Page 11 of Conflagration
“So, Charlie, you’re here with my brother?” I ask, inching just a bit closer to her.
I can tell that she's absolutely not having it, and I know I should stop now, but I never have been able to back down from a challenge. And this girl? She’s definitely challenging. I can see why my brother wants her.
“I am,” she says simply, offering nothing more than that.
Fuck. Don't do it, Branson. Don't fucking do it.
I do it.
“You know, I could give you so much more than he can,” I whisper, allowing my finger to touch her bare shoulder. “You’re gorgeous. Just think of the fun we can have. The last girl he had found out how much more of a man I am, and I bet I can convince you, too.”
Oh, boy. That pissed her off. Fire lights in her eyes, and if she were a cartoon character, she’d have steam pouring out of her ears. She turns about three shades of red, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that she’s about two seconds away from punching me. Not that I’d blame her. Knox sure as hell found a feisty one, and I know now that this girl is miles more suited for my brother than Megan ever was. And good for him.
I'm about to apologize and tell her that she passed the test when she jumps up, spilling her wine on her dress. Cursing, she hurries away from me, and I follow, knowing I need to set the record straight here. I wasn't actually trying to hit on my brother's girlfriend. I was just making sure she wasn't Megan Caldwell 2.0. In hindsight, I probably could've gone about it a different way, but it's too late. The damage is done.
When I get inside, she's searching for what I'm guessing are the paper towels. I do one better—find a dishrag and wet it. Then I cross the room, where I start helping clean her up, trying my hardest not to touch her anywhere intimately.
"Look, Charlie, I'm sor—"
She cuts me off as she grabs hold of my wrist and pulls my arm behind my back, moving behind me. I can't help the less-than-masculine cry of pain that escapes my lips when she twists it. Then she pushes my face down onto the island, twisting my arm even harder, almost to the point I feel like it’s going to snap.
"What the fuck! You stupid bitch," I can't help but growl. My mom taught me never to talk to a woman that way, but holy hell, I've never been put in an arm bar by one before. I silently curse myself, remembering that Megan said that she saw Charlie and Knox sparring together. Her defending herself against her boyfriend's evil brother shouldn't come as a surprise.
Apparently, she doesn't love the bitch term of endearment. Her hand presses against my cheek as she pushes my face into the counter. She's breathing hard and seething. I know that, with one swift move, I could escape her hold and have her pinned against the counter, but I've done enough damage. I let her take her rage out on me. And boy, does she ever.
“Let’s get one thing straight, asshole. I care about your brother, and no amount of flash or money could ever make me even look your way twice. The way I see it, you and Megan did Knox a favor, and while I should say thank you, you’re too much of a jerk to hear those words. Do not ever touch me again. Don’t even fucking look at me, for that matter.” She pushes on my face once more for emphasis before she lets go and backs away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my dad, and I assume he witnessed the whole thing. I guess I might as well play up the jerk-of-a-brother aspect, calling Charlie a bitch one more time as I shake the pain out of my arm. Instead of getting pissed, she just stares me down, not noticing Dad until he enters the room. He glares at me before turning to Charlie and introducing himself.
Charlie’s eyes widen at my dad’s name of Knox, clearly surprised that her boyfriend, the second born, is named after our father. She glances over at me, and I can’t help but smirk at her, which earns me a solid glare.
“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie. I apologize for my son here. Until tonight, I didn’t actually believe he had a thing for his brother’s girls. I’m sorry you were subjected to that.”
Yep, that's me. Branson Wellington. The asshole jerk who can't get his own girls, so he steals his brother's. One fucking mistake in my life and I can't get away from it. I guess marrying the mistake didn't do anything to change their minds.
Charlie hits the nail on the head when she looks at my dad with confusion on her face. “You didn’t know he stole Megan from Knox?”
Groaning inwardly, I'm about to give them a history lesson, but Dad beats me to the punch. I can't help but hear the disappointment in his voice. Nor do I miss the fact that he's doing everything he can to not look at me.
“I had my suspicions, but I’d already lost one son. I tried to ignore them, but he just confirmed it for me,” he says, shaking his head, a look of shame washing over him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wellington,” Charlie says softly.
Dad sighs, giving me a look that says,We’ll discuss this later.Oh joy. “Not as sorry as I am.”
Just as I'm about to defend myself, the door opens and Knox enters with both Mom and Cohen behind him. My dutiful little wife is hot on Knox's trail, but he only has eyes for Charlie. That is until he sees me and stiffens. Charlie places a gentle hand on his arm and whispers in his ear. In that moment, I’m jealous of my little brother all over again.
For the second time in my life, he has something I want. But this time, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to get it. Because the look he’s giving Charlie? My wife is giving it to him. A look she’s never given me. I have a feeling I’m not the only one regretting that night from eleven years ago.
I thought I had it all. The girl. The job.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. Because something tells me that I’m in a downward spiral and I’m on the verge of losing it all.
Present
FINALLY, I feel like I’m getting a reprieve as the images start to speed up, not plaguing me with every tortuous detail of all the times I’ve screwed up. I guess those were the important ones. The pivotal ones. The ones that have changed my life forever. As a shrewd businessman, I’m well versed in decision making. But holy fuck—when it comes to my personal life, it’s just been one bad choice after another.
My fingers flex, and I’m not sure if I caused the movement or if it was involuntary. But the moment I do, I hear an, “Oh,” and soft, warm fingers tightening over mine. An errant thumb rubs small circles on my skin.
