No Coincidence

by Tiffany Patterson

  I sighed as he pulled me against his chest. My eyes closed when the back of my head made contact with his body.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “That I want this to be over. I hate walking around scared thinking someone’s following me or going to leap out of the bushes at any moment.” Releasing the spoon I was holding, I turned and buried my face in Connor’s chest, needing to feel the comfort only he was able to provide me with. How I’d grown so attached in such a short period of time I’ll never know or understand. All I knew was that I drew strength from him.

  Lifting my head, I peered up into his face. “Do you ever think about New York?”

  A blond eyebrow raised curiously.

  “How when we both live here in Williamsport, not even separated by six degrees, with both of our connections to the Townsends, but we met all the way over there?” I shrugged. “I didn’t even want to go to that event in the City, and I was so close to canceling that trip but I’d agreed to do some collaborations with other bloggers. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. And then …”

  “One night you went to a bar,” he finished.

  I lifted on my tiptoes and he lowered, our lips meeting somewhere in the middle. Lightning coursed through me, same as it did every time we kissed. Connor’s hands moved over my hips to cover my ass, squeezing it through the material of the burgundy skirt I wore with the matching thigh-high boots.

  “Dammit!” he growled, pulling back when the doorbell rang.

  “At least he rang the buzzer this time.” I giggled at Connor’s chagrined expression.

  “At least,” he snorted, his hands falling to his sides as he looked me up and down, his eye pausing on the boots. “You’re keeping those on tonight.”

  I gasped, catching his meaning, and then swatting him with the dish towel I’d placed on the counter as he exited the kitchen because Mark was ringing the buzzer again.

  “Hold your damn horses. I’m coming!” he yelled.

  Laughing, I shook my head. I’d completely forgotten the conversation that preceded that kiss, which was typical. In the last week, it was only the moments in which I was alone that I remembered I had a stalker, someone who was likely dangerous and had essentially forced me out of my own home. But whenever I was with Connor—which was most of the time, as of late—it just seemed to fit. Like there was no other place for me to be except in his arms, in his home, at his place of business.

  Shaking my head again, I reminded myself that this was temporary. Connor was just helping me until whoever this person was was caught and put away. Then I’d be back home and whatever he and I had would likely fizzle out because … well, men seemed to get tired of me easily. Most people in life did.

  “Hey, Resha,” Mark exclaimed as he entered the kitchen.

  Pushing those previous thoughts aside, I gave him a genuine smile, happy to see Mark again. He reminded me of his brother in a lot of ways. Both of their eyes mirrored one another’s. Mark’s hair wasn’t quite as blond as Connor’s, nor was it as long. Mark definitely looked more the part of the clean-cut, business exec type, whereas Connor came across as more rugged and gritty. However, their facial features were similar, and in spite of the fact that he was in a wheelchair, Mark’s long legs were a testament that he, too, had inherited the family’s height gene.

  “Hey, Mark, how are you?” I moved closer, throwing my arms around his shoulders for a hug because that also felt natural. He must’ve felt the same because he didn’t hesitate to return the embrace.

  “Tired. Today was a long day. The only thing that got me through was knowing I’d have a home-cooked meal at the end of it.”

  I laughed along with Mark until Connor interrupted with, “Don’t get too used to it.”

  I nudged him, giving him a side-eye. “Be nice. He’s just put in a ten-hour day working for what I’m sure is a very demanding boss.” My gaze bounced between Connor and Mark.

  “Yeah, brother, you heard the lady. Be nice.” Mark turned his head to me. “Don’t worry about him, he’s had a bug up his butt where I’m concerned for months now.” He waved a dismissive hand. “It smells delicious in here. I brought a bottle of red wine since I hear it pairs well with the dish you were making. Can I help with anything?”

  “That’s perfect.” I took the bottle from Mark. “And no, you just relax. I’ve got the dishes already set up at the table. Let’s head over because I know your brother’s hungry and I assume you are, too, after staying late at work.”

