Page 156 of Better When Shared
"Partners," Brian repeated, testing the word. "I like that."
"Me too," Enzo said.
Chapter 18
Brian
Southampton, England
After one last stop to wander the beaches of São Miguel, Portugal, we were back in England, and I couldn’t believe three weeks had passed so quickly.
The gangplank stretched before us, a bridge to reality that I wasn't ready to cross. Southampton's gray sky pressed down like a weight, and I could feel the familiar armor of my old life trying to reassemble itself around my shoulders as passengers were bustled into a baggage claim and customs area.
I adjusted my carry-on bag and glanced at Enzo beside me, noting the way his usual easy confidence had been replaced by something more fragile. His dark eyes kept darting between the crowd below and me, like he was searching for reassurance that this wasn't where we said goodbye. The thought of separation made my chest tight with an anxiety I'd never experiencedbefore—not the manageable stress of work deadlines or financial planning, but something primal and desperate that threatened to overwhelm my carefully constructed emotional defenses. Gemma walked just in front of us, her knuckles white on the strap of her purse.
"I'm not ready for this to be over,” I whispered to Enzo and Gemma as we entered the customs line. She turned to face us, smiling.
Enzo's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a grip that felt like an anchor.
"Then don't let it be over," Gemma said.
Enzo nodded. "We figured out how to make it work on the ship. We can figure out how to make it work on land."
We gathered our luggage, and were swept efficiently through customs, and before I knew it, we were stepping outside into the drizzly Southampton afternoon.
The crowd outside the cruise port was a sea of faces, reunion hugs, and taxi drivers holding signs. I was scanning for Gemma's arranged car service when a familiar figure near the Uber pickup area made my blood freeze. Tousled dark blonde hair, that boyish smile that had charmed teachers, employers, and women for thirty years, expensive clothes that didn't quite hide the desperate edge around his eyes.
Jake.
My younger brother stood there like some fucking ghost from a life I'd been trying to leave behind, his presence an unwelcome reminder that reality had sharp edges and complicated histories. The sight of him sent rage and protective instinct warring in my chest, but I forced myself to maintain the steady pace down the gangplank even as my jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
"What is it?" Enzo asked, his voice immediately alert to the change in my posture.
"My brother," I said, my voice coming out flat and controlled. "Jake's here."
I felt Enzo tense beside me, his grip on my hand tightening protectively.
As we stepped forward, Jake's eyes found mine across the crowd. His expression shifted from casual confidence to something like shock as he took in the way Enzo and I stood together, the obvious intimacy in our body language, the way my arm remained firmly around his waist despite the public setting. Behind us, Gemma was chatting with another passenger, and hope flared in my chest that maybe she hadn’t seen my idiot brother.
Before I could second-guess myself, I turned to face Enzo fully, my free hand cupping his jaw as I pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. The gesture was tender but unmistakably possessive, a clear statement of ownership and affection that anyone watching would understand. Enzo's eyes widened, but he leaned into the touch with a small smile that made my heart race.
"Take Gemma to the waiting area for the car service," I murmured against his ear, my voice low and urgent. "I'll deal with my brother."
"Brian—" he started, but I cut him off with a look.
"Please," I said, and something in my tone must have conveyed the seriousness of the situation because he nodded immediately. “I don’t want her to have to deal with him.”
"Of course. But if you need us—"
"I know." I squeezed his hand once more before releasing him, watching as he turned to intercept Gemma with that easy charm that had first caught my attention weeks ago. Within moments, he was guiding her toward the line of limousines, his hand on her back as he bent to whisper something in her ear that made her glance back at me with concerned eyes.
Then I was alone with Jake, the crowd flowing around us like water around stones. He approached with that familiar swagger, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands kept fidgeting with his phone. Up close, he looked like shit, his clothes hung loose, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
"What the fuck is going on, Brian?" he said without preamble, his voice pitched low but carrying that edge of desperate anger I remembered from our teenage years. "Why did you go on my honeymoon cruise with Enzo? And, apparently, with my fiancée?"
The possessive pronoun made something violent twist in my gut, but I kept my voice level as I gestured toward a quieter corner beside the building we’d just exited. "Let's talk."
Jake followed, his expensive loafers clicking against the concrete. When we were out of earshot of the main crowd, I turned to face him fully, taking in every detail of his appearance with the analytical precision that had served me well in business negotiations. The subtle tremor in his hands, the way his eyes kept darting around like he was looking for escape routes, the careful way he held himself that spoke of a man barely maintaining control.
