the middle of December? Why, Brett?”

  “Why not?”

  That made Josh and Cayley c
huckle. Even I had to grin. “

  Yay!” said Josh excitedly.

  “Okay! I have a taker,” Brett sounded pleased. “What about you, Cayley?”

  “Ice-cream too?” she sounded hopeful.

  “Skating and ice-cream,” he confirmed.

  “Okay, daddy. That could be fun,” she said carefully. “Mummy?”

  “I’ll come, but only if I can have hot cocoa afterward instead.” Reese laughed. “Like a sensible person.”

  “Deal!” Brett said happily. He took a drink of coffee and turned to me. “Sis? What about you?”

  I wasn’t going if Carson was. The last thing I needed was a morning with him, pretending to be cheerful. I looked expectantly across the table to where he sat, quiet, eating his breakfast. Brett seemed to catch my thought as he turned to Carson.

  “Hey, Grant! What about you?”

  Carson frowned. “Uh, no. Thanks, Brett. But I have to go to the store. Things to get before I go.”

  “Okay,” Brett shrugged. “Amelia, that leaves you as the only undecided party.”

  “I…” I paused. A thought had occurred to me. If the whole family and Carson were going out together, then that would give me an ideal opportunity to snoop around. I had to know if Carson was seeing another woman. Somehow, it had become like an obsession for me. If I knew the truth—whatever the truth turned out to be—I would be free. I cleared my throat. “I’ll stay.”

  “Okay,” Brett said, brows raised. “If you want. So. Who’s getting ready for skiing?”

  “Brett, calm down! I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” Reese protested. I laughed.

  “Brett has always been quick out of the starting blocks,” I laughed.

  “Thank you, sis,” Brett said, grinning. “I do my best.”

  “And your worst,” Reese observed dryly. He pulled a tongue at her.

  “Okay,” Brett said, standing. “I’m going to go shower. At least then you won’t have to wait for me to get out,” he winked at Reese.

  “Thoughtful of you,” she mused. We all laughed.

  The kids finished their breakfast faster after that, and tumbled off in a happy heap to get ready for going out. Carson stretched and stood.

  “I’m heading off.”

  He was looking at Reese when he said it. He seemed to sense I was angry with him.

  “Okay,” Reese shrugged. “I’m just enjoying a leisurely coffee without Mr. Quickly breathing down my neck.”

  I grinned at her. “Brett is a bit of a whirlwind.”

  “A bit?” she said dramatically. “Multiply that by ten.”

  “A hundred,” I supplied.

  While we were talking, Carson quietly went out. Reese excused herself and went upstairs to change and five minutes later I heard the front door softly shut. Carson had gone out.

  Whew. That should give me about an hour.

  When the family left, about twenty minutes later, I raced upstairs to Carson’s bedroom. I reckoned I didn’t have much time before he got back from the store. I stood in the doorway a moment, feeling strangely hesitant. I had never, ever snooped in someone’s stuff before. Privacy was something sacred to me. Especially the privacy of people I care about.

  I looked around the room. A leather jacket was folded at the foot of the bed, where three bags stood: a small suitcase, a backpack and a tote-bag with a faded logo on it. He looked to be already packed and ready to leave.

  The room smelled like him: musk and spice. There was a kind of hallowed silence about it and I hesitated to disturb the neat bags. Military-style precision, I thought. Weird to see how much it had changed his life.

  I drew in another deep breath, shut the door behind me, and bent to open the suitcase.

  Clothes. The scent of him grew stronger as I riffled through fleecy tracksuits, crisp shirts and a pair of smart trousers. There was a scarf and a hat and a white bath-towel. Nothing else.

  Okay. Nothing suspicious in there.

  The tote-bag was basically empty. I found a shower caddy and ear-plugs and a spare deodorant. Axe body spray. I grinned. I didn’t know that was what he used. Still no sign of any other woman.

  Okay. If there’s nothing in the backpack, then I’ll decide I’m a needlessly suspicious woman and try and move on.

  I drew in another breath and unzipped the backpack, the sound loud in the silence.

  I unrolled the woolly scarf from the top of the backpack and discovered a suspicious glint underneath it. Wrapping paper. There were Christmas gifts in here.

  Why? Christmas has already happened. Who were these from? Or for?

  I felt my heart beating fast. Without wanting to, as if my hands moved of their own will and not my own, I lifted the gifts out of the bag, one by one. There were three of them. The one was soft and probably contained something made of cloth. The other was hard and could have been a book, or chocolate. The third was a small, squarish shape with a slogan from a department store on the fancy gold ribbon that surrounded it. Perfume, I guessed. Or a box with jewelry in it.

