Scared of Forever (Scared #2)

by Jacqueline Abrahams

  I’m just about to politely decline his offer, when my stomach answers for me, in the form of a loud rumble. I grin sheepishly.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Tyler says, stepping aside and grandly ushering me into the door of his apartment.

  I expected a carbon copy of our apartment, with its polished stainless steel and modern, angular furniture. But Tyler’s apartment is nothing like ours. The entire kitchen is made from an ashy-colored beech wood. A series of mismatched chairs are placed around a 1950’s style dining table. Everything in here looks like it came from a salvage yard or a thrift shop, but in a well thought out and artsy kind of way. The only things that look new are the huge, framed projector screen against the far wall, the treadmill in the corner, and two large pod-like chairs, suspended from the ceiling by large brackets and thick chains. I instantly decide that the chairs are my favorite things in here, because they are place directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that flank one entire side of the room.

  Tyler puts the pizza down on the breakfast bar and walks over to grab some plates. Walking back, he nods towards my feet. “Aren’t those things hurting you? Take them off, get comfortable,” he says, looking at my kitten heels. God forbid! I better make sure he never sees me in my double platforms with their six-inch heels. He just might call 911!

  I turn towards the door and stop dead in my tracks. The whole back wall, with the exception of the doors, has been covered in six by nine inch photos. I walk closer, in absolute awe. Some of the shots are of sunsets, others, tall buildings shot at impossible angles, and there are even some candid shots of people, landmarks, and interesting things.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “I take it you like my work?” Tyler asks, handing me a plate.

  “You’re a photographer, I’m guessing. Either that, or a professional traveler,” I say. With the amount of wealth that the Carson family possesses, I’m quite sure one of their sons could live off of them forever, travelling the world. Or possibly both.

  “Very perceptive,” he says with raised eyebrows and a grin. “I’m a travel photographer.”

  “The horror,” I tease. “A Carson man who is not a doctor!”

  “That’s me, Tyler Carson. Otherwise known to my mother as the rebellious son,” he jibes back effortlessly.

  Tyler and I sit in the pod chairs and stare out at the neon landscape that is New York City, demolishing both pizzas in the process. As the sun sets over the horizon, darkening the room, Tyler walks over to a large seventeenth century-style street lamp and stretches up to flick it on. I’m lost for a brief moment as his t-shirt rides up to reveal the bottom row of a delicious looking set of abs. The thin cotton of his sleeve strains under the flex of his bicep. Stop that! This is Blake’s brother, I scold myself.

  A million questions plague me. Why has Blake never mentioned Tyler? Or Eliza, for that matter? Why don’t any of them talk anymore? Would Blake approve of me sitting alone in his brother’s apartment, barefooted and eating pizza?

  The last question interrupts my musing. Blake has no right to decide that. Blake should have been home with me.

  “Just a guess,” Tyler interrupts with a cocky grin, “but are you talking to yourself and answering yourself back in your mind?”

  “Why yes, yes I am,” I laugh.

  “You know that those are the first two signs of madness, right?” Tyler replies matter-of-factly.

  “Is there a third, or am I certifiable after just the two?” I ask. Tyler is easy to be around. He’s pleasant and nice, and though he is cheeky and quips a lot, he doesn’t seem overly flirtatious or smarmy to the point where I start to feel uncomfortable.

  “The third is eating pizza with a random stranger in a strange apartment,” he laughs, taking a bite of his slice. “I could be an axe murderer, or a lonely stalker looking to find a new obsession.”

  “You’re my future brother-in-law. Or so you claim. And yes, I do admit now that you mention it, you are a little strange—” I jibe back. There are worse things than being stalked by him, I’m sure.

  “Only a little? Wow, now there’s a compliment,” he laughs. “So, catch me up. How exactly did you meet my brother?”

  “I was waitressing at a restaurant a few blocks away. Although, at those posh places, I think I was referred to as a ‘table service attendant.’ Blake came in one night. He stalked me for about a week until I agreed to meet him for coffee.” I hold up my rather large diamond engagement ring. “The rest is history. I had just moved here from Cuba.”

