Tobias (The Kings of Brighton Book 1)

by Megyn Ward

  “I’ll take you.” I’ve never been fishing in my life but I’ll be damned if another man is taking my kid anywhere.

  He looks at me for a moment like he’s trying to decide if I’m pulling his leg or not. Finally he shrugs. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I whisper it because anything louder would show the cracks in my voice. “Good night, Noah.”

  He sinks into his bed and turns away from me to close his eyes. “Night.”

  41

  Silver

  I tuck Noah in, acutely aware that Tobias is still standing behind me. Watching while I kiss his cheek. Pull the covers up to his chin. Tuck them in around his shoulders.

  “Love you, mom,” Noah mumbles, headless Chewbacca tucked under his chin.

  “I love you too,” I say, pushing his hair off his forehead. “No talking to Bixby. Both of you need sleep. You have school in the morning.”

  “Okay.” His lids droop closed. “Aunt Lilah bought me Poptarts. She helped me hide them under my bed. Sorry…”

  Of course she did.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Just go to sleep.”

  He mumbles something else under his breath but it’s too soft and slow for me to catch.

  Sliding off the edge of the mattress, I open the built-in storage cabinet under Noah’s bed to dig out the box of Poptarts my sister buried under a pile of shoes.

  Strawberry.

  My favorite.

  I switch off the bedside lamp and stand up from my crouch. Tobias is still standing in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the light coming in from the living room. Tucking the box under my arm, I skirt the end of Noah’s bed to push him out of the doorway so I can close it.

  “I asked you to leave,” I say, stomping down the hall to my own room. “You can’t be here. You can’t just—” I try to shut my door but he makes it impossible by wedging himself into its open space.

  “Tell my son the truth?” he bites back, slapping his hand against the door to stop me from shutting it in his face.

  It’s either start screaming and shoving or give in. I give in because Noah’s had enough excitement for one night. Jane calling the cops and possibly assaulting his father with the baseball bat she keeps under her bed is more than he can handle right now. “I need to shut my door so I can change my clothes.”

  Instead of stepping into the hallway like I’d hoped, he steps into my room and pulls the door closed behind him. When it becomes clear I have every intention of ignoring him he switches gears. “Who’s Bixby?”

  I sigh, toss the box of contraband Poptarts onto my dresser. “I’m not sure.” I open my top drawer, fishing out a pair of pajama pants and an old T-shirt. “Sometimes I think he’s Headless Chewy. Sometimes I think he’s—why are you smiling?”

  “I…” he shakes his head, leaning his shoulder against the closed door. “I used to have an imaginary friend when I was his age. His name was Ham.”

  “Ham?”

  “I was five.” He shrugs. “My mom used to make him a peanut butter and banana sandwich and put it in my lunchbox every day, for school.”

  I think about the woman in the picture I saw the night Tobias took me home. Her dark hair and wide smile. The way she had her arms around him. Like it was natural to hold him that way. Like she did it all the time, even when there wasn’t a camera pointed at her.

  My mother died on my birthday.

  “How did she die?”

  “Cancer.” That all he says. He doesn’t tell me what kind or go into detail because when someone dies of cancer there’s no need. It doesn’t matter what kind. The details are horrible and painful and completely useless.

  “What was her name?” I don’t mean to ask, know that I shouldn’t. I’m just complicating things. Making it harder on both of us but she was Noah’s grandmother and I feel like I should know.

  “Beth.” He clears his throat. “My mom’s name was Beth.”

  “Beth Bright?”

  He shakes his head. “Bright is just a name I made up. Changed it as soon as I turned eighteen. We all did. Her name was Sawyer. Bethany Lynn Sawyer.”

  He told me he has brothers once. Three of them. I feel a little bit better knowing he didn’t have to go through it alone. “It must’ve been hard for your dad, taking care of four boys on his own. “

  “I never had a father.” His tone tells me the subject is closed. That the curtain he drew back to let me catch a glimpse of who really is has fallen back into place.

  “Make him promises you won’t keep.”

  He stares at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about until I finally turn my back on him to toss my change of clothes onto my bed. “That’s what I was going to say,” I tell him while unpinning my dress. “You can’t make him promises you won’t keep, Tobias. He’s only four…” My explanation gets lost behind the sound of him turning the lock on my bedroom door and god help me, my body responds the second I hear it.

  “Tobias…” I whisper his name a moment before I feel his hands on my shoulders.

  42

  Tobias

  Noah.

  My mother.

  The truth about my father.

  The fact that Silver lied to me.

  Hid my son from me.

  I push all of it away.

  All of it.

  Bury it deep.

  Focus on this.

  Her.

  The feel of her skin under my mouth.

  The soft sigh she lets loose when I slide her dress off her shoulders.

  “This isn’t going to change anything,” she tells me, even as she angles her neck, offering herself to me. “I can’t let it.”

  Hearing her say it, knowing she means it, does something to me. Makes it hard to breathe. Scares me.

  So, I ignore that too.

