Strong.
Independent.
Psychotic.
Can’t forget the last one.
I offered a hand, reaching for her bag, but she shook her head, glaring. “I’ll carry it.” Lucky for me, she didn’t slap my outstretched hand.
“Okay.”
It felt a little stiff, much like every time we were forced in a room together. “My driver is taking us to Brandon’s,” I explained as we began walking. It was news that Royce was my driver as much as my nephew’s. He basically decided to stick around for us both.
And surprisingly, money wasn’t the factor. Dox left me with just as much as his son. I was the only other person he cared enough about.
“Driver? Aren’t you like a junior lawyer?” The scorn in her tone wasn’t lost on me but I didn’t give it any attention. She wanted that. Reaction. Then she could tell Brandon how big of a bitch I was.
“No, Amelia. I’m not.” I didn’t elaborate, knowing if I continued I’d respond badly. She didn’t even realize how famous my brother was. Then there was the fact that I worked for passion and had all that money from that too. I could be a stay-at-home wife or mom, but for some reason, that thought depressed the hell out of me.
Time and time again, I’d thought about spending my spare time learning music again. My skills in guitar lacked, piano and drums were more my level.
My voice still sounded nice, if singing in the shower proved anything. It was rusty, but not as bad as someone who couldn’t sing. I just needed to reteach the muscles to trigger the memories.
“To Brandon’s?” I questioned, confirming what he’d already told me.
“I suppose,” she said finally, her nose up higher than necessary, her purse clutched like pearls against her chest. “Did Brand tell you we’d be staying with him?”
“No, he didn’t mention it, but it’s okay entirely. He wanted to keep a bit of space between us before the honeymoon.” It was said with as much teasing as I could offer without sounding like a whore.
She still glared at me. Her face unpleasant in all its pinched features. Unlike Brandon, Amelia didn’t have a kind face, it was all sharp edges and cruel frowns. Someone who didn’t smile or offer anything other than blank stares.
I hated her and it upset me that I did.
How could I be with Brandon forever when the thought of his mother made me sick? I didn’t want my children around her—if we ever got to that point.
I wanted to have love and acceptance in my family, like Madden had with Carson. It brought me peace, knowing Cars was loved by someone like my nephew. Endlessly, without judgments.
Once we got her last bag, we headed out to the loading area. Royce stood in front of the car, waiting for me to say something.
“To Brandon’s,” I let Royce know. He took Amelia’s bags without being asked and set them in the back. Instead of sitting awkwardly next to Royce, I decided to sit even more awkwardly beside her.
By the time we arrived, the car felt tense and I just knew Royce felt the distress coming off me. We got to Brandon’s condo quickly, Royce carrying her stuff as if he were a bellhop and not a driver. Poor guy.
I took out my key, knowing I’d never really used it before. Unlocking the door, I sucked in the biggest breath and put on the best show of my life.
“Hey, babe,” Brandon said with a smile. He seemed happy to see me but as soon as he saw his mom behind me, he went to her—forgoing our usual awkward hug and shit.
Thank fuck.
Pushing him away at this point, before seeing Madden, telling him and choosing... it felt wrong. How could I be in a committed relationship and feel more like I was cheating on my nephew than my own fiancé?
Make it make sense.
“I missed you, baby boy,” Amelia praised, sounding like a doting mother. She was. Brandon was her prized possession and she treated him as such. If any mom could drive me nuts, Amelia was that mom.
“I missed you too.” Crazy thing was, he never looked at me like he looked at his mom. She hung his moon and I only existed to watch. If it were Madden, I’d be a lot angrier, but it was Brandon, and somehow it didn’t hurt.
Hell, Josh cheating on me in college deemed itself a worse betrayal.
I walked into the kitchen and knew we’d be leaving soon. We had final meetings with florists and the cake makers. Just to verify everything.
But I didn’t bother them as they hugged and caught up. All I wanted was a few shots of vodka and a blunt. Which surprised me since the urge only recently resurfaced.
I thought of Madden then. Of how he smoked and put it in my mouth, making me taste him in the only way he allowed.
I wanted to touch him.
Intimately.
There was something insanely attractive about touching someone who didn’t like touch from others. It felt special, something no one could have.
I wanted that.
Even if it was wrong.
When Dox and Harley died, a part of me did too. But it wasn’t due to their deaths, it was the loss of Madden. We’d grown closer in the months leading up to their passing, hell, the years we grew up together, being best friends, inseparable.
We spent a lot of time together, a few times doing things we shouldn’t have, but our closeness made me feel complete—whole in a way no one ever had. He left and part of me went with him.
“Babe?” Brandon snapped for my attention, and I realized how badly I’d disassociated into sadness. It came and went, mostly when the past glued itself to my mind.
“What’s that?” I played coy, not knowing why, but not wanting him to feel like I didn’t care.
“Royce wants to drive us to the floral shop, make sure the flowers came in.”
“Oh, right,” I replied with a smile, feeling anything but joy. “Perfect.”
He reached out, going for my hand. Instead of blowing him off in a rude way, I reached for my purse. His touch meant something to Madden. And for someone who didn’t touch people, I’d respect Madden’s conditions.
“Need to use the bathroom,” I rushed out. “And my hands are gross from the airport.” His eyes widened a smidgen, not believing me, but it’d been an entire day since our convo in my office, it made sense that he would feel off. I’d had to turn away a kiss and even refused a hug saying I had to take a phone call.
It was hard not touching him. Not because I wanted to, but because I just realized how much he touched me on the daily.
He let me go, not stopping my leaving him, but fuck, it felt wrong, thinking of Madden’s rules above my own fiancé’s comfort. Wrongness and need collided inside me, warring for victory. One would win and for some reason, I knew it wasn’t the part of me that wore a ring on my finger.
Speaking of, I needed to put it back on.
I went inside his bathroom, taking a deep breath. Part of me wanted to cry. It wanted to rage out at my stupidity and selfishness. But the self-righteous part of me, the one who fought for women’s rights in college and chose to always put myself first, argued, letting me know that I didn’t need to settle and at this point, I would be.
After flushing the empty toilet, I washed my hands, rinsing my face after.
Brandon’s place was immaculate. I’d been here on many occasions over the course of our relationship, but right now, as I stared at the blue modernized bathroom—reminding me of a hotel’s—I felt nothing.