  “Cuba?” Tyler asks, baffled.

  “Yes Cuba, in Missouri,” I say with a laugh. “We became engaged three weeks ago. And much to your mother’s horror, have yet to throw an engagement party or set a wedding date,” I say with exaggerated dismay. “It all began five months ago.”

  “You’re engaged after four months?” Tyler looks like he’s about to cough up his pizza.

  “Why is that strange? I love your brother. When you know, you know. It’s a no-brainer,” I say defensively. When he says it out loud, four months does sound kind of rash and impulsive.

  “You’re just so—different from Blake,” he says seriously.

  “You just met me,” I retort.

  “Yeah, but you’re smart, and you seem nice. It’s just—you’re not Blake’s usual type. He prefers them a little bitchier, from what I remember.” He observes, seeming unsure if he should continue speaking or shut up while there’s still time.

  “Blake is sweet, and nice as well,” I defend. “You may not see him that way, I mean, you are his brother, after all. You just may not see the softer side of him.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Tyler says softly.

  “On another note, what made Eliza decorate this apartment so differently than ours?” I ask, thinking of how much homelier it feels in here.

  “Eliza? My mother? What makes you think she had a hand in decorating my apartment?” Tyler asks, clearly confused by my question.

  “I thought since she owned the apartment…” I say, trailing off.

  “She does own half of this building, but Blake and I own our own apartments. They were our eighteenth birthday gifts. I own this one, and Blake owns the one you stay in. Therefore she has no wallpaper privileges here or there,” Tyler says.

  I remember the conversation with Blake so well about the apartment. His exact words. My mother’s family owns this place. We can stay here until we move to the house with the white picket fence that I’m dying to buy you. The words are clear in my memory. I had argued with him about it, and asked if we could rent a place not owned by Eliza Carson, but he had been so insistent. Why lie about something so trivial?

  Tyler’s voice startles me. “Are you conversing with yourself again?” The dimple on his left cheek pops as he gives me a sweet smile.

  “Yeah, hey, sorry, I should get going. I’m sure I’ll see you again. I mean, are you in town for a while?” I ask walking over to the door and grabbing my shoes and bag.

  “Until the next job arrives. I’m a freelancer, so—” Tyler says walking behind me.

  “So I’ll see you around,” I complete for him, opening the door.

  “Bye sis,” he says.

  The familial reference, which I should consider a term of endearment, causes a small knot to form in my stomach. I’m about to turn and thank Tyler for the pizza, when a hand pushes me gently to the side. A fraction of a second later, I hear the sound of splintering wood.

  Chapter 5:

  Blake

  I don’t think. I just react. When I see Emily walking out of Tyler’s apartment, shoes in hand, I just fucking lose it. Before I know what’s happening, my fist swings towards his face. Tyler ducks, and my hand connects painfully with the wood, splintering it. A foggy haze of absolute rage clouds my vision. When is my damn brother going to learn to stay away from what’s mine?

  Emily’s voice is the first sound that resonates through the fog. “Blake, what the hell!” she y
ells, grabbing me around the waist and attempting to pull me back.

  “Nice to see you too, brother,” Tyler retorts sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe, not at all rattled by my reaction.

  “What’s going on? I ask through gritted teeth, the calm in my voice surprising even me.

  Emily opens her mouth to speak, but Tyler beats her to it. “Your fiancée was home alone, since you were apparently working late, so we ate pizza together. It was nothing sinister. Then again, you would recognize sinister better than either of us.”

  I don’t miss the innuendo in his voice, or the accusatory tone. I’m guessing neither did Emily.

  “Don’t worry, Blake,” Tyler spits, “we’re not repeating old patterns here.”

  “Let’s go,” I say softly, turning to Emily. I want to get the hell out of here before Tyler has the opportunity to stir up another one of the shit storms that he’s so famous for in our family. Sanctimonious bastard.