  I went to grab for the pot but Connor’s hand stopped me. Instead, he used the two potholders to lift and carry the pot with the stew behind me as I followed Mark to the dining section of the kitchen. While Connor placed the pot down at the center of the table where I’d already set up the trivet, I put thick slices of toasted garlic bread on each of our plates.

  “This looks great,” Mark chimed as I ladled the stew onto his dish, followed by Connor’s and then my own.

  “I hope it tastes as great as it looks.” I wrung my hands. “I actually ran out of red wine and was only able to use half of what the recipe calls for.”

  “Anything made by you will be phenomenal,” Connor replied, placing a kiss to my cheek before pulling out my chair for me to sit.

  When I did, I paused, noticing the shocked expression on Mark’s face across the table. I was about to ask what had him so dumbfounded but his eyes roved over to Connor, who was taking his seat, before he lowered his head, whistling and chuckling to himself.

  “Thanks for coming, Mark,” I decided to say instead. “Even with your long day.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s rare I get invited over here anymore.” His mischievous glint moved over to his brother.

  I frowned. “And why is that?”

  Mark grunted. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  I looked to Connor, who was taking his first spoonful of the stew. He didn’t say anything for a long while, until he swallowed. “This is delicious, a stór.”

  My heart felt as if it literally skipped a beat at the compliment. It always did when he complimented my cooking, which was every night.

  Mark cleared his throat. “He’s right, Resha. This is great.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad they had beef brisket at the grocer instead of the regular stew meat. The brisket adds a better flavor to the stew and the meat is so much more tender.”

  “Where’d you learn to cook?” Mark questioned.

  “My Aunt Donna.” I caught Connor’s inquiring look out of the corner of my eye. “Destiny was never one for the kitchen, so I think Aunt Donna let out a sigh of relief when I moved in with them and took up an interest in the dishes she made.”

  “That’s cool. Our Ma never taught us much about cooking. Not that either one of us were interested.”

  Connor snorted. I wasn’t certain if he was agreeing with Mark or he was annoyed that Mark was divulging more about their family background than he wanted shared.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” I reached over for Connor’s free hand, relieved when he didn’t pull it away. He’d become closed off since his brother arrived.

  “That probably has something to do with me,” Mark confessed.

  “Don’t fucking speak for me,” Connor finally replied.

  I squeezed his hand, hating the way he talked to his own brother.

  “Someone needs to speak for you since you’ve decided to go mute,” Mark retorted. “Or did you all of a sudden have something to say?”

  I got the sense that Mark actually got excitement from this little exchange. I could’ve been reading it all wrong, but it felt like when a kid that has been ignored by his parents finally gets some sort of reaction from them due to his negative behavior, so he takes it and runs with it.

  “I’ve said everything I needed to say. To you, to Buddy, and anyone else who’ll listen. But you assholes don’t listen so what’s the damn point of continuing to talk?” Connor took a spoonful of his remaining stew.

  My head shot from
Connor to Mark during the entirety of this exchange.

  “Will you just get over it already? It’s done. I’m fighting and that’s it. And look at me,” Mark held his arms out to his side. “I’m fine. Nothing’s happened to me. Nothing will happen to me.”

  “You don’t fucking know that!” Connor roared, tossing his cloth napkin onto the table. “In case you haven’t noticed you’re not indestructible. No one is. Taking unnecessary chances is stupid, bonehead, and fucking idiotic!”

  “So now I’m an idiot?”

  “He didn’t say—”

  “If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up and wear it!”

  I gasped. “Connor! You don’t mean that.”

  “I know what the hell I mean.”

  “Yeah, he fucking means it. Swears I’m still just his little brother that followed him around and always needed to be protected like when were were kids. But now, because of this …” Mark slammed his hands against the armrests of his wheelchair, “he treats me even more like an imbecile who can’t make his own decisions.”

