No Broken Bond Page 4

  He chuckled. “You have a very good memory.”

  “That’s what they pay me for. Or so I’m told.”

  “I took on a few extra shifts this month,” he explained. “My wife is due next month, so we’re trying to save up a little.”

  “Ah.” I nodded, approving. “Makes perfect sense. And congratulations.” I said it and meant it. Funny how it was so much easier to encourage the happiness in others when the stuff overflowed one’s own heart, too. And mine was a busted dam of joy, especially as I scooped up Talia’s hand. It seemed impossible to not be touching her all the time.

  “Thanks, Mr. Newland.” Maurice grinned. He was a lanky, attentive guy. He’d make a great dad, too. “I’ll have these up to your place in no time.”

  “Outstanding.” I tossed the keys and he easily caught them. “We won’t need the car again tonight, so you can go ahead and park it, too.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Newland.”

  I tugged Talia toward the elevators. She pulled back in the opposite direction, dipping her head in the direction the bank of shiny gold mailboxes. “Hey. Let me get the mail. It’s probably overflowing, since we’ve been gone.”

  I pulled her back against my chest like a rubber band. “I had them bring it up to the condo,” I explained against her lips. “No need to worry, baby. What?” The prompt tumbled out when she openly pouted.

  “It’s nothing.” She actually looked a little flustered. “You just think of everything. For once, I thought I could be useful.”

  I lifted a hand, wrapping it to the back of her neck, yanking her yet tighter against me. “For once?” I arched a brow while staring down into her luxurious eyes. Damn, they were beautiful. They turned a little gold when aroused, but darkened into a rich sable when confused. Like right now.

  Just like that, she’d dropped her gaze entirely. Quietly, she added, “You know what I mean.”

  The elevator door slid open. I pulled her inside the lift. As Fletcher stepped in beside us and entered the code for the condo, I made eye contact—but he was already with the plan. Without hesitation, he moved in right behind Tolly. She was trapped between us in the corner of the car.

  I watched as my brother leaned in, quickly unraveling Talia with kisses, suckles and small but harsh bites down her neck. From ear to collarbone, he kept up the torment until she sighed and sagged backward, into my embrace.

  “Tolly, Tolly, Tolly,” he rasped into her ear. “Do you piss Drake off on purpose? I’m starting to think you like being punished.”

  She let out a high gasp but finished with a sly smile. “Never.” Another sharp breath as he bit into the top of her shoulder. “Ooohhh, geez…please, Fletch.”

  “Please?” he taunted lowly. “Please what?”

  “Please…don’t…don’t stop.” Her body dissolved like a sandcastle under a wave. “Feels—dear God, feels so good.”

  Fletcher chuckled. “We’ve created a monster, man.”

  “A gorgeous, sexy monster.” I added it in a heavy breath atop her hair.

  The elevator slowed and the doors slid apart. The condo stretched before us and I almost said something along the lines of ‘home sweet home’. It truly felt more like home every time we came back with Talia—though all three of us sensed the time was coming to make a decision about where our roots would be planted. We had danced around the topic before, of course, but we still couldn’t decide on here or San Diego—so for now, we kept hopping back and forth between the two.

  Fletcher punched the release code into the alarm keypad while Talia made a lap around the living room, quickly turning on lights, for the ‘inviting’ ambiance she liked so much. As soon as she was done, she announced, “I’m going to go freshen up a little bit and get out of these clothes. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her disappear down the hall into the large suite we’d created for her, once we’d all decided to give our relationship a try. Most nights, we all slept in there together. When she wasn’t with us in Chicago, Fletcher and I slept in the two guest bedrooms. The master was a special space, exclusive for the three of us.

  There was a mountain of mail stacked on the breakfast bar. I absentmindedly started sifting through the envelopes. Fletcher’s pile was double the size of mine, with all the fashion catalogs sent in his name. Everyone in the fashion industry prayed he’d be caught by the paparazzi in something from their latest line. Many times, the designers also sent sample pieces, but those usually went to his assistant at the office, rather than directly to our home.