  Emily closes the door to our apartment after we walk in, and goes directly to the bedroom without saying a word to me. We’ve never had a fight. The closest we’ve ever been to an argument is over which international cuisine to order in for dinner on any given night.

  I grab an individually packaged frozen steak from the freezer, wrap it in a kitchen towel, and hold it against my abused knuckles, before walking into the bedroom after her.

  “Em,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. I trust you. I just… when I saw you walking out of Tyler’s apartment, something in me just snapped.”

  She ignores me and walks into the bathroom. Fuck. I follow her, desperate to fix things. “Em, can we talk?” I ask again.

  She turns on her heel, eyes blazing. I’ve never seen Emily angry. She’s normally so even tempered. So put together. The fire in her eyes is exciting. Dangerous, even. “You had no right to accuse me of anything. And certainly no right to go around attempting to knock people out. What the fuck were you thinking? Not to mention the fact that you were the one who was working late tonight.”

  “So now after one conversation with my brother, you don’t believe me anymore?” I say with disbelief. “And by the way, it does look slightly less than innocent to see you creeping out of his apartment carrying your shoes. What the hell were you doing there?” The final sentence leaves my mouth much more menacingly than I had intended, and much louder than I wanted it to be.

  “Tyler didn’t have a bad word to say about you, until you showed up and nearly knocked him out. As far as family goes, he seems like the only normal person in yours. Not to mention that between your mother and that little display of testosterone outside, I’m left wondering how many things you are keeping from me,” she practically yells. “And I was not creeping anywhere! How dare you accuse me of that?”

  “Why does my past even matter now? Look, I’m sorry for getting angry. It’s just, I love you, and I’m a little jealous.” I say sincerely. Because right now, right at this very second, it’s true. That, and I don’t trust my brother. At all.

  My words cause her to relax her defensive stance slightly. Seizing the opportunity, I walk over and cup her face in my good hand. “I love you,” I whisper. “Let me show you.”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she replies simply, moving my hand gently away. For the first time since I deflowered Emily on my bed, she actually refused me. My ego doesn’t really know how to process such a hit, so I make my way over to my study, to write out the monthly checks. The realtor, the suppliers, both for Aria’s tattoo shop. I send an email to my mother, asking her to deposit more money into my personal account. I hate relying on Eliza, but without her cash injection, Emily will question where eighty percent of my income went. And since I don’t have any of my trust to fall back on, my mother is my only savior. I have to keep her happy. I have to keep them all happy. I drop my head into my hands in frustration.

  Down the hallway, I see the bedroom lamp dim, and hear the bathroom door click shut, followed by the ruffle of the bed linens. I wait a few minutes, and then walk down the hallway to duck my head in. Emily looks angelic. She always sleeps on her stomach. I watch as her back rises slowly and falls with every slumbered breath. You’re mine.

  When I’m confident that she’s asleep, I walk out the apartment door and knock on Tyler’s. I don’t want to talk to this guy again, not now, not ever. But I have to smooth out the rough edges. Make my position, and his, very clear. I knock a few more times before Tyler finally opens the door.

  He wears his tattoos proudly, his chest square and jutting forward like a vain peacock. I want to fucking punch him. Again. How dare he flaunt the time he spent with her in front of me like that?

  “What do you want, Blake?” Tyler asks, clearly bored.

  “Expecting me?” I ask, walking past him into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

  “Sooner or later,” he says, walking over to lean against the kitchen counter. “I presume you’re here to tell me to stay the hell away from Emily. Always very possessive over your toys, right big brother?”

  Snide bastard.

  “I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing, Tyler, but it ends now,” I say forcefully. “Why are you even back in town? To stir shit up in another one of my relationships? Is that it?”

  “I live in this town,” Tyler rebuts. “And last time I checked, you didn’t own it. So why don’t you just back the fuck off.”

  “So are we playing good brother, bad brother again? What the hell did you say to Emily?” I demand angrily.