  “Start acting like a grown adult capable of making smarter decisions and I’ll treat you like one.”

  Sucking his teeth in disgust, Mark tossed his hands up in the air.

  “Hey, how about we all calm down?” I suggested, hating the turn that this conversation had taken.

  “I’m out of here.”

  “No, Mark! Please don’t leave,” I implored. “At least stay and finish your dinner? You’ve worked late and I’d hate to see you not eat. I made blueberry pie and bought vanilla ice cream for dessert because Connor said it was your favorite. Finish your dinner and then I can send you home with the dessert if you don’t care to eat it here.” I felt myself biting my tongue to keep from begging Mark to stay.

  The thought of these two brothers being so angry and pissed at one another tore at my insides.

  “You went through all of this trouble for me?” Mark questioned.

  I gave him a warm smile. “It wasn’t a lot of trouble. I love cooking, and cooking for others even more. Stay. Enjoy your meal.”

  He gave his brother, who continued to eat, a once over before nodding, agreeing to stay.

  I pushed out the breath I’d been holding, thankful that he wouldn’t be storming out of here. However, when I looked over at the stubborn set of Connor’s jaw, I knew the evening wasn’t over.

  ****

  Connor

  “Dinner was great, Resha, and the pie was amazing. Probably best blueberry pie I’ve ever had,” Mark gushed as we headed out to the living room. “I’m stuffed.”

  “You’re not just saying that are you, Mark? Because I’ve been told you’re something of a connoisseur when it comes to blueberry pie,” she giggled, and in spite of the annoyance I still held onto concerning my brother, it evaporated for one full heartbeat in the face of her laughter.

  “He’s right, baby. Your pie is the best.” Wrapping my arm around her waist, I tugged her to me and placed a kiss to her temple. I glanced down to my right when I heard my brother whistling.

  “You might be able to soften this guy up after all. I didn’t think anything or anyone would.”

  “Watch your mouth,” I grunted.

  “You watch—”

  “Hey, hey, we made it through dinner and dessert without you two tearing one another apart, why start now?”

  “He started it,” Mark retorted.

  “Are you fucking serious? You sound like a damn nine year old. Hell, I’ve heard nine-year-old girls sound more mature than you.”

  “I bet you have. It’s probably because you have more in common with them than with anyone else.”

  “Mark,” Resha gasped.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Resha. I tried to be civil. My apologies for ruining dinner, but I can’t bite my tongue any longer.”

  “You don’t have to do shit. Far be it from me to make you do anything,” I grunted.

  “Not like that doesn’t stop you from trying, does it?” my brother yelled in my direction.

  “Oh, so that’s what I’m doing? Trying to control you? Instead of protecting you?”

  “I don’t need your damn protection! I’m not a damn child or a helpless invalid, which you seem unable to wrap your goddamn head around. What the hell is wrong with you?” he bellowed, his face red with anger.

  “What’s wrong with me? I got my assed handed to me for you! That’s what’s wrong with me! I stepped into ring after ring, to fight just so you wouldn’t have to! And now you’re throwing it all back in my fucking face like it didn’t mean shit!” I roared, feeling relieved having gotten that off my chest.

  Mark, however, looked burdened by my statement His shoulders sank just before he said, “I didn’t realize I was such a burden to you.”

  My gaze narrowed. “Don’t be fucking dramatic,” I hissed.

  “You’re right. I need to stop being dramatic. Goodnight, Resha.”

  “Wait, Mark, don’t leave like this,” Resha called out, trying to stop him, but he was adamant.

  I grabbed Resha by the arm to prevent her from stepping on the elevator behind my kid brother. There was nothing left to be said between the two of us that night. At least, not between Mark and I.

  Once the elevator door closed, Resha whirled on me. “What was that about?”

  I waved a hand, pivoting from her and heading to the living room to turn on the television to ESPN. Resha had other plans, obviously, because she snatched the remote from my hand, switching the TV off.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “It was about exactly what I said. I busted my ass for that kid and he acts like it didn’t mean shit.”