  Oh, God. These gifts were for a woman. I just knew it.

  Something about the muted wrapping, the nature of the gifts—clothing, chocolates, perfume—suggested they were for a woman. I put my hand into the rucksack and felt around. There was a torch, a spanner, some string. And a card.

  The card wasn’t sealed, so I opened it. A happy snow-scene on the front suggested it was a Christmas card. I opened the flap to find neat, oval handwriting. Carson’s hand.

  Dear Leona, I read. I am sorry I couldn’t be there with you for Christmas. It would have been great. Hope you like the gifts.

  It wasn’t signed by name, just three letters: xox. Kisses and a hug.

  I put the card back in its cover. Put it in the bag. Put the presents back in the reverse order to that in which I’d taken them out. Put the scarf on top. My hands were working on autopilot. I zipped the bag, stood and left the room. I closed the door, went into my room and cried.

  I cried and cried. The tears ran down my cheeks and the mucus ran from my nose and I rocked myself, crying. Somewhere inside me my heart was numb.

  Oh, Carson, I thought sadly. You dear, awful, loveable, cruel asshole.

  I couldn’t actually hate him. He was too loveable for that. But I did hate him—I hated him for hurting me, and for doing it so childishly. Did he really think that I wouldn’t find out? That his clumsy attempts at covering things up would fool me? Of course I was going to find out.

  At least she only gets department-store presents, I thought wildly. I got something nicer.

  I laughed at myself. Come on, Amelia. The point is he lied to you. He acted as if he was single and he wasn’t. What does that mean he thinks about you? That you are just there for his use? How dare he treat me like that?

  I was trying to make myself angry with him; trying hard to make myself hate him. It wasn’t actually going to work, I knew it. I had loved him, silently, deeply and inside, for decades. But if I didn’t hate him, I would hate myself. I groaned.

  You cruel man.

  I couldn’t think anything other than that. He was cruel to have treated me this way. Cruel to have given me his love and then retracted it like this. Cruel to have made me love him back.

  I sniffed. He didn’t make me love him. I always had loved him. From the moment Brett brought him back to the house, all tall and dark and quiet. I loved him then and I still loved him now. Only now, he had hurt me.

  I stiffened. The front door was opening. I recognized the way it stuck a little and then juddered on the hinges as it was pushed inward. Someone cleaned their boots on the doormat and walked in, hung a coat on the rack by the door, the buttons clicking on the metal pole of the coat-rack.

  Please, let that not be him. My whole body stiffened.

  “Hey, Reese! You think I should go shopping now?”

  Brett. I sighed with relief. At least I wouldn’t have to hide up here alone with Carson next door, trying to fight the urge to cry loudly, or confr
ont him, or leave.

  “No,” my sister-in-law replied quietly. “It’s okay. We’ve got a pumpkin in the pantry—we could make supper around that.”

  “Okay,” Brett called cheerfully. “So, kids! Who wants to see photos from the skating?”

  “Me!” Cayley yelled happily. “Did you see me turn? I did turns like a ballerina!”

  I smiled. It was good to hear the kids in such high spirits. I sighed and stood from where I had been crouched on the floor. Checked my face. My makeup was all streaky and my eyes were red. The swelling round my eyes wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t cover it up with makeup, which was good, because I didn’t want anyone asking me about why I was sad. I washed my face, took a good five minutes to reapply my makeup and headed downstairs.

  In the sitting room, I found Brett with the two kids, looking at his tablet. Reese was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. I felt bad—I should have done that while they were out.

  “So, how was the skating?” I asked, coming to help.

  Reese pulled a face. “I fell on my bottom. The kids loved it, though.”

  “You were good, Mommy,” Cayley objected from the lounge.

  Reese smiled at me. “My guardian angels,” she said lovingly. I nodded. The kids were both very emotionally aware. I often felt like they were the adults in this picture. I wished I could have taken more care of my own feelings. My heart was broken.

  “They’re amazing,” I agreed, bending and shutting the dishwasher.

  “I don’t know what I did without them,” Reese smiled. “Um, Mel? Are you okay?”

  I sniffed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said firmly.

  She raised a brow but said nothing. “Are you okay with salmon for lunch?”

  “Are you kidding?” I laughed. “That sounds awesome!”

  She smiled. “Good. That’s settled. We can send Brett to the store to buy it.”