  “I said nothing,” Tyler replies, taking a step forward. “I said nothing! Your dirty little secrets are all buried right where you left them! But you have hit an all-time low with this girl. Does she know about your past? No, of course not. Because she didn’t even know I existed. Same games as always, Blake. Same fucked up games, only this time, it’s not Charlotte or me that you’re fucking around with. It’s a very sweet girl, who thinks the sun shines out of your ass! I hope and pray that you are serious, because if not, this is totally fucked up.”

  “You tried this before, Tyler. Tried to come between me and the woman I love,” I spit maliciously. “It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”

  “The woman you love?” Tyler scoffs. “Singular or plural? How many women do you love, Blake?”

  Tyler is angry. I can’t tell if it’s for her or Emily, but either way, he needs to stand the fuck down. “Emily doesn’t need some hero, like the one you think you are, swooping in to fill her in on the truth as you see it! You and I are not having this conversation again,” I say lowly, walking over and pointing a threatening finger at him. I turn on my heel and walk out the door, slamming it hard in my wake.

  Sleep doesn’t come as easily as I had hoped it would. Instead, I stretch out onto the cold leather chaise in the living room and stare out at the New York skyline. I grab my phone from my pocket and send a text.

  Are you still awake?

  A few minutes go by with no reply.

  I was dreaming of u, but I am now. U ok?

  I release a huge sigh of relief. We exchange texts back and forth for a few hours. I tell her about my fight with Emily, and Tyler being back in town. She’s brief in her responses about the first subject. She doesn’t even comment when I refer to Tyler. She knows how I feel about it. Slowly but surely, my tension headache dissipates, and I’m calm enough to finally fall asleep.

  Chapter 6:

  Emily

  This morning is no different than any other. Last night I heard Blake leave, and then I heard the noise from the screaming match in Tyler’s apartment. I couldn’t make out what they were saying through the walls, but it didn’t sound good. I make Blake’s coffee and lay on the bed as he changes.

  “Did you remember we have lunch with Maia and Jackson today?” I ask, deciding to bury the hatchet.

  “Oh shit, I forgot. I’m sorry baby, apologize for me. I won’t be able to get out of work,” he replies gently, a far cry from the angry and accusatory
Blake I met last night.

  “No problem,” I say shortly. We had made this lunch date days ago. As I’m about to walk over to grab my clothes for work, I notice a red raised mark on Blake’s back. Just as I’m about to go closer to inspect it, he quickly slips on his business shirt and glances very briefly in my direction.

  “Did you get hurt?” I ask, taking a step towards him.

  “Huh, where?” Blake asks without looking up from his sock drawer.

  “On your back,” I answer. “It looks like a scratch or something.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah. I banged into a supply shelf at work yesterday, you know how crazy the ER can get,” Blake replies quickly. Too quickly.

  “Be careful. Oh hey, do you think your mother would mind me redecorating a little? I mean, I know she owns the apartment, so I don’t want to ruffle her feathers.” I keep my eyes fixed on his, trying to discern if he is telling the truth. His eyes are clear, unfaltering, and stare openly at me.

  “I don’t see why not,” he replies “But, I kind of like it as it is. Make sure you run the changes by me first.”

  If he is lying, he’s good at it. I can’t tell one way or the other. I give him a kiss on the cheek before entering my walk-in closet. I don’t know how crazy the ER can get, actually. What I do know is that that didn’t look like a knock from a supply shelf from my vantage point. And I wanted to see if Tyler was telling the truth about the apartment. I don’t really even know why it matters so much to me, just that it does.

  Blake kisses me sweetly before leaving for work. For the first time since we met, I’m glad he’s gone. He didn’t give me anything to work with regarding the apartment. Not more than three minutes later, I hear a knock at the door.

  “Morning,” says a very fresh-faced but sweating Tyler as I open the door. His hair clings to his damp forehead and neck. His shoulders glisten with what is perhaps morning dew and sweat. He works hard at catching his breath as he stands at my door. The whole image before me is, well, bordering on erotic.