  I jolted my stare up as he tossed back his last piece of mail, a thick ivory parchment envelope, with a furious thwack. On the front, his name was etched in classic calligraphy. The words ‘and guest’ followed below.

  Uh-oh.

  I’d seen envelopes like that before. Instinct told me to react to this one by burying it ASAP among the catalogs, but Fletch and his manicured fingers were too fast. He swooped in, grabbing the thing up again. Even so, I was tempted to wrestle him for it—if the damn thing was what I thought it was.

  While we teased Tolly for being our little monster, the two of us battled real ones of our own. Ghosts that reared up in our minds, souls and lives with epically shitty timing.

  Mine was called Iraq.

  His was called family.

  “Gee. Isn’t this lovely. And here I thought they’d forgotten about me,” he snarled.

  I shifted forward. Carefully. “Fletch. Let it go for now. Just—”

  “But look, man. How special, right? They sent it to me in the mail. Guess they thought that was a better thing than calling their own damn son.”

  “Fletcher—”

  “The mail. How fun. Just like every other person on the guest list. Why should their own fucking son be different, right?”

  “Dude.” I force-fed a growl into my voice. “Just leave it until the morning. You’ll be clearer then. Why are you getting all riled up now? We had such a good trip—”

  His violent sneer cut me off. “You do not get it, do you, man?” He raked a glower up and down my form. “No. Of course you don’t, Mr. Perfect Family Life.”

  I backed up. By a giant step. Best friend or not, some lines didn’t get toyed with. “You’re hurting. That’s real, and I get it. But that’s the only reason you’re standing right now, brother.”

  “Says Mr. Perfect.” He swept a hand down, as if unveiling me in a magic show. “Who can say that, on his perfect ranch. In a perfect little town. In a perfect little world. With such perfect—”

  “Enough.” I braced my stance. Squared my shoulders. Fired up my unwavering glare. “This will be your only warning, Mr. Ford.” My voice was equally low, ensuring my anger seeped into every syllable.

  At once, Fletch’s mouth clamped shut.

  A few beats passed. A handful more.

  Finally, he dropped his head. “Fuck.” When he lifted his stare again, red heat darkened his face. True remorse flooded his features. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I grumbled.

  “It’s not.”

  “It is, God damn it.” I punched his shoulder. The move wasn’t playful. “I get it. You forget how long we’ve known each other, man? And remember”—I motioned to the envelope with my chin—“I know how easily they can get under your skin.”

  He huffed. “Which, in and of itself, pisses me off.” His head fell again. As he slowly shook it, his arms and shoulders went taut as lead cage bars. “Why do I still let them get to me after all this time?”

  “Because we all want our parents’ approval, no matter how fucked-up it is.”

  The answer wasn’t mine. It belonged to our beauty, newly arrived, clearly relaxing Fletch’s tension like a human balm.

  “It’s in our very nature, so there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  We both looked at her in mild surprise. Neither of us had heard Talia come back down the hall, but she must have overheard enough of our exchange to issue her comment. On silken
steps, she approached Fletcher again. She wrapped her arms around his waist then rested her cheek on his back. I watched, relieved, as he visibly relaxed into her embrace. An exhalation left him, matching the inherent surrender of the move. “I love you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

  “As we love you.” Her whispered words were finished by a wide, long yawn. “Can we go to bed?” she said after that. “I’m exhausted from our trip, and I bet you guys are, too.”

  She started down the hall, extending a hand backward for someone to take. Adorable girl. Amazing woman. I longed to be the guy grabbing onto her but Fletch seemed equally exhausted. I nudged him toward her and directed, “Go. I’ll turn off the lights and lock up.”

  He gave me a grateful nod before taking her hand, letting her tug him toward the master suite. In that moment, I thanked myself for letting him go with her. They were gorgeous together, so connected they almost seemed twins instead of lovers, and they filled my heart to every limit it possessed.

  I loved them.