  Unclasping her bra, I slide my hands down the slope of her shoulders, taking its straps with them. Freeing her breasts, I take one in my hand. The way her nipple swells and heats against my palm shoots through me. Wraps itself around my cock until I’m so hard and desperate for her, I have to force myself to go slow. Take my time.

  Turning her, I slide a hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head while my mouth slides along her jawline toward her mouth. As soon as our lips touch, hers part for me, moaning softly against my mouth when I rub my tongue against hers.

  She tastes like she did the first time we did this. Like chocolate.

  Feels like perfection.

  Like she was made for me.

  I walk her backward. Stopping when we hit the edge of the bed, I skim my hands downward until I feel the swell of her hips. Slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, I slide them over her ass, pushing them down until they fall past her knees.

  I push her back and she lets me, falls back onto the bed to watch me while I pull off my clothes, her eyes the color of storm clouds, dark hair tumbling around her like waves.

  This won’t change anything.

  I can’t let it.

  Naked, I stretch over her and she parts her legs. Lifts her arms to wind them around my neck. Tilts her pelvis toward mine so I can push inside her, my way eased by her arousal.

  She moans softly, her knees coming up, widening with each deep, slow stroke that I give her, her hips flexing and pumping against mine.

  Supporting my weight on one arm, I reach between us with the other to find where we’re joined and she gasps when she feels my fingers against her, caressing her, again and again, until she’s arching off the bed, heels dug into the mattress, shuttering and shaking against me—around me—while I thrust and stroke myself inside her, finding my own release with a hushed groan that feels rough against my throat and sounds like her name.

  We lay there for a while, her breathing soft and uneven against my shoulder. My heart pounding and knocking against hers.

  “Let me up,” she says softly and for one insane moment, I want to tell her no. I want to stay right where I am. I’m prepared to stay here foreve
r if it means she can’t push me away.

  Make me leave.

  “Silver,” I say but she stops me, pushing her hand against my shoulder.

  “Please let me up, Tobias.”

  It’s not what she says that moves me, it’s what I hear in her voice.

  She’s seconds away from breaking down and if I make her do it in front of me, she’ll never forgive me.

  So I move. As soon as she’s free of my weight, she scrambles off the bed toward the bathroom and I follow her because even though I know I have to let her go, I can’t.

  “Silver, please. Just let me—”

  “I want you to leave us alone.” She turns in the doorway, hand braced on its frame. “You keep asking me what I want from you. That’s it. I want you to leave us alone, Tobias.”

  She shuts the door in my face, the sound of the lock turning between us as loud as a gunshot.

  So I do the only thing I can.

  The only thing I know how to do.

  I get dressed and I leave.

  43

  Silver

  It’s been three days.

  I’m not sure what I expected. An army of lawyers to descend on me like a swarm of locusts. A licensed healthcare worker to show up on my doorstep with a handful of cotton swabs and a court-ordered DNA test.

  I told Tobias what I wanted and that’s what he’s given me. Exactly what I asked him for.

  He’s left us alone.

  It’s Saturday, which means laundry and grocery-shopping. We usually round out the day with pizza and a movie while I fold clothes and Noah runs stacks of shirts and pants to his room to put them away.

  He hasn’t asked about Tobias.

  Where he is.

  If he’s really his father.

  If he’s ever coming back.

  I suppose the questions will come in time and when they do, I’ll have to answer for what I did. I’ll have to tell him that I let his father into our lives just to send him away again.

  He’ll probably hate me for it.

  And I’ll deserve it.

  It’s too much to hope that’s he’s forgotten about Tobias and he proves it when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Finally,” he shouts, jumping up from his spot on the floor, bolting for the door.

  “Noah James, don’t you dare—”

  Too late. He has the door pulled open and is staring up at the man on the other side of it before I can untangle myself from the pile of towels I’m buried under.

  “You’re not my dad,” he says, scowling up at the stranger. “You’re not even the pizza guy.”

  “No,” the man says, mouth twitched to the side like he’s sorry. “But I am your uncle and I brought you this.” He holds out a Lego set with the Star Wars logo splashed across the front of the box. Noah almost has his hands on it when the man pulls it back. “You don’t eat Legos do you?”

  Noah throws up his hands. “I’m almost five,” he says, as if that answers his question.

  The man looks at me over the top of Noah’s head, silently asking for permission. When I nod my head, he smiles down at Noah. “Of course you are,” the man says, handing over the box. “What was I thinking.”

  Noah snatches the box before turning to look at me. “Can I, mom?”

  “Sure,” I say, nodding my head even though I’m freaking out. “I’ll call you when pizza gets here.”

  Noah lets out a whoop before starting to bolt down the hall. Two steps in, he stops himself and turns. “I’m Noah,” he says to the man.

  The guy smiles at him. “I’m Logan.”

  “Thanks, Logan. I like your shirt,” Noah tells him before disappearing into his room. As soon as he’s gone, the man turns to me, his smile fading slowly.

  “You’re Tobias’s brother?” I look him over. Hair as dark as mine, tousled and unruly. Black, heavy-framed glasses. Light-colored eyes. Faded jeans. A Garfield sweatshirt that says I HATE MONDAYS.

