The Walsh Brothers

by Kate Canterbary

  * * *

  I just hope I'll hear it again.

  * * *

  I don't know how to ask you to forgive me for the things I've done, and maybe I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I love you and there is no one in the universe I'll ever want but you. I've been yours since always, and always will be.

  Tears blurred in my eyes, and I flipped to another page.

  Tiel –

  * * *

  I was so mad at you this morning. I hate that you didn't believe me when I tried to explain what happened with Magnolia. I hate that you didn't trust me. I hate that you didn't believe I've changed, that everything had changed.

  * * *

  But I still love you…and I hope you still love me.

  Then another.

  Tiel –

  * * *

  There are some walks you have to take alone, and this is mine. I had to leave and I had to cut myself off from everyone and everything, and I had to stop blaming everyone else for my problems.

  * * *

  But I should have told you. Just like I should have told you about Magnolia and I should have gone to your apartment after that night at Hermit Crab when you shoved your hand in my pants.

  * * *

  I tried telling you everything I was thinking and that worked for a couple of months but it didn't fix me. I had to fix me. Not a day has gone by that I haven't wanted to hear your voice.

  * * *

  I hope you understand how much I needed this. How I had to get all my issues out and deal with my own reality, and I hope you see a path where you'd consider forgiving me for the awful things I've done and taking me back. I'll understand if you don't, and I'll survive if you don't…but Sunshine, I want to do it right this time.

  And another.

  Tiel –

  * * *

  I've read The Count of Monte Cristo about 200 times, but now that I'm reading it again, there are parts that feel different to me, and I realized I'm different.

  * * *

  There's a quote that I never understood:

  "There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness."

  * * *

  I always thought it was ridiculous. If someone experiences suffering, it would make sense that they wouldn't need more than a small amount of joy. All I ever wanted was that tiny taste of happiness because I believed I didn't want or need or deserve more.

  * * *

  But I was wrong. You showed me more. You showed me that I could have crazy, wild happiness, and we could make something incredible together.

  I want something incredible with you. Something safe and forever and real, and know that I will never want it with anyone else, ever.

  And one more.

  Tiel –

  * * *

  I dreamed of you last night. You were on a beach somewhere, and you were wearing that long yellow skirt. You were walking along the shore and I tried to catch up to you, but I couldn't. You were just out of reach and I had to watch while you collected shells and dipped your feet in the water. I think it might have been a nightmare but…I got to see you again and that made everything better.

  * * *

  Maybe it means we'll always be apart. That you won't be able to forgive me. That I'm not forgivable.

  Tears were streaming down my face when I looked up, and if there was ever a doubt about this man ruining me, it died the second he offered me his handkerchief.

  "I went to your apartment," he said.

  "I wasn't there. I was defending my dissertation," I sniffled.

  "Ellie mentioned that," he said. "Congratulations, Dr. Desai." He folded his arms on the table, dipping his head to meet my eyes. "Can I tell you something?"

  "Of course," I whispered. I couldn't believe those old patterns came back so quickly. "And of course you're forgivable."

  "I…shit, this was so much easier to say in my head." He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his forehead, and without thinking, my fingers tangled in his free hand. He looked up, at once surprised and buoyant, and I squeezed. "I realized a few things. You and me? We're not normal people. We're weird, and have perverted minds, and there's no one else out there for us."

  "Is that so?"

  "There should be nothing surprising about the pervert part," he said. He gathered my hands in his, his expression sobering. "Let's be the people who figure it out. The ones who learn how to do it right."

  "What does that mean?" I whispered.

  He was here, talking to me, and he looked fucking incredible. He was nailing the lumberjack underwear model thing, and I couldn't stop wondering how that beard would feel against my inner thighs.

  Focus.

  "It means I spent more than two months away from you but can't get the words in order to tell you I love you and I missed you and I can't spend another day without you, so please put me out of my misery and come home with me now."

  "I missed you too," I said. "And I worked like crazy to get my dissertation finished, and I hate all the awful things I said to you. I shouldn't have pushed you away."

  He studied me, but I couldn't interpret the gleam in his eyes. "I needed to hear everything you said." He looked around the bar, frowning. "Can we get out of here?"

  He slid out of the booth, and of course I followed. We walked in silence, and when our hands bumped, I slid my palm into his. I didn't pay attention to where we were going, and I didn't care that we were wandering the city without saying a word to each other. For all the distance and time we'd put between us, being here with him was all I needed right now. This was the walk we were taking together.

  We stopped on a corner, and Sam pointed across the street. We were in front of the firehouse.

  "Who are we going to be, Tiel?"

  Smiling, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around him for the first time in too long. "We're the ones who figure it out."

  31

  Tiel

  I'd forgotten how the morning sun slanted through the old firehouse's windows and bathed Sam's bed in bright warmth.

