Page 15 of Conflagration
The blood drains from Branson’s face as he goes white as a sheet. His dad must notice because he crosses the room and places his hands on Amelia’s shoulders. “
Okay, honey. That’s enough. He just woke up. Why don’t we give the boy some room to breathe? Let’s go find the doctor and get the latest updates. Then, after he’s rested and is feeling up to it, he can tell you all about his love life.”
Amelia’s face falls slightly, but she readily agrees. After pressing a kiss to Branson’s forehead, she promises to be back soon and warns him that he better not leave anything out.
Branson mouths a silent, “Thank you,” to his father, who gives him an understanding nod.
I wheel myself to the edge of the room just as Knox moves to Branson’s bedside. I’m about to leave, but I stop, itching to witness this exchange with enough interest that it would make even the most skilled voyeur feel a bit creeped out.
Knox places a hand on Branson’s shoulder then scowls down at him. “Jesus Christ, Branson.” His tone has me wheeling closer, ready to tell him to back off if need be.
Branson stiffens, almost as if bracing for an attack.
“It wasn’t enough that I blew myself up. You had to go and do it, too?” Knox’s chuckle indicates that he’s joking, and I see Branson visibly sigh with relief.
“Yeah, you caught me. I hang out on highways just waiting for car accidents in hopes I’ll get blown sky high. Didn’t you know I had a death wish?”
“More like a hero complex. Only, last I checked, you aren’t exactly Captain America.”
Branson lets out a small laugh then winces and holds his side. “No, definitely not. You’re the Army goon, not me. If I get to be a superhero, I’d like to think I’m more like Bruce Wayne. A hotshot in the boardroom by day, getting blown up by night. It’s not the most glamorous life, but someone’s gotta do it.”
This whole exchange is baffling to me, but it seems like Branson’s in good hands, so I’m beginning to feel like an intruder. Turning, I start to wheel out of the room when I hear his gruff voice addressing me.
“Stop.” Even though his voice is raw and hoarse, the command is still firm.
I stop in my tracks, turning around but not looking at him.
I have a feeling that it’s time to face the music, and I’m not looking forward to it.
FINALLY. FUCKING finally. I’m finally being released from the torturous reminders of the fuck-up I really am. Feelings and memories that have long lain dormant have begun to resurface in the form of fucked-up dreams, and I’ve been fighting a war with myself to wake up and let them go back into the past where they belong.
And then I hear my mother’s voice and think I’ve awoken in an alternate reality. She’s speaking of me with such adoration, concern, and then she mentions a fiancée.My fiancée.
What the fuck is going on?
The struggle to open my eyes no longer exists, and when I do, I see her, my mom, looking down at someone with a sweet smile. My fiancée.
“My what?” I whisper hoarsely, causing Mom to look up, almost squealing when she sees that I’m awake.
She rushes to my side then gives me some song and dance about not telling her about my fiancée. When I look around the room, my eyes fall on the wheelchair, where she sits. It’s her. I know it is. But what I don’t know is who, exactly, she is or how she got here. Or why in the hell my mother thinks she’s my fiancée.
As I watch her, her eyes fall to her lap, and when I look down, I see the monstrous rock on her hand. Instantly, I know I didn’t give her that thing. But my mom thinks I did, and when she looks at me, her eyes brimming with tears as she tells me how happy she is that all her boys are in love, I can’t correct her. I don’t correct her. I can’t remember the last time my mom looked at me with genuine affection, and right now, I’m not strong enough to tell her the truth, not wanting to lose that look.
Instead, I continue to let her think that I’m engaged to this beautiful stranger. Which, I decide, is a mistake as Mom starts drilling me with questions. The girl nervously bites her lip when I hesitate, and I imagine us blurting out different answers, making this into more of a mess than it already is. Fortunately, Dad must see the stress on my face because he steps forward and reels Mom in.
After a quick exchange with Knox, I notice her trying to escape from the room, and I tell her to stop, which she does without question.
Well, at least my new fiancée is good at taking orders.
Clearing my throat, I glance at my brothers and their women. “I really appreciate you guys being here. I do. But can you give us a few minutes alone?”
Without hesitation, they clear out, leaving her and me alone.
Even though she’s facing me, she’s doing everything she can to not make eye contact. I take the time to study her. Her long, dark hair is half covered by a bandage, and for some odd reason, I want to reach out and stroke it. She’s pale except for the few bruises that mar her skin, but even still, I can see that she’s naturally beautiful.
“Come here,” I request, wincing at the gruffness of my tone.
She doesn’t respond, but she wheels her chair centimeters closer though still out of my reach.