  If there were a spectrum of men, Tobias and this man would be on opposite ends of it.

  “I’m also a friend of Patrick Gilroy’s if that makes you feel any better,” he says, scratching the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I’m actually the friend who got him the meeting with my brother in the first place.” The last of his explanation sounds like an apology.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Finding things is kind of my thing.” He gives me what I think is supposed to be a reassuring smile. “Tob didn’t send me if that’s what you’re asking—I just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  Tob.

  Knowing that there’s someone, somewhere out in the world who calls Tobias Bright, Tob makes me smile.

  “A few minutes.” I say, moving aside to let him in. “Can I get you something to drink?” I lead him into the kitchen, as far away from Noah as I can. The kid has ears like a mouse.

  “Sure,” he says, sliding onto one of the breakfast stools. “Whatever you have is fine.”

  He doesn’t say anything else until I’ve poured us both a glass of lemonade. “Okay,” I say, setting his glass in front of him. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “What did Tob tell you about his mom?”

  His mom.

  Not our mom.

  “That her name was Beth,” I say, running my fingertip through the condensation on my glass. “That she used to make his imaginary friend peanut butter and banana sandwiches. That she had cancer and she died on his birthday.”

  Logan mouth lifts in a sad smile. “Believe it or not, that’s more than he’s ever told anyone.” He nods. “I’ve known Tob since I was ten years old and I’ve never even heard him say her name out loud. None of us have.”

  “Ten?” I feel my stomach flip over. “I thought you said you were brothers.”

  “We are,” he nods, lifts his hip to dig into his back pocket. “In all the ways that count.” He pulls something out of his pocket and slides it toward me, across the counter. It’s a photograph. One I’ve seen before. Of four boys in front of a strange-looking building. I recognize Tobias right away, his resemblance to Noah almost uncanny, and the other boy, the one I met years ago on the same night I met Tobias. Wedged between Gray and Tobias is a boy with dark, unruly hair and glasses. On the other side of Tobias is the blond I remember as the male model from the nightclub. Bright blue eyes set in a face too beautiful to be real.

  “Truth is, Tob saved my life,” he says, his voice low like he’s telling me things he shouldn’t be. “He saved all of us. Took care of us. Protected us. I would’ve died in that place if not for him.”

  “That place?”

  “Brighton Home for Boys.” Logan’s voice goes flat. “It’s where Tob found me. Found all of us. Made us a family.” He clears his throat. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m telling you this—even though he’ll hate me for it if he ever finds out. Because he’s my brother and I love him.”

  I remember the way Tobias closed up when I asked him about his father. Refused to let me in. I look up from the photo and pass it back to him. “I’m listening.”

  44

  Tobias

  I turn the bracelet over in my hands, watching the way the diamonds catch the light, streaming through the bare windows behind me. I’ve been stuck on Logan’s futon for three days now. I sent Angus home. Told him I’d call him when I’m ready to fly back to New York. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. There’s nothing for me there except an empty apartment I hate and a company I don’t care about, built with money I never wanted.

  The shitty thing about it is there’s nothing left here for me either.

  I want you to leave us alone, Tobias.

  That’s the last thing Silver said to me before she shut the door in my face.

  Shut me out.

  I deserve it. I know that. I went over there, telling myself I was going to do it right. Different. I was going to be what she needed me to be. A father to Noah. Someone who was there for her. Took care of
her.

  I wasn’t going to abandon her the way my father abandoned my mother. Left her to waste away, without a backward glance. Left me to watch her die, knowing that when she was finally gone, I’d be completely alone.

  I was going to be better than my father.

  I never even met the man, never saw his face unless it was in a magazine or on television, but I was determined to be the kind of man he never was.

  The kind of man who stayed.

  Somehow, I ended up just like him.

  Happy birthday, Toby. This is going to be the most important day of your life…

  That was it. The last thing I heard her say before she died. She looked right at me, her dark blue eyes staring at me from her wasted face, suddenly sharp and alert despite the drugs the doctors kept her on to make her comfortable.

  “Come here,” she says softly, holding her hand out to me over the edge of her hospital bed.

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to go anywhere near her. She doesn’t look like my mom anymore. Doesn’t smell like her. Sometimes she says mean things to me, her voice harsh and angry. The doctor says it’s because of the tumor in her brain. That she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Doesn’t mean it.

  I don’t want to touch her, but I do because there’s only me. Because she’s all I have and when she’s gone, I’ll be alone.

  As soon as my hand closes around hers, my mom smiles. “Happy birthday, Toby,” she whispers softly, her dry, peeling lips pulled away from her ruined teeth into a smile. “This is going to be the most important day of your life….”

  That’s what she said and she was right because it was the day she died.

  When the social worker came in and asked me where my father was, I told her I didn’t know. When she asked me was his name was I told her and she didn’t believe me.

  I don’t blame her.

  Who’d believe that the kid sitting in the charity ward of some hospital next to his mother’s cancer-ridden corpse is the son of one of the most famous men on the planet.