  More than anything else in the world.

  They were my world.

  If only we could shut out the rest of the bullshit and exist alone, just the three of us…

  Yes.

  Perfection.

  At least for tonight, we still held on to it. Still had all the moments to call our own. And perhaps that was how we’d have to exist from now on, stealing the moments for ourselves where we could get them. If I had to live the rest of my life being a time thief, then so be it—as long as my two partners in crime were with me, too. As long as the three of us were together, I only had three matching words for the grand masters of fate, destiny and life.

  Bring. It. On.

  Chapter Two

  Fletcher

  My head was going to burst into a million tiny pieces.

  I swore it was the truth as Aunt Petra’s nasal giggles peeled through the Italianate living room, down the marble hallway and across the two-point-five miles of kitchen, to jab me where I stood pouring my third gin and tonic.

  “Whoa. Easy, cowboy.” Drake appeared from somewhere in the Aunt Petra hell and immediately tried to upright the gin as I went for a double.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Nice try, dick.” He yanked the booze out of my grip, not realizing I was desperate enough to switch gears and go with vodka and tonics instead. “Slow the fuck down,” he ordered, voice low. “You’ll regret getting shitfaced around all these people, Fletch.”

  “Well, I already regret coming at all, so let’s go for the big money.”

  His brows drew together. “What happened?”

  I jerked a glare his way. “What makes you think something ‘happened’?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Beside the fact that the tension between you and your folks is thick as a medium-rare Porterhouse? Come on, it’s me. I could feel it from the second we got here.”

  Well…shit.

  “Where’s Tolly?” I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of her. If Drake had noticed all that crap in the air, she was definitely aware of it, too—probably explaining why I’d transformed into the king of the assholes, avoiding the two of them for the last hour and a half.

  Ninety minutes of agony. And fury.

  Ever since Mom’s lovely little comment, murmured just beneath her breath, as soon as she and I had been within earshot of each other.

  Thanks, Mom. Not.

  Francine Ford could have reduced the queen to tears given the motive and opportunity. No one was off-limits to her venomous tongue if she thought they deserved a dressing-down.

  “I think she’s still cooing over your cousin’s newborn. Shit.” He interrupted himself with a quirk of a laugh. “Maybe it’s time to go break up that party, before her ovaries explode and we have a whole new problem on our hands.”

  He finished it with another chuckle, but I didn’t bite on the humor. Didn’t stop me from noticing how his eyes sparkled as he made his way back to the living room.

  Yeah, I’d really just thought that.

  His sparkling eyes.

  But he’d given me an awesome thought to chase for a minute. Our woman with a round belly, swollen breasts, glowing skin and shining hair, nourishing our child inside her own body…

  One day.

  One day…

  Who the fuck was I kidding? Mom and Dad’s small minds had nearly exploded before Talia, Drake and I had crossed the threshold tonight, as if our presence alone would taint the sanctity of their marriage, let alone this anniversary celebration. How the hell would they take us starting a family together?

  I was confused. And hurt. And now, thoroughly pissed. My lifestyle had never been a secret to them. And they loved the crap out of Drake. Well, as much as they were capable of loving someone beyond themselves. My father had always delighted in hearing details of our ‘escapades’, as he called them—but maybe that explained it all too neatly. Maybe Dad had actually just given the cause lip service. Maybe he thought we were young and sowing our wild oats—getting certain ‘predilections’ out of our systems—and that we would eventually settle down into more traditional relationships.

  Not anymore.

  In the three and a half words he’d spoken to me tonight, Dad’s ‘new’ viewpoint was clear. He was in Mom’s camp about this, and staying there.

  What a difference a real relationship made.

  When Drake, Tolly and I had laid out our ultimatum to Natalia’s parents last summer, I’d never suspected we’d be set for a repeat performance of judgment from my own. At least not to this degree. Ironic, how the most accepting of our three clans was Drake’s middle-of-the-Bible-belt kin.

  So much for stereotypes.

  Or my ability to read the minds and hearts of my own family.

