Chapter 1 #3
“Who do you think you are? Dragging a widow from her husband’s burial before he’s even laid to rest?” My fingers clutch the kerchief he’s given me. It dampens from my tears.
“You were ready to leave.” His eyes cut to me as he starts the car.
“How could you possibly know? You never asked.”
“I didn’t need to. I’ve grown quite good at reading you.”
“Reading me? You mean staring at me from across the room with that disapproving look on your face?” Now he gives me one of those familiar glances from the side of his eyes.
“See—you did it just then! You think I’m such a problem.
Well, guess what? Consider yourself relieved of your duties.
I certainly don’t need you looking after me—”
The look goes from general displeasure to something deeper. He rumbles, “It’s not your call.”
He’s infuriating.
But no match for me. I never back down. My voice lowers, my words made of steel.
“Rockland Bachman. As soon as this gathering is over, you get yourself on the next plane to the Greek Islands or wherever the hell it is your Neanderthal cave is hiding.” I sniff, turning my body toward the window.
Scooting toward the car door and as far from him as possible.
The slightest hint of that smug smile dances across his face.
What does he know that I don’t? What has him so amused?
My stomach drops. I say, “Don’t you dare say Bronson’s enacting the hierarchy.”
“Did you not feel the weight of my sword against your chest?” His tone is equally as icy.
“Did you not see me rip it from my throat and throw it to the ground?” I snap.
He heaves a sigh—the one I’m familiar with.
The one that reminds me he thinks I’m a child he’s dealing with.
“Tess, it’s just a symbol. You know when a Bachman woman is in the family, it’s forever.
And that any woman in our family would be cared for by one of the brothers.
The day my brother married you, he clasped the necklace with his sword around your neck—showing you he would lay down his life for you.
Now that he’s gone, I take his place in that same way.
Protect you, lay down my life for you should you need it.
But it’s symbolic, Tess. We all know you’re a big girl who can take care of yourself.
You will continue to live your own life, but the sword, the hierarchy, it’s in place to care for you should you need it. ”
“I will never, ever need care from you.”
He doesn’t answer me.
I want to keep fighting. I want to stay mad. Do anything to keep this deep sob that’s sitting in my belly from rising. Anything to keep the maddening grief at bay.
I sit back in the seat and sigh. We’re pulling up to my house.
The house where I built a life with Brett.
And now, I live alone.
Rockland
Of all the shitty luck. My brother goes out on a mission and dies of a heart attack.
How many times did I tell him to lay off the burgers?
Hit the gym? Our fellow brother, Carter, owns one only a few blocks from the Village—Brett could have gone anytime.
Instead, he always brushed me off, attributing my good health and trim body with the fact that I’m ten years younger than him.
Not my Mediterranean diet and five-mile morning run, or daily swim in the ocean.
Now I’m stuck, caretaker of Miss Temper Tantrum herself.
Tess—the sexy little redhead my brother has spoiled and coddled for the past five years.
Bronson knew what he was doing when he enacted the hierarchy for this one—she’s out of control.
I sigh as I drive her to the house. I know the hierarchy is an excellent idea in theory—having a line of order so that each of our Bachman women are cared for in the special way of the Brotherhood, should one of us not be able to do so, or in my brother’s case, leave this earth and a widow behind—but Tess’s arrogant nature has always infuriated me.
Now more than ever. Her grief has done the impossible—made her more difficult than she already was. And even more disgusted by my presence.
Never mind though, I’ll do what I have to do to get her through this day. For other women, that would mean a shoulder to cry on. A few gentle words of sympathy. An escort to the celebration.
Not Tess.
That woman needs strict boundaries. Ones that earn her a harsh punishment when crossed.
The easiest way to get her through this day would be by me reddening her ass.
Relieving her of her emotional weight through pain and tears.
But alas, I can’t. As much as I want to take that hellcat over my knee and spank some sense into her, I won’t.
It would be highly inappropriate of me.
Though I want to. Badly.
She’s sick with grief. And she needs time to heal.
But just as I’m convincing myself that doling out a good old-fashioned spanking is not my place today, the memory of her ripping my sword from her neck and throwing it to the ground flashes in my mind and my palm begins to twitch.
Someone needs to teach that little girl a lesson in respect.
I’m not the only one of this opinion. At the service, after her little show, there was unspoken command that flashed in Bronson’s eyes. Get her under control for all our sakes.
And I will. I’ll be firm with her. It’s easy with Tess—I always know what she needs.
It only took one squeeze of my hand on her knee to make her bite her sharp tongue.
I’ll keep her under control. Make sure she doesn’t lose it and do or say something she’ll regret later.
She must be strong for the Village. For she is not the only one grieving the loss of the great man that was my brother.
My own unshed tears are buried deep within me. I park the car. Cut the engine.
I’ll help calm her. Get her ready for the family event. Guide her through it.
Then I’ll leave.
With any luck, I’ll never have to come back.
Except for the little fact I’ve seemed to forget, until just this moment when we’ve arrived at her front door.
Every year for the next three years on the day of the anniversary of Brett’s death, there will be a memorial for my brother.
And I’ll have to be in attendance.
Celebrating his life. And caring for his widow.