  “How so?” she questioned, folding her arms over her breasts, remote still in her hands.

  I cocked my head to the side, eyeing the thigh-high boots she wore and the tiny portion of exposed thigh that was left uncovered between the bottom of her skirt and the tops of her boots. And although we’d just finished eating, my mouth watered with a different kind of hunger.

  “Eyes up top.”

  My gaze rose to meet hers.

  “What was that really about?”

  I pushed out a heavy breath. “I’m probably not gonna get my dick wet until I talk, huh?”

  “It might not even happen then. Not unless your explanation is really good.”

  I shook my head. “Mark’s been fighting in the Underground.”

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose in surprise at first. “So he’s a part of the same club you started? That must take talent.”

  I snorted. “Talent, yeah. He kept it a secret from me for over a year. Him, Buddy, Josh … they all hid it from me.”

  “Because you didn’t want him to join?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why not? I hope you’re not going to say it’s because he’s in a wheelchair. If that’s the case, I know some Disability Rights Advocates who would like to speak with you.”

  “It’s not because of the chair … not all of it.”

  She unfolded her arms and tossed the remote onto the couch before giving me the go on expression.

  “We didn’t have shit growing up. My ol’ man was a former fighter over in Ireland. He moved here a washed-up boxer with little more than the clothes on his back. My mother was a first gen Irish-Catholic who liked to party more than she liked staying home. My parents hooked up one too many times and ended up with me. They married, and a few years later Mark came along. They weren’t terrible people but they weren’t made for rearing children either. My father taught me the only thing he knew how to do, which was fight. At five years old he put my first pair of gloves on my hands. Turns out, I was pretty good. When I was sixteen, my ma finally had enough of the homemaker life and split. My father had had one too many concussions and started losing his shit. I was left to fend for all of us, and all I knew how to do was fight. So that’s what I did. I won more than I lost, but I still got my ass handed to me a few times. But the one thing I
had that other fighters didn’t was persistence. I never tapped out, never gave up. I had more than myself to think about.

  “Anyway, that’s how I fed my family. How I kept a roof over our heads. I fought, paid bills, and saved money for Mark’s college fund. Put my father in a home when he was fifty-five because he couldn’t even feed himself anymore by that time. I fought so Mark wouldn’t have to. When he had his accident …” I trailed off because I refused to think about that horrible time. Clearing my throat, I continued with, “I kept on fighting and began building my own businesses to pay for his medical care so that he’d never have to worry about anything.”

  Unclenching my fists, I refocused and looked into Resha’s watery eyes. I couldn’t help the chuckle that burst from my lips when she practically knocked me over as she ran into my arms, firming her lips against mine.

  Pulling back, she questioned, “Have you ever told your brother what you just told me?”

  I squinted. “It should be obvious. He knows what I did.”

  She giggled, lowering her head before looking back up at me. “Men really are clueless.”

  Frowning, I wrapped my arms around her hips and squeezed. A small moan pushed through her lips. “You wanna repeat that shit?”

  The smirk that played at her lips told me she did, but instead she said, “I’m saying that maybe your brother has never seen things from your perspective because you never told him. Yeah, he was there but he was a kid when you started fighting. He was what? Sixteen when he had his accident?”

  I nodded.

  “How much did you understand about the world and the people around you when you were sixteen? And then, to add a tragedy like the one he experienced at such a young age. You took such great care of your brother, he never really had to know struggle outside of his own. Maybe it’s time you shared what’s really going on inside of your head with him.”

  I began shaking my head, but Resha cupped my face with her hands. “Just think about it,” she implored.

  “Yeah, and what about you?”

  Her head jerked backwards in surprise. “What about me?”

  I lifted an eyebrow, giving her a funny look. “You haven’t told Destiny or your aunt about what’s been going on with you. Do they even know you’re staying here with me?”