  It was intense, almost blinding, but I didn't want anything to change. I wanted to remember every ounce of this moment because nothing I'd experienced in the past three months came anywhere close to the level of perfection that was Sam's body wrapped around mine right now.

  Not earning a doctorate.

  Not convincing Seraphina to tell me why she liked One Direction.

  Not telling my sister to fuck off when she announced she was pregnant and suggested I should move back to New Jersey to be her nanny.

  Nothing was as good as having my precious, pervy boy with me.

  "You smell good," he murmured, his beard tickling my neck.

  "I seriously doubt that," I said.

  He shifted beside me and hooked his jean-covered thigh over my legs. He was still dressed—we both were—and part of me appreciated that I didn't need to be naked and naughty to feel this close to him. We both knew there was a lot to talk about, but when we'd arrived at the firehouse last night, we'd known there would be time for all the words later. Touching each other, resting our heads on the same pillow, just being together was what mattered then.

  It was the best sleep I'd gotten in months.

  "You're always saying that, but you smell like you, and I've missed you so much."

  His words were muffled as he spoke against my skin, and while I wanted to ask whether smelling like me meant smelling like stale pepperoncini and red onion, his lips moved up my neck and I didn't want to think anymore. I urged him closer to me, pulling at his clothes until he was pressed against me and his mouth covered mine.

  "I have to tell you," he groaned. "I have to tell you about something I—"

  "Sam," I sighed.

  I knew exactly where this was going. I knew Sam, and I knew these past three months were probably filled with his s
pecial brand of self-inflicted torture. If I was being honest with myself, I'd been doing the same thing.

  "I screwed up," he said, his forehead pressed to mine. "So many things I should have done differently, but this…"

  I searched his eyes, hoping to see what I needed there. "We were broken up," I said. "Whatever happened, happened. What matters is that you're here now and we're moving past it."

  "But—"

  "You don't have to say anything else," I whispered. "We both screwed up. We were both wrong."

  "I vomited on a woman," he said. What else could I do but laugh?

  "You what?"

  He sighed and dropped his head to my shoulder. "A couple months ago I went out and got really drunk. I had the brilliant idea to get loaded on shots and try to forget everything…" His voice trailed off and he glanced at me. "I let someone rub my dick and the whole time I was thinking about you, and then I puked on her."

  "A lot?"

  I didn't like hearing about anyone touching Sam, but something about vomit interrupting a hand job was absolutely beautiful in every corner of karma. I knew Sam wasn't sitting at home and crying over his blueprints when we separated. He wasn't the kind of guy who wrote poetry or camped at a girl's door; he did stupid shit like this.

  Or maybe that's who he was.

  "Yes, Tiel, quite a bit," he said while I shook with laughter. "I'm pleased you're finding this so funny. Here I am, thinking you're doing to tear my balls off and shove them up my ass, and you're fucking laughing at me. That's brilliant."

  "Would it make it better if I took off my shirt?"

  Sam smiled, nodding, while I pulled the fabric over my head and unclasped my bra. He growled, and that was it—the sound that roused all those dormant desires into frenetic awareness.

  "I love you," he said as he lowered his head to my chest. "I love you." His lips moved to my nipple, drawing it into his mouth so gently, so softly. "I love you."

  I dragged my fingers through his shaggy hair as I tangled my legs around his waist. "I love you, too."

  His fingers trailed down my belly and flipped open the buttons on my jeans. His hand slipped inside, cupping me just enough to feel bliss curling around my nerves and muscles like sweet, wonderful waves of gravy.

  "Sam? Sam? Sam!" I heard sounds but couldn't place them in a rational order. The only things I cared about were Sam and the orgasm that was second away from unraveling. "Are you fucking serious, you come home and don't bother to fucking tell—oh shit."

  Suddenly, Sam's mouth left my breast and he was dragging the blanket over me. "Don't you ever knock, Riley?"

  "Can you show me a door to knock, Sam?" Riley gestured to the open space. "Hi, Tiel."

  "Hi, Riley," I said from under the blanket. "It's good to see you."

  "You better not have seen anything!" Sam yelled.

  "I didn't," Riley said. "And can we get back to the matter of you showing up here without so much as a text? What the fuck?"

  Sam tucked the blanket around my shoulders and gazed at me, smiling. "I was ready," he said. Then he glanced to Riley. "Are you just getting home?"

  "I crashed at Matt and Lauren's," he said. "They've been inviting me over for dinner since you've been gone, and sometimes I've stayed there. Matt left for a run with Nick, and Lauren was going to yoga…but we're all having dinner at Patrick and Andy's place tonight. You two should come."

  Sam turned to me, a quiet laugh bubbling up from his chest. "That will be interesting, Sunshine."