  Dad had to be the biggest stunner. While I’d picked up a strong Dominant vibe from Drake’s father, I’d always thought my own was just a horny player. Perhaps he’d tried a non-traditional relationship before meeting my mother, but if he had, it was only to pay homage to ‘the bucket list factor’, as Talia had once tagged it. But overall? Dad just didn’t have the personality to thrive off sharing a woman with another man. Hell, he could barely stand being in a room with other people most of the time. God forbid the spotlight wasn’t on him and only him. Mom wasn’t much different.

  And there was that truth, smacking me soundly in the kisser.

  My parents were narcissists. Serious ones. They probably had been since their youth—so why the hell was I just seeing it now?

  Paging Dr. Freud.

  “Shit,” I muttered, finishing on a chuckle. Could it be the therapy was…working? I’d spent a lot of time on his couch lately. More than the one in my own damn living room. Nice to know my spending money on the good doc hadn’t been a total waste.

  “Well, there you are. Why are you in here by yourself?”

  I turned in time to watch Sasha float into the room. My little sister was a beautiful, elegant clone of my mother. Jutting out her visibly bony hip, she leaned against the marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen.

  “Fixing myself a drink.” I let my tone fill in the logical conclusion to that. Because I need it. Badly.

  She folded her arms, spreading long French-manicured fingers against opposite elbows. Her lips, perfectly painted in the on-trend pink of the week, pursed. “Mother has a bartender in the study. Why not just have him make you a drink?”

  There it was, right on cue. The subtle accusation, tippy-tapping just beneath the surface of her tone, ensuring it would sneak its way under my skin.

  As it did.

  “Because the good gin is in here.” I poured the double shot, tossing Drake a secret gloat about it. Fuck. I needed to gloat about something tonight. Or maybe not about anything. Maybe that was the point.

  “Liar.” Her challenge was quick and sharp, perfect Francine Ford-style.

  “Why do you say that?” Casual and noncommittal always drove Mom crazy. I wondered if it worked on the
mini. But the fact that I’d even entertained the thought made me consider chugging the drink then pouring another. Once upon a time, Sasha and I had been close. Maybe even friends. She was a stranger now.

  “Because I know you.” Was that a hint of affection in her tone? Or a gloat of her own? Either way, how much more wrong could she be? She didn’t know me at all. “And I know when you’re hiding out.”

  But I couldn’t refute that one. Yeah, so she still knew me in the little ways. Even that rankled.

  “Not exactly my crowd of people out there, Sash.”

  “You mean our relatives, brother? Our own flesh and blood? How much more of ‘your crowd’ can it get?”

  She exaggerated ‘brother’ as if both syllables were raw acid. My gut twisted on strange emotions.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I growled, though didn’t wait for her just-ate-a-lemon look to go away. “Can you name even one memory, happy or sad, that you’ve had with anyone out there? ‘Our people’ are people we don’t even know, Sasha. I’m surprised they even showed up for this thing.” I almost corrected myself with the proper verbiage from the invitation. An anniversary gala. Celebrating what? Nearly two hours into the shindig now, and I hadn’t seen Mom and Dad speak to each other, let alone touch or kiss.

  Sasha made a little pish sound. “Please.” Rolled her wide blue eyes. “You know Mother throws the best parties in town. It’s a crush out there. Everyone will be talking about it for weeks.” The ice in her eyes warmed to a light cobalt, pride taking over as she spoke of Mom. Not because the woman had been loving, attentive and active in our lives. Because she threw ‘the best parties’. Soirees where people air-kissed on their way to the lobster buffet and the free booze, saying shit like ‘Hey, you!’ and ‘Sweetie, you look great!’ because they couldn’t remember one another’s name.

  I peered harder at Sasha. Had we even been raised in the same house? Some days, I couldn’t be sure.

  “For weeks, huh?” I finally muttered. “Uh…okay. If you say so.” I swallowed the rest of my drink in one gulp. Soon the edge would soften.