  Epilogue

  Sam

  Six months later

  There was a better way to do this. Something elaborate or quirky, the kind of experience we'd retell for years to come. But that ring had been burning a hole in my pocket all week, and we had enough stories in our arsenal.

  And maybe this one was just for us.

  The ring caught my eye when I walked past the Newbury Street jewelry shop, and I knew that pale pink stone belonged on Tiel's hand. It was a rare, old-fashioned cut and the thin antique band was studded with white diamonds, and it was too odd to pass up.

  And now, on this sunny November morning with her asleep beside me, I was tired of waiting.

  We'd spent the first two months going to shows, watching movies, and making new memories to replace those from our time apart. There were a lot of issues for us to get through; simply deciding that we wanted to be together didn't change the fact that I didn't make healthy decisions or set the clearest boundaries with the women in my life, or that her jealousy and abandonment triggers were quick. But we talked and worked at it, and we agreed we wouldn't walk away, even when it was difficult or frustrating.

  We weren't walking away ever.

  After celebrating the Fourth of July with a whirlwind tour of regional music festivals, Tiel announced she was tired of bouncing between my place and hers, and we'd decided an experiment in cohabitation was in order.

  From there, we'd spent the summer learning how to live together, fighting and making up, and discovering new ways to love and challenge each other every day.

  The firehouse was in decent shape, too. There were a couple new walls and the tree-ring tile project was finished, and a crew was wrapping up work on her studio next week.

  At Tiel's request, I hadn't evicted Riley, but he was safely ensconced in his own wing these days. Unfortunately, that didn't improve his ability to zip his pants.

  Tiel had accepted an associate professorship, and for the first time in years, didn't spend the summer at band camp. With all that free time, she eventually agreed to Lauren's invitation for margaritas and pedicures. The paint wasn't even dry on her toes when she'd texted me to say Lauren was hilarious and she was developing a crazy girl-crush on her.

  Over Labor Day weekend on Martha's Vineyard, Tiel and Shannon ended up chatting for hours—there were a few bottles of wine involved—and now they regularly met up for drinks.

  Despite our commitment to complete honesty, I wasn't going to call out Tiel's dramatic pivot in that situation.

  I glanced at the ring again, smiling. The stone was big, bigger than Tiel would ever select for herself, but wasn't that the point?

  The idea of marriage was a strange compulsion for me. I craved this, and not because I doubted any amount of our commitment to each other. I'd spent some time unwrapping this urge for weeks now, and though I knew I could be content with our relationship as it was, I wanted the official confirmation that we were legally, socially, spiritually bound and possessed by each other.

  I wanted Tiel as mine, and I wanted to be hers.

  And we were ready for this.

  "Sweetheart," I murmured, brushing her hair aside and kissing her shoulder.

  "Five more minutes," she whispered.

  "I'd like a little bit longer than that," I said, curling my arm around her waist.

  She nodded and burrowed into my chest, her eyes heavy with sleep. "It's Sunday, though," she said. "Let's have snuggletime."

  "Let's get married," I said.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at me, quiet and assessing. "Yeah," she said, her smile hitting me like a blinding ray of sunshine. "We're going to have really cool kids."

  "Of course," I said, laughing as I slipped the ring on her finger. "They'll be smart and the good kind of weird, talented and cute, and we should start making them right now."

  "You're brilliant," she said, wrapping her legs around me. "And more than a little pervy."

  "You're a little pervy," I murmured. "And I love it."

  * * *

  Thank you for reading!

  Get exclusive bonus scenes and sneak previews of upcoming releases through Kate's newsletter and private reader group, The Canterbary Tales on Facebook.

  Underneath It All Extended Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Six years after Matt and Lauren first met…

  For pumpkin spice

  and

  pervy girls

  1

  Lauren

  The t
ext message arrived early, barely past seven in the morning.

  * * *

  Andy: I'm coming over with my camera and I have the costumes.

  Andy: Props too.

  Andy: Do you think 17 pumpkins is too many?

  Andy: Never mind. I don't care if it's too many. I'm bringing all of them.

  Andy: Also, I have vodka.

  Andy: And that cinnamon-sugar rim mix.

  Andy: Because the only time I lick a rim is when it's covered in sugar and spice.

  * * *

  I barked out a laugh at her messages as well as the wild shifts in our lives. Not long ago, Andy and I cherished our lazy Saturday mornings. We wouldn't have texted each other at this hour unless it was to announce the previous night's choices were coming back to haunt us.

  But here we were, a world away but still right around the corner from the women we used to be. And these new-but-totally-the-same versions of us were dressing my three-month-old baby in a load of seasonal outfits this morning and photographing every inch of it. The baby and the themed photo shoot were new. The apple pie mules we planned to mix up when the baby tired of our antics and went down for